The Sermon

Father Mapple rose, and in a mild voice of unassuming authority ordered the scattered people to condense. “Starboard gangway, there! side away to larboard—larboard gangway to starboard! Midships! midships!”

Father Mapple stood up and gently but firmly told the scattered people to sit closer together. “People on the starboard side, move to the left. People on the larboard side, move to the right! To the middle! To the middle!”

There was a low rumbling of heavy sea-boots among the benches, and a still slighter shuffling of women’s shoes, and all was quiet again, and every eye on the preacher.

Heavy sea boots rumbled softly among the benches, and women’s shoes shuffled even more quietly. Then all was quiet again, and every eye was on the preacher.

He paused a little; then kneeling in the pulpit’s bows, folded his large brown hands across his chest, uplifted his closed eyes, and offered a prayer so deeply devout that he seemed kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea.

He paused for a moment, then knelt at the bow of the pulpit. He folded his large brown hands across his chest and lifted his face with his eyes closed. He prayed so devoutly that he seemed to be kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea.

This ended, in prolonged solemn tones, like the continual tolling of a bell in a ship that is foundering at sea in a fog—in such tones he commenced reading the following hymn; but changing his manner towards the concluding stanzas, burst forth with a pealing exultation and joy—

When this ended, he began reading the following hymn in slow, solemn tones. His voice sounded like a bell tolling steadily on a ship sinking in a fog at sea. But as he reached the final stanzas, his manner changed, and he burst forth in ringing triumph and joy.

Nearly all joined in singing this hymn, which swelled high above the howling of the storm. A brief pause ensued; the preacher slowly turned over the leaves of the Bible, and at last, folding his hand down upon the proper page, said: “Beloved shipmates, clinch the last verse of the first chapter of Jonah—‘And God had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah.’”

Nearly everyone joined in singing the hymn, their voices rising high above the howling storm. There was a brief pause. The preacher slowly turned the pages of the Bible. At last, he laid his hand on the right page and said: “Dear shipmates, take to heart the last verse of the first chapter of Jonah: ‘And God had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah.’”

“Shipmates, this book, containing only four chapters—four yarns—is one of the smallest strands in the mighty cable of the Scriptures. Yet what depths of the soul does Jonah’s deep sealine sound! what a pregnant lesson to us is this prophet! What a noble thing is that canticle in the fish’s belly! How billow-like and boisterously grand! We feel the floods surging over us; we sound with him to the kelpy bottom of the waters; sea-weed and all the slime of the sea is about us! But what is this lesson that the book of Jonah teaches? Shipmates, it is a two-stranded lesson; a lesson to us all as sinful men, and a lesson to me as a pilot of the living God. As sinful men, it is a lesson to us all, because it is a story of the sin, hard-heartedness, suddenly awakened fears, the swift punishment, repentance, prayers, and finally the deliverance and joy of Jonah. As with all sinners among men, the sin of this son of Amittai was in his wilful disobedience of the command of God—never mind now what that command was, or how conveyed—which he found a hard command. But all the things that God would have us do are hard for us to do—remember that—and hence, he oftener commands us than endeavors to persuade. And if we obey God, we must disobey ourselves; and it is in this disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness of obeying God consists.

“Shipmates, this book has only four chapters, four tales. It is one of the smallest strands in the mighty cable of the Scriptures. Yet what depths of the soul Jonah’s deep sounding line reaches! What a meaningful lesson this prophet offers us! What a noble song he sings in the fish’s belly! How like the waves, how wildly grand! We feel the floods surging over us. We descend with him to the kelp-covered bottom of the waters. Seaweed and all the slime of the sea surround us! But what is the lesson that the book of Jonah teaches? Shipmates, it is a lesson with two strands. It is a lesson to us all as sinful men, and a lesson to me as a pilot of the living God. It is a lesson to us all as sinful men because it tells the story of Jonah’s sin and hard-heartedness. It tells of his suddenly awakened fears, his swift punishment, his repentance and prayers, and finally his deliverance and joy. Like all sinners among men, this son of Amittai sinned by willfully disobeying God’s command. Never mind now what that command was or how it was conveyed. Jonah found it hard to obey. But everything God would have us do is hard for us to do. Remember that. And so he commands us more often than he tries to persuade us. If we obey God, we must disobey ourselves. That is what makes obeying God so hard.

“With this sin of disobedience in him, Jonah still further flouts at God, by seeking to flee from Him. He thinks that a ship made by men will carry him into countries where God does not reign, but only the Captains of this earth. He skulks about the wharves of Joppa, and seeks a ship that’s bound for Tarshish. There lurks, perhaps, a hitherto unheeded meaning here. By all accounts Tarshish could have been no other city than the modern Cadiz. That’s the opinion of learned men. And where is Cadiz, shipmates? Cadiz is in Spain; as far by water, from Joppa, as Jonah could possibly have sailed in those ancient days, when the Atlantic was an almost unknown sea. Because Joppa, the modern Jaffa, shipmates, is on the most easterly coast of the Mediterranean, the Syrian; and Tarshish or Cadiz more than two thousand miles to the westward from that, just outside the Straits of Gibraltar. See ye not then, shipmates, that Jonah sought to flee world-wide from God? Miserable man! Oh! most contemptible and worthy of all scorn; with slouched hat and guilty eye, skulking from his God; prowling among the shipping like a vile burglar hastening to cross the seas. So disordered, self-condemning is his look, that had there been policemen in those days, Jonah, on the mere suspicion of something wrong, had been arrested ere he touched a deck. How plainly he’s a fugitive! no baggage, not a hat-box, valise, or carpet-bag,—no friends accompany him to the wharf with their adieux. At last, after much dodging search, he finds the Tarshish ship receiving the last items of her cargo; and as he steps on board to see its Captain in the cabin, all the sailors for the moment desist from hoisting in the goods, to mark the stranger’s evil eye. Jonah sees this; but in vain he tries to look all ease and confidence; in vain essays his wretched smile. Strong intuitions of the man assure the mariners he can be no innocent. In their gamesome but still serious way, one whispers to the other—“Jack, he’s robbed a widow;” or, “Joe, do you mark him; he’s a bigamist;” or, “Harry lad, I guess he’s the adulterer that broke jail in old Gomorrah, or belike, one of the missing murderers from Sodom.” Another runs to read the bill that’s stuck against the spile upon the wharf to which the ship is moored, offering five hundred gold coins for the apprehension of a parricide, and containing a description of his person. He reads, and looks from Jonah to the bill; while all his sympathetic shipmates now crowd round Jonah, prepared to lay their hands upon him. Frighted Jonah trembles, and summoning all his boldness to his face, only looks so much the more a coward. He will not confess himself suspected; but that itself is strong suspicion. So he makes the best of it; and when the sailors find him not to be the man that is advertised, they let him pass, and he descends into the cabin.

“With this sin of disobedience in him, Jonah defies God further by trying to flee from him. He thinks a ship built by men will carry him to countries where God does not rule, but only the Captains of this earth do. He sneaks around the wharves of Joppa, looking for a ship bound for Tarshish. Perhaps there is a meaning here that has been overlooked until now. By all accounts, Tarshish could have been no other city than modern Cadiz. That is what learned men believe. And where is Cadiz, shipmates? Cadiz is in Spain. In those ancient days, the Atlantic was an almost unknown sea. Cadiz was as far from Joppa as Jonah could possibly have sailed. For Joppa, modern Jaffa, shipmates, is on the Syrian coast, at the easternmost end of the Mediterranean. Tarshish, or Cadiz, is more than two thousand miles west of Joppa, just outside the Straits of Gibraltar. Do you not see, then, shipmates, that Jonah tried to flee across the world from God? Miserable man! Oh, how contemptible he is, deserving of every scorn! With his hat pulled low and a guilty look in his eye, he sneaks away from his God. He prowls among the ships like a vile burglar hurrying to cross the seas. He looks so troubled and guilty that, if there had been police in those days, they would have arrested him before he set foot on a ship, simply on suspicion of wrongdoing. How plainly he is a fugitive! He has no baggage, not even a hat-box, suitcase, or carpet-bag. No friends come to the wharf to say goodbye. At last, after much furtive searching, he finds the ship bound for Tarshish. It is taking on the last of its cargo. He steps aboard to see the Captain in the cabin. For a moment, all the sailors stop hoisting the goods to watch the stranger’s wicked eye. Jonah sees them watching. He tries in vain to look relaxed and confident, and his miserable smile is no help. The sailors have a strong feeling that he cannot be innocent. Half joking but still serious, they whisper to one another: “Jack, he’s robbed a widow,” or, “Joe, look at him. He’s a bigamist,” or, “Harry, lad, I think he’s the adulterer who broke out of jail in old Gomorrah. Or perhaps he’s one of the missing murderers from Sodom.” Another sailor runs to read a notice posted on the wharf piling where the ship is moored. It offers five hundred gold coins for the capture of a man who killed his own father, and it describes him. The sailor reads it and looks back and forth between Jonah and the notice. All his sympathetic shipmates now crowd around Jonah, ready to seize him. Frightened, Jonah trembles. He tries to put on a bold face, but only looks more cowardly. He refuses to acknowledge that they suspect him, but that itself makes him seem all the more suspicious. So he makes the best of it. When the sailors find that he is not the man described in the notice, they let him pass, and he goes down into the cabin.”

“‘Who’s there?’ cries the Captain at his busy desk, hurriedly making out his papers for the Customs—‘Who’s there?’ Oh! how that harmless question mangles Jonah! For the instant he almost turns to flee again. But he rallies. ‘I seek a passage in this ship to Tarshish; how soon sail ye, sir?’ Thus far the busy Captain had not looked up to Jonah, though the man now stands before him; but no sooner does he hear that hollow voice, than he darts a scrutinizing glance. ‘We sail with the next coming tide,’ at last he slowly answered, still intently eyeing him. ‘No sooner, sir?’—‘Soon enough for any honest man that goes a passenger.’ Ha! Jonah, that’s another stab. But he swiftly calls away the Captain from that scent. ‘I’ll sail with ye,’—he says,—‘the passage money how much is that?—I’ll pay now.’ For it is particularly written, shipmates, as if it were a thing not to be overlooked in this history, ‘that he paid the fare thereof’ ere the craft did sail. And taken with the context, this is full of meaning.

“‘Who’s there?’ calls the Captain from his desk. He is busy preparing his papers for Customs. ‘Who’s there?’ Oh, how that harmless question torments Jonah! For a moment, he almost turns to flee again. But he pulls himself together. ‘I’m looking for passage on this ship to Tarshish. How soon do you sail, sir?’ The busy Captain has not yet looked up at Jonah, though Jonah now stands before him. But as soon as he hears that hollow voice, he gives Jonah a searching glance. ‘We sail with the next tide,’ he finally answers slowly, still watching him closely. ‘No sooner, sir?’ ‘Soon enough for any honest man traveling as a passenger.’ Ha! Jonah, that’s another stab. But Jonah quickly distracts the Captain from that trail. ‘I’ll sail with you,’ he says. ‘How much is the fare? I’ll pay now.’ For the account makes a special point of saying that Jonah ‘paid the fare thereof’ before the ship sailed. It is as if this were something not to be overlooked in the story, shipmates. And in context, those words are full of meaning.

“Now Jonah’s Captain, shipmates, was one whose discernment detects crime in any, but whose cupidity exposes it only in the penniless. In this world, shipmates, sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas Virtue, if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers. So Jonah’s Captain prepares to test the length of Jonah’s purse, ere he judge him openly. He charges him thrice the usual sum; and it’s assented to. Then the Captain knows that Jonah is a fugitive; but at the same time resolves to help a flight that paves its rear with gold. Yet when Jonah fairly takes out his purse, prudent suspicions still molest the Captain. He rings every coin to find a counterfeit. Not a forger, any way, he mutters; and Jonah is put down for his passage. ‘Point out my state-room, Sir,’ says Jonah now, ‘I’m travel-weary; I need sleep.’ ‘Thou lookest like it,’ says the Captain, ‘there’s thy room.’ Jonah enters, and would lock the door, but the lock contains no key. Hearing him foolishly fumbling there, the Captain laughs lowly to himself, and mutters something about the doors of convicts’ cells being never allowed to be locked within. All dressed and dusty as he is, Jonah throws himself into his berth, and finds the little state-room ceiling almost resting on his forehead. The air is close, and Jonah gasps. Then, in that contracted hole, sunk, too, beneath the ship’s water-line, Jonah feels the heralding presentiment of that stifling hour, when the whale shall hold him in the smallest of his bowels’ wards.

“Now Jonah’s Captain, shipmates, was a man who could spot crime in anyone. But his greed made him expose it only in those without money. In this world, shipmates, sin can travel freely without a passport if it pays its way. But Virtue, if poor, is stopped at every border. So Jonah’s Captain decides to find out how much money Jonah has before judging him openly. He charges Jonah three times the usual fare, and Jonah agrees to pay. Then the Captain knows that Jonah is a fugitive. But he also decides to help a man escape when gold follows in his wake. Yet when Jonah actually takes out his purse, the cautious Captain still has doubts. He rings every coin to check for counterfeits. ‘Not a forger, anyway,’ he mutters, and Jonah is booked for the voyage. ‘Show me my cabin, Sir,’ Jonah says. ‘I’m tired from traveling. I need sleep.’ ‘You look it,’ says the Captain. ‘There’s your room.’ Jonah goes in and tries to lock the door, but there is no key in the lock. Hearing Jonah fumbling foolishly with the lock, the Captain laughs softly to himself. He mutters something about how prisoners are never allowed to lock their cell doors from inside. Still dressed and dusty, Jonah throws himself onto his bunk. The low ceiling of the little cabin almost rests on his forehead. The air is stuffy, and Jonah gasps. In that cramped hole, below the ship’s waterline, Jonah feels a warning of the suffocating hour to come. Then the whale will hold him in the smallest chamber of its belly.

“Screwed at its axis against the side, a swinging lamp slightly oscillates in Jonah’s room; and the ship, heeling over towards the wharf with the weight of the last bales received, the lamp, flame and all, though in slight motion, still maintains a permanent obliquity with reference to the room; though, in truth, infallibly straight itself, it but made obvious the false, lying levels among which it hung. The lamp alarms and frightens Jonah; as lying in his berth his tormented eyes roll round the place, and this thus far successful fugitive finds no refuge for his restless glance. But that contradiction in the lamp more and more appals him. The floor, the ceiling, and the side, are all awry. ‘Oh! so my conscience hangs in me!’ he groans, ‘straight upwards, so it burns; but the chambers of my soul are all in crookedness!’

“A swinging lamp, fastened by its pivot to the wall, sways slightly in Jonah’s room. The weight of the last bales loaded has tipped the ship toward the wharf. Though the lamp and its flame move slightly, they remain tilted at the same angle to the room. In truth, the lamp itself hangs perfectly straight. It only reveals how falsely level everything around it appears. The lamp alarms and frightens Jonah. As he lies in his berth, his tormented eyes roam around the room. Though he has escaped so far, he can find no place to rest his gaze. But the contradiction of the lamp appalls him more and more. The floor, the ceiling, and the wall are all crooked. ‘Oh! That is how my conscience hangs inside me!’ he groans. ‘It burns straight upward, but the chambers of my soul are all crooked!’”

“Like one who after a night of drunken revelry hies to his bed, still reeling, but with conscience yet pricking him, as the plungings of the Roman race-horse but so much the more strike his steel tags into him; as one who in that miserable plight still turns and turns in giddy anguish, praying God for annihilation until the fit be passed; and at last amid the whirl of woe he feels, a deep stupor steals over him, as over the man who bleeds to death, for conscience is the wound, and there’s naught to staunch it; so, after sore wrestlings in his berth, Jonah’s prodigy of ponderous misery drags him drowning down to sleep.

“Imagine a man staggering to bed after a night of drunken revelry, still tormented by his conscience. The more he struggles, the deeper his conscience pricks him. He is like a Roman racehorse whose struggles only drive its spurs deeper into its flesh. In his misery, the man tosses and turns in dizzy anguish, praying that God will annihilate him before the spell passes. At last, amid all this swirling misery, a deep stupor comes over him, as it does over a man bleeding to death. For conscience is the wound, and nothing can stop the bleeding. Just so, after Jonah struggles painfully in his berth, the enormous weight of his misery drags him down into sleep, as if he were drowning.

“And now the time of tide has come; the ship casts off her cables; and from the deserted wharf the uncheered ship for Tarshish, all careening, glides to sea. That ship, my friends, was the first of recorded smugglers! the contraband was Jonah. But the sea rebels; he will not bear the wicked burden. A dreadful storm comes on, the ship is like to break. But now when the boatswain calls all hands to lighten her; when boxes, bales, and jars are clattering overboard; when the wind is shrieking, and the men are yelling, and every plank thunders with trampling feet right over Jonah’s head; in all this raging tumult, Jonah sleeps his hideous sleep. He sees no black sky and raging sea, feels not the reeling timbers, and little hears he or heeds he the far rush of the mighty whale, which even now with open mouth is cleaving the seas after him. Aye, shipmates, Jonah was gone down into the sides of the ship—a berth in the cabin as I have taken it, and was fast asleep. But the frightened master comes to him, and shrieks in his dead ear, ‘What meanest thou, O, sleeper! arise!’ Startled from his lethargy by that direful cry, Jonah staggers to his feet, and stumbling to the deck, grasps a shroud, to look out upon the sea. But at that moment he is sprung upon by a panther billow leaping over the bulwarks. Wave after wave thus leaps into the ship, and finding no speedy vent runs roaring fore and aft, till the mariners come nigh to drowning while yet afloat. And ever, as the white moon shows her affrighted face from the steep gullies in the blackness overhead, aghast Jonah sees the rearing bowsprit pointing high upward, but soon beat downward again towards the tormented deep.

“And now the tide has come. The ship casts off her ropes and sails from the deserted wharf, listing as she glides toward the sea. No one cheers the ship bound for Tarshish. That ship, my friends, was the first smuggler on record! The contraband was Jonah. But the sea rebels. He will not carry the wicked burden. A dreadful storm comes on, and the ship is close to breaking apart. The boatswain calls all hands to lighten her. Boxes, bales, and jars clatter overboard. The wind shrieks, the men yell, and every plank thunders with footsteps right over Jonah’s head. Yet through all this raging turmoil, Jonah sleeps his hideous sleep. He sees no black sky or raging sea. He does not feel the ship’s timbers rolling. He barely hears or notices the distant rush of the mighty whale. Even now, the whale is cutting through the sea after him, mouth open. Yes, shipmates, Jonah had gone down into the ship and was fast asleep. As I understand it, he was in a berth in the cabin. But the frightened captain comes to him and shrieks into his unhearing ear, ‘What are you doing, sleeper! Get up!’ That dreadful cry jolts Jonah from his stupor. He staggers to his feet, stumbles onto the deck, and grabs a shroud to look out at the sea. But at that moment, a wave leaps over the ship’s side and springs on him like a panther. Wave after wave leaps into the ship. The water cannot quickly escape and roars from bow to stern. The sailors nearly drown while the ship is still afloat. Again and again, the white moon shows her frightened face through the deep gaps in the darkness overhead. And each time, Jonah sees the bowsprit rise high into the air. Soon it is beaten down again toward the tormented sea. He watches, aghast.

“Terrors upon terrors run shouting through his soul. In all his cringing attitudes, the God-fugitive is now too plainly known. The sailors mark him; more and more certain grow their suspicions of him, and at last, fully to test the truth, by referring the whole matter to high Heaven, they fall to casting lots, to see for whose cause this great tempest was upon them. The lot is Jonah’s; that discovered, then how furiously they mob him with their questions. ‘What is thine occupation? Whence comest thou? Thy country? What people? But mark now, my shipmates, the behavior of poor Jonah. The eager mariners but ask him who he is, and where from; whereas, they not only receive an answer to those questions, but likewise another answer to a question not put by them, but the unsolicited answer is forced from Jonah by the hard hand of God that is upon him.

“Terror after terror runs shouting through his soul. In every frightened pose, the man fleeing God is now all too easy to recognize. The sailors notice him, and their suspicions grow stronger. Finally, to test the truth, they leave the whole matter to heaven. They cast lots to see who has brought this great storm upon them. The lot falls on Jonah. Once they discover this, they crowd around him and furiously question him. ‘What do you do? Where do you come from? What is your country? Who are your people?’ But watch poor Jonah’s behavior now, my shipmates. The eager sailors ask only who he is and where he comes from. Yet they receive answers to those questions and to another question they did not ask. God’s heavy hand upon Jonah forces that unasked answer from him.

“‘I am a Hebrew,’ he cries—and then—‘I fear the Lord the God of Heaven who hath made the sea and the dry land!’ Fear him, O Jonah? Aye, well mightest thou fear the Lord God then! Straightway, he now goes on to make a full confession; whereupon the mariners became more and more appalled, but still are pitiful. For when Jonah, not yet supplicating God for mercy, since he but too well knew the darkness of his deserts,—when wretched Jonah cries out to them to take him and cast him forth into the sea, for he knew that for his sake this great tempest was upon them; they mercifully turn from him, and seek by other means to save the ship. But all in vain; the indignant gale howls louder; then, with one hand raised invokingly to God, with the other they not unreluctantly lay hold of Jonah.

“‘I am a Hebrew,’ he cries, and then, ‘I fear the Lord, the God of Heaven, who made the sea and the dry land!’ Fear him, Jonah? Yes, you had good reason to fear the Lord God then! He immediately goes on to confess everything. The sailors grow more and more horrified, but still feel pity for him. Jonah has not yet begged God for mercy, for he knows only too well how terrible a punishment he deserves. Wretched Jonah cries out to the sailors to pick him up and throw him into the sea. He knows that this great storm has come upon them because of him. But the sailors mercifully turn away from him and try other ways to save the ship. All their efforts are in vain. The furious wind howls louder. Then, raising one hand to call upon God, they take hold of Jonah with the other, though not without reluctance.

“And now behold Jonah taken up as an anchor and dropped into the sea; when instantly an oily calmness floats out from the east, and the sea is still, as Jonah carries down the gale with him, leaving smooth water behind. He goes down in the whirling heart of such a masterless commotion that he scarce heeds the moment when he drops seething into the yawning jaws awaiting him; and the whale shoots-to all his ivory teeth, like so many white bolts, upon his prison. Then Jonah prayed unto the Lord out of the fish’s belly. But observe his prayer, and learn a weighty lesson. For sinful as he is, Jonah does not weep and wail for direct deliverance. He feels that his dreadful punishment is just. He leaves all his deliverance to God, contenting himself with this, that spite of all his pains and pangs, he will still look towards His holy temple. And here, shipmates, is true and faithful repentance; not clamorous for pardon, but grateful for punishment. And how pleasing to God was this conduct in Jonah, is shown in the eventual deliverance of him from the sea and the whale. Shipmates, I do not place Jonah before you to be copied for his sin but I do place him before you as a model for repentance. Sin not; but if you do, take heed to repent of it like Jonah.”

“And now see Jonah lifted like an anchor and dropped into the sea. At once, an oily calm spreads from the east, and the sea becomes still. Jonah carries the gale down with him, leaving smooth water behind. He sinks into the whirling heart of the wild, uncontrolled turmoil. He scarcely notices when he plunges, still churning, into the gaping jaws awaiting him. The whale snaps all his ivory teeth shut around his prison, like so many white bolts. Then Jonah prayed to the Lord from the fish’s belly. But look closely at his prayer and learn an important lesson. Sinful as he is, Jonah does not weep and wail for immediate deliverance. He feels that his dreadful punishment is just. He leaves his deliverance entirely to God. He is content that, despite all his pain and anguish, he will still look toward God’s holy temple. And here, shipmates, is true and faithful repentance. It does not cry out for pardon, but is grateful for punishment. Jonah’s eventual deliverance from the sea and the whale shows how pleasing his conduct was to God. Shipmates, I do not hold up Jonah for you to copy his sin. I hold him up as a model of repentance. Do not sin. But if you do, take care to repent of it like Jonah.”

While he was speaking these words, the howling of the shrieking, slanting storm without seemed to add new power to the preacher, who, when describing Jonah’s sea-storm, seemed tossed by a storm himself. His deep chest heaved as with a ground-swell; his tossed arms seemed the warring elements at work; and the thunders that rolled away from off his swarthy brow, and the light leaping from his eye, made all his simple hearers look on him with a quick fear that was strange to them.

As he spoke, the howling, shrieking storm outside seemed to give the preacher new power. As he described Jonah’s storm at sea, he seemed to be tossed by a storm himself. His deep chest rose and fell like a great ocean swell. His flailing arms seemed like the warring forces of the storm. Thunder seemed to roll from his dark brow, and light leaped from his eyes. All his simple listeners watched him with a sudden fear they had never felt before.

There now came a lull in his look, as he silently turned over the leaves of the Book once more; and, at last, standing motionless, with closed eyes, for the moment, seemed communing with God and himself.

His expression grew calm as he silently turned the pages of the Book once more. At last, he stood still with his eyes closed. For a moment, he seemed to be communing with God and himself.

But again he leaned over towards the people, and bowing his head lowly, with an aspect of the deepest yet manliest humility, he spake these words:

But again he leaned toward the people and bowed his head low. He looked deeply humble, yet manly, as he spoke these words:

“Shipmates, God has laid but one hand upon you; both his hands press upon me. I have read ye by what murky light may be mine the lesson that Jonah teaches to all sinners; and therefore to ye, and still more to me, for I am a greater sinner than ye. And now how gladly would I come down from this mast-head and sit on the hatches there where you sit, and listen as you listen, while some one of you reads me that other and more awful lesson which Jonah teaches to me, as a pilot of the living God. How being an anointed pilot-prophet, or speaker of true things, and bidden by the Lord to sound those unwelcome truths in the ears of a wicked Nineveh, Jonah, appalled at the hostility he should raise, fled from his mission, and sought to escape his duty and his God by taking ship at Joppa. But God is everywhere; Tarshish he never reached. As we have seen, God came upon him in the whale, and swallowed him down to living gulfs of doom, and with swift slantings tore him along ‘into the midst of the seas,’ where the eddying depths sucked him ten thousand fathoms down, and ‘the weeds were wrapped about his head,’ and all the watery world of woe bowled over him. Yet even then beyond the reach of any plummet—‘out of the belly of hell’—when the whale grounded upon the ocean’s utmost bones, even then, God heard the engulphed, repenting prophet when he cried. Then God spake unto the fish; and from the shuddering cold and blackness of the sea, the whale came breeching up towards the warm and pleasant sun, and all the delights of air and earth; and ‘vomited out Jonah upon the dry land;’ when the word of the Lord came a second time; and Jonah, bruised and beaten—his ears, like two sea-shells, still multitudinously murmuring of the ocean—Jonah did the Almighty’s bidding. And what was that, shipmates? To preach the Truth to the face of Falsehood! That was it!

“Shipmates, God has laid only one hand upon you. Both his hands press upon me. By whatever dim light I may have, I have taught you Jonah’s lesson for all sinners. So the lesson is for you, and even more for me, because I am a greater sinner than you. How gladly I would now come down from this masthead and sit on the hatches where you sit. I would listen as you listen, while one of you taught me Jonah’s other, more terrible lesson for me, as a pilot of the living God. Jonah was an anointed pilot and prophet, a speaker of truth. The Lord commanded him to proclaim unwelcome truths to the wicked people of Nineveh. But Jonah was frightened by the hostility he would stir up. He fled his mission and tried to escape his duty and his God by taking a ship at Joppa. But God is everywhere, and Jonah never reached Tarshish. As we have seen, God found him in the whale and swallowed him down into living depths of doom. God tore him swiftly downward, ‘into the midst of the seas.’ There, the swirling depths sucked him ten thousand fathoms down, and ‘the weeds were wrapped about his head.’ The whole watery world of misery rolled over him. Yet even then, beyond the reach of any sounding line, ‘out of the belly of hell,’ Jonah cried out. The whale had settled on the ocean’s deepest bones, but God heard the swallowed prophet repent. Then God spoke to the fish. Out of the shuddering cold and darkness of the sea, the whale rose toward the warm, pleasant sun. It rose toward all the delights of air and earth, and ‘vomited out Jonah upon the dry land.’ The word of the Lord came a second time. Jonah was bruised and beaten, and his ears still murmured with the countless sounds of the ocean, like two seashells. Then Jonah did the Almighty’s bidding. And what was that, shipmates? To preach the Truth in the face of Falsehood! That was it!

“This, shipmates, this is that other lesson; and woe to that pilot of the living God who slights it. Woe to him whom this world charms from Gospel duty! Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a gale! Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appal! Woe to him whose good name is more to him than goodness! Woe to him who, in this world, courts not dishonor! Woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were salvation! Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it, while preaching to others is himself a castaway!”

“This, shipmates, is the other lesson. Woe to the pilot of the living God who ignores it. Woe to him whom this world lures away from his duty to the Gospel! Woe to him who tries to calm the waters when God has stirred them into a gale! Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to shock! Woe to him who values his good name more than goodness! Woe to him who does not risk dishonor in this world! Woe to him who would not be true, even if being false would save him! Yes, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul says, preaches to others but is himself cast away!”

He dropped and fell away from himself for a moment; then lifting his face to them again, showed a deep joy in his eyes, as he cried out with a heavenly enthusiasm,—“But oh! shipmates! on the starboard hand of every woe, there is a sure delight; and higher the top of that delight, than the bottom of the woe is deep. Is not the main-truck higher than the kelson is low? Delight is to him—a far, far upward, and inward delight—who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self. Delight is to him whose strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base treacherous world has gone down beneath him. Delight is to him, who gives no quarter in the truth, and kills, burns, and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from under the robes of Senators and Judges. Delight,—top-gallant delight is to him, who acknowledges no law or lord, but the Lord his God, and is only a patriot to heaven. Delight is to him, whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of the boisterous mob can never shake from this sure Keel of the Ages. And eternal delight and deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final breath—O Father!—chiefly known to me by Thy rod—mortal or immortal, here I die. I have striven to be Thine, more than to be this world’s, or mine own. Yet this is nothing: I leave eternity to Thee; for what is man that he should live out the lifetime of his God?”

He slumped and seemed to lose himself for a moment. Then he lifted his face toward them again. His eyes shone with deep joy as he cried out with heavenly passion, “But oh, shipmates! On the starboard side of every sorrow, there is a sure delight. And the height of that delight is greater than the depth of the sorrow. Isn’t the top of the mainmast higher than the keelson is low? Delight belongs to the person who always remains unyieldingly himself against the proud gods and commanders of this earth. His delight reaches far, far upward and inward. Delight belongs to the person whose strong arms still hold him up when this low, treacherous world sinks beneath him like a ship. Delight belongs to the person who shows no mercy in defending the truth. He kills, burns, and destroys all sin, even when he must pull it from under the robes of Senators and Judges. Delight, the highest delight, belongs to the person who recognizes no law or lord but the Lord his God. He is loyal only to heaven. Delight belongs to the person whom all the surging waves of the noisy mob can never shake from this sure Keel of the Ages. And eternal delight and joy will belong to the person who can lie down and say with his final breath, O Father! I have known you chiefly through your rod. Whether mortal or immortal, here I die. I have tried to belong to you more than to this world or to myself. Yet this is nothing: I leave eternity to you. For what is man, that he should live as long as his God?”

He said no more, but slowly waving a benediction, covered his face with his hands, and so remained kneeling, till all the people had departed, and he was left alone in the place.

He said no more, but slowly raised his hand in blessing. Then he covered his face with his hands. He remained kneeling until everyone had left and he was alone.