Methodism in Earnest

James Caughey

“In the world’s broad field of battle,”

But also

“In the bivouac of life.”

In house, shop, street, ship, everywhere he should keep diligently at his master’s work. It is in this devoted spirit we find our revivalist traversing the “boundless sea.” But why is he found there at all? Why is he not moving in the quiet sphere of a village or city pastor? Why does he encounter the dreary storm? - The dangers and unpleasantness of the ocean waste? Why goes he to another land? Does he expect to be greeted by the open hands and burning hearts of affectionate friends? Nay! His friends are behind him. None but strangers will he meet on the shores to which be hastens. Why then does he go at all?

Reader! Our traveller believes God has a work for him to do in the British Islands. He travels as a special ambassador for Christ! Faith in his call to this high mission is his only support. Inspired by this faith alone, he approaches a land already filled with ministers, many of whom rank far above him in position, influence, talent, learning, and skill! How Quixotic and fanatical if self-inspired! How sublime in his faith! - how simple in his obedience if called of God! But let us join him on this ocean voyage.

On the 19th of July 1841, I went aboard the steamer Britannia, Captain Clellan, and sailed about seven P.M. I spent fifteen days in Halifax, preached eighteen sermons; several sinners were converted to God, and one class-leader professed to have received the blessing of entire sanctification. I formed an acquaintance with some of the excellent of the earth in that city, several of whom accompanied me to the ship. No sooner had we cleared the harbour, than I began to be sick. The Lord favoured us with fine weather till Saturday morning. That was a bleak morning to me.

Nothing was to be seen but sky and water. Our ship was tossed about upon the angry waves like a feather. We could well believe the sentiment of a poet:

“The wave behind impels the wave before;
The waves that rise would drown the highest hill.”

Now the vessel was lying across the deep trough of two foaming billows, and again hanging on the dreadful steeps of a mountain wave. Sometimes both wheels were out of the water; at others, one wheel would be buried deep in the troubled sea, while the other was several feet from the surface. It was astonishing to see under what perfect command our engineer had the steam and machinery. The surgeon told me the greatest caution and vigilance were required to regulate the power in proportion to the dip of the wheels; as error or neglect would, in a few moments, be attended with the most fatal consequences to the machinery.

To lie in my berth I could not, to sit still when out of it was impossible; so, with a few other determined spirits, I clambered to the hurricane deck. Here we walked, or ran, staggered, or sprawled, according to the force of circumstances; and if some of these poor sinners had never read Psalm cvii. 23-28, they did at this time receive a most striking comment upon the passage. While some of us were battling with the tremendous motion, resolving to keep on our legs in spite of all the laws of gravitation, we amused ourselves with the reflection, if the sea does not succeed in finding us pleasure, we are quite sure it affords us employment.

I thought of the man who, when asked what were the first principles and principal parts of eloquence, replied, “Action! Action! Action!” If so, the deck of a ship in a storm is the place to learn action. There is not a gesture peculiar to the eloquent orator that he will not be forced to imitate, unless he cling to the bulwarks with his head over the side; like some timid preachers I have seen, who seemed determined not to lose the pulpit although they might their argument. Head and arms, and legs and feet, are all in motion; sometimes, indeed, not the most graceful, as, in “the storm and passion of the soul,” it is difficult to avoid “overstepping the modesty of nature;” but some are the most graceful imaginable. Nor should we forget the expression of the countenance at particular seasons, nor the eye in “fine frenzy rolling,” all indicative of the strongest emotions in the region of the heart. If a man have acquired an awkward method of walking, this is the place to get clear of it, for here he is put through all the varieties of gait poor human nature is capable of. If he choose to indulge in soliloquies, and he will be much inclined to do so, he can relieve himself most pathetically without disturbing any body, as the most of those around him are as prone to the same indulgence as himself; and the nimble winds will carry away his voice with the roar of the waves and rigging he knows not whither. Here he is “alone ‘midst busy multitudes.”

And this is the spot to exercise the lungs, and give compass to the voice. Only let our soi-disant orator have an audience of two or three, and resolve to be heard; if he succeed, he need never have any misgivings about making the most distant persons of thousands hear. I wondered that Demosthenes should have stood by the seashore to exercise himself in oratory, amidst the roar of the waves; had he only put out from the land when the storm was abroad upon the deep, he might have studied at one and the same time gesture and elocution. The promenade, or what some call the hurricane deck, is the place to exercise one’s judgment, I mean during a gale. For instance, two or three dozen waves are coming on with the swiftness of racehorses. Now the question is, what part of the vessel will they strike first? On the starboard or larboard? The head or stern? In what direction is it likely the groaning ship will lurch? What degree of inclination in the opposite direction will be safest and most necessary to neutralize these “eccentric laws of gravitation?” Shall I incline to the north or south, east or west? At an angle of how many degrees? Quick! Alas! I am flat on the deck, or clinging to the bulwarks, holding on in desperation, while I am greatly at a loss whether to show my displeasure at the outrageous laughter of my more fortunate companions, or at the fickle ship and unsteady elements, or retreat at once from the scene of my humiliation. The wisest way, however, is to do neither. Every mishap of this kind must be taken in good part; and it is generally thought no small mark of talent and good breeding, when a man can gather himself up without embarrassment, and rejoin the company in a manner the most graceful and easy. I assure you many have found it very difficult to avoid the indulgence of a secret wish that the good ship would try an experiment upon some of the rest, especially the merry ones. Then here a man may learn how to treat the world, and it is a fine opportunity. If many are walking to and fro we must always be willing to go out of the straight line of an intended course, in order to avoid concussions with our fellow-travellers. We must bear and forbear, live and let live, and join hands sometimes to keep a poor fellow on his feet. If a lurch of the vessel has sent a fellow-passenger adrift, so that he has lost all authority over his limbs, do as you would be done by, catch him if you can, but if not without a violent collision, let him go,

“ To run, or walk, or swing, or tumble;
As matter and as motion jumble.”

This is the place to learn forbearance. If a friend crosses my path, and treats me to an upset, I must not get out of humour; the enemies outside are to blame, and they don’t care a farthing for our wrath. It is hard to feel quite right sometimes. For instance, a stupid fellow is gawking around, and not minding what he is about; a sudden jerk, and away he comes like an avalanche, and “at one fell swoop” you are level with the deck; and, if you keep your temper, you may reason with philosophic Locke, “If a greater force than mine holds me fast, or tumbles me down, I am no longer free.” And if you have the good fortune to get clear of the grappling limbs of your vulgar companion, and have the privilege of shifting for yourself as you roll along, whether you will or not, you may experiment upon another plain principle of philosophy, laid down by a thinking man; and if you are too busy in other matters I am sure the spectators will think for you: “When a man tumbles a roller down a hill, the man is the violent enforcer of the first motion; but when it is once tumbling, the property of the thing itself continues the motion.”

Well, the day passed away slowly. I am sure it was the most bleak and tedious day of my existence; a day never to be forgotten. But the motion outside was nothing when compared with the “dread commotion of my interior self.” Milton somewhere talks about

“Prodigious motion felt, and rueful throes.”

I wonder if the poet was ever sea-sick. No one who has ever felt this “prodigious motion,” and these “rueful throes,” will ever wonder at the strong expressions of another poet

“Cease, cease, thou foaming ocean
For what’s thy troubled motion,
To that within my breast?”

As night approached the wind lulled considerably, but strong necessity kept me on my feet till eleven o’clock.

As I was pacing the deck with tolerable steadiness, a little man stepped up to me, and entered into conversation upon religious subjects. Perceiving that he loved to talk, and quite preferred to be the principal speaker, and not being much in the talking mood myself, his “ruling passion” had free scope. Finding me so teachable, he began to open his mind upon all subjects, which he thought a man of my age should have long since understood. The character of his mind assumed a mongrel complexion, part Quaker and part Deist. War he abhorred, and all kinds of priestcraft; and all priests were brimful of war and priestcraft, priests of every denomination. All denominations of Christians were wrong; the Quakers were the nearest right, but somewhat astray also. I told him I entertained a very high respect for pious clergymen of all denominations. This aroused him, and he recapitulated his arguments, as he thought, in a most convincing manner. I then began to put the little man on the defensive, by proposing questions and starting objections, but carefully avoided affirming any thing. For a time, as I still retained the character of a learner, he retained his good humour; but finding, what I before suspected, that it was much easier to ask questions than to answer them, he became very boisterous. His voice, not by any means pleasing, arose in shrillness to a squeak; so if one storm had subsided, here was the beginning of another. It was very gratifying to him that I should be the humble pupil, but it became rather hazardous for the pupil to confound the tutor. The dilemma was some times most humiliating. After labouring hard upon some plain question, and that too with the generous prolixity of one who said on another occasion, “I know your mind, and I will satisfy it; neither will I do it like a niggardly answerer, going no further than the bounds of the question.” Poor fellow, going beyond “the bounds of the question” involved him again in other questions, until he found himself in such a labyrinth that he lost, all patience, and called me a “blockhead,” “a most ignorant man,” “exceedingly weak-minded,” “incapable of understanding or appreciating an argument,” etc.

I told him all that might be very true; but, as I had placed myself in the capacity of a learner, he must not get out of humour with me, but have patience. Then, in great pity, he would again condescend to my weakness of intellect, and would try to make the thing appear as plain as ABC; but this gave rise to other objections, and he was driven to his wit’s end to explain and defend some palpable contradictions. At last he exclaimed, “You are either a knave or a fool.” I replied, in the height of good humour, “I do not feel greatly desirous of setting you right as to what I am, but I do assure you your self-conceit, to say the least, has involved you in the fog; so that I will venture to say, you don’t know to which point of the compass to steer for the rest of your argument.”

But I was quite mistaken. After calling me some hard names he steered for the stairway of the promenade deck and disappeared, to the no small amusement of one or two passengers who had kept close to our heels during the conversation. I happened to be wrapped in my cloak that night, and concluded he would not know me in the day-time; but he did, and was exceedingly shy for several days; but, before our voyage was over, he became very sociable, and never once recurred to our first acquaintance on the promenade deck.

Another incident occurred one night, either before or after, I am not sure which. I was sitting in the saloon reading. A number of gentlemen had commenced on my right hand playing cards. I concluded not to retire, and continued reading. The author suggested a few thoughts and as I was in the act of noting them down in my pocket-book, one of the party turned round from his cards and said, “You are making extracts, eh?” I answered, yes, and turned his attention to the lxxiii. Psalm. I told him there was great beauty and majesty in the whole Psalm; but the 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th verses were very significant: “ When I thought to know this, it was too painful for me; until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end. Surely thou didst set them in slippery places: thou castedst them down into destruction. How are they brought into desolation, as in a moment! They are utterly consumed with terrors.”

It appears, Sir, the Psalmist was pained, if not bewildered, on beholding the prosperity, apparent happiness and security, of ungodly men. He had been viewing them from various points of observation, but never could find his mind other than in a state of confusion respecting them, till he took his position in the sanctuary of God. You know, Sir, I continued, that landscape painters have to change their position often before they are satisfied as to the best and most commanding view of the scenery. One of these will wander up and down, from rock to rock, and from one jutting promontory to another, until he lights upon a spot which, above all others, affords the most superior view. So it was with the Psalmist, when his post of observation was “the sanctuary of God,” where he had a commanding view of eternity; heaven and hell were now spread before the eye of his faith; then it was he saw the dreadful precipice, upon the slippery steeps of which the sinners of his day were sporting; and he exclaimed, in a way he never could before, “Surely thou didst set them in slippery places; thou castedst them down into destruction. How are they brought into desolation, as in a moment! they are utterly consumed with terrors.”

The card player was very uneasy, and, as soon as I had closed my remarks, his head turned the other way, and he took good care not to ask me any more questions. He neither liked the position I occupied, nor was he satisfied with his own. Who knows but even this seed sown upon the waters of the broad Atlantic may yet spring up and bring forth fruit unto eternal life?

But to return, that stormy Saturday and its night passed away, as other days and nights have done, and a pleasant Sabbath succeeded. The captain requested me to preach to the passengers, which I did about eleven o’clock, to as many as the large saloon would hold. Text, Hebrews vii. 25. All were very attentive, God was there, and a very gracious influence seemed to rest upon every mind. I described Christ as the only acceptable medium of access to God: “Come unto God by him.” Two ways of approach unto God were then pointed out. First. To come unto God for pardon and salvation. Second. To wait till we are driven to be judged and damned. I insisted that God and the sinner must meet in this world or the next. That the man who will not come unto God to be pardoned must at last suffer the driving process. He must be driven to God for judgment, and from thence into hell. Again: That it was just as possible to be damned in coming to God in a forbidden manner, as in not coming at all; and commented upon the sixteenth chapter of Numbers.

My second proposition was the encouragement we have to come unto God by Christ. First. His ability to save, “He is able,” etc. Second. His willingness, “He ever liveth to make intercession for us.” An interceding Jesus proves he is a willing Saviour. Third. The extent to which his ability and willingness can go to save us, “To the uttermost.” Concluded with an exhortation.

I did not intend it, but I have scribbled away till, lo! You have the outline of my first sermon on the Atlantic. At the close of to service to captain invited me to preach to the crew, which I did after dinner. It was very sweet and solemn to hear to tolling of to ship’s bell. Many of the passengers mingled with the sailors. The vessel rolled about, but I contrived to stand pretty firmly, while discussing Hebrews xi. 7. Thus ended the feeble labours of another blessed Sabbath of my existence.

On Monday the waves ran very high, but I had become quite a sailor; had some pleasant conversations with several of the passengers, and spent part of to day in assisting a German to the right pronunciation of some English words with which he had great difficulty. The weather continued rough, and the restless sea, oh! ‘what shall I say?

“Wave rolling allow wave in torrent rapture!”

But day and night our fine steamer never paused. Onward she pressed to her port amidst a thousand insults. The prophet Habakkuk speaks of the “deep uttering his voice, and lifting up his hands on high.” Many-fisted waves were lifted up, and thousands of them would come rushing on in rapid succession, like so many giants, each more eager than the other to strike and overwhelm her; some would fetch her a blow right in the face, and half a dozen on the side of the head; while others threw themselves entire upon her; but rolling and staggering, she mounted upon their backs and “ran through a troop,” while thousands of her enemies fell beneath

“Those fleshless arms, whose pulses beat
With floods of living fire!”

In the midnight hour or at the morning dawn we could hear

“The beating of her restless heart,
Still sounding through the storm!”

As we were flying along the face of the waters, reflecting that seven days had nearly passed away since we lost sight of the American continent, we were cheered with the exclamation, “Land! Land! “ And “land! Land!” was re-echoed from every part of the ship. In a short time we were close upon the northern coast of Ireland; and about dark we ran down between Torry Island and Ireland, in the midst of an angry sea. The moment we lost our hold upon any part of the vessel we were dashed about like footballs. Next morning we were still close upon the shores of Ireland; and in the course of a few hours we found ourselves running along the coast of Wales. The pleasant hills of old England rapidly opened to our view, with Liverpool in the distance. After a pause of a few minutes, in order to receive a pilot, we entered the river Mersey, and landed about seven o’clock on the evening of the 29th of July. We made the passage from Halifax to Liverpool in not quite ten days; the quickest, I have been informed, on record.