BY REV. ANDREW JOHNSON
And the sea gave up its dead.” —Rev. 20:13
Prophets have prophesied, poets have sung of the sea, sailors have sounded its hidden depths and painters have painted its glory and its gloom.
“Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean; Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain.”
Today the attention of a civilized world is focused upon the fell disaster—that greatest of all disasters of the sea. The dark graveyard of the Atlantic has unfolded its bosom and taken to its trust over fifteen hundred human victims.
The catastrophe “speaks a various language” and makes a lasting impression upon art, science, business, government and religion. The startling news of the tragedy for the past days has flashed over the wires, appeared on the pages of the press and lingered on the lips of the public. It has fallen everywhere as the “words of a fatal song.”
These warning tones of the Titanic’s fate will no doubt ring loud and long in the ears of an awakened world. One of the first lessons, taught in no uncertain terms, is that of nature’s supremacy over man. While man is ruler in many realms and great in his delegated lordship over many things, yet he must yield the palm, the crown and the scepter to a higher power. For with all his pomp and power and vaunted strength, with all his grand records of past achievements, he is still hedged about and hemmed in on all sides by the inflexible laws of Deity, and the stern forces of nature. What, though he has tunneled mountains, dug canyons, bridged rivers, harnessed steam, coupled together continents, captured the lightning, soared through the air as on eagle’s wings, plucked messages out of the heavens and practically annihilated space, yet for all that is he not baffled and beaten by hitherto unsolved problems and unconquered forces? Like a Mohammed or a Canute, he may command the mountain to come or the waves to go, only to be defeated and disobeyed.
The refuge.
Nothing like the recent wreck in all the annals of history has so powerfully and keenly emphasized the insecurity of man and the limitations of human strength. At best, he is but a frail mortal in the midst of, and in comparison to the greater forces of nature—a mere atom, as it were, in the midst of immensity.
Relative to the famous and fateful Titanic, there are portrayed upon the minds of the people two pictures of sharp contrasts, the one representing strength, power and glory, the other revealing weakness, sorrow and failure. No poet’s pen, no orator’s tongue, no painter’s brush could overdraw or overestimate the majesty of the proud mammoth ship as, launched and loaded, she starts on her maiden, her first, her last journey across the Atlantic. The inventive genius of man was taxed to its utmost in her wonderful construction and superb equipment. All the modern comforts of life, all the conveniences of land, all the luxuries of the rich, were lavished upon her. There were golf grounds, tennis courts, swimming pools, promenades, elegant parlors and concert halls—all things except a sufficient number of lifeboats in case of danger—that which should have been first and foremost was last and least in the consideration of this journey—a true type, however, of American and Anglo-Saxon life of today.
Thus fitted and furnished, the queen of the ocean, the mistress of the sea, a veritable floating palace of the deep, takes the commercial highway of the wide waters and sails for her desired port, proudly plowing the billows and breaking all records for speed. Measuring nearly nine hundred feet in length, towering like a city skyscraper, strong in her native strength and structure of steel, she poses as the very personification of safety. She claims and carries as her passengers, millionaires, bankers, world-famed editors, authors, actors, generals, pulpiteers, men of great renown and national character. She was manned and controlled by an expert and experienced sea captain and a large crew. The finest bands of music played, the sun of prosperity smiled, and it seemed that all things were replete—that nothing could be added to the comfort and convenience of those on board—all that remained for them to do was to “eat, drink and be merry” and enjoy the most pleasant journey of their lives.
Safely enfolded in the strong arms of the gigantic steel structure of the White Star line, men laughed to scorn all thoughts of danger and considered prayer for journeying mercies and providential protection needless. Why worry over wind, wave, hidden rocks and treacherous shoals; the invincible vessel is sure of her desired haven. Often when we feel we are the safest, hidden dangers lurk the nearest. So it was with the ill-fated ship Titanic. Sailing along under the silvery veil of a starlit night, her thousands of brilliant lights flashing out on the surrounding air, she meets a monster in her pathway. It is the crystal king of the emerald waters, the “ghostly sentinel of the banks,” mantled with mist and arrayed in long robes of cloudy fog, a mountain of ice journeying southward, which claims the right of way and disputes the supremacy of the gallant ship. Then the art of man and the power of nature measured arms. The trident of Neptune was triumphant. Man’s scepter fell, his crown was broken, the sullen crash of the impact of boat and berg has sounded around the world and aroused all nations. The last act of the tragedy of the Titanic at best can only be partially known, the full history of that final and fearful moment is buried in the two-mile tomb of the Atlantic, only to be fully revealed at the resurrection of the last day when the sea gives up its dead.
How suddenly the voice of mirth, the music of the midnight dance is changed into a doleful funeral dirge. Truly,
“Death rides on every passing breeze,
And lurks in every flower.”
As worshippers gathered to the Lord’s sanctuary on the holy Sabbath day just a week from the time of the awful disaster, they recognized, perhaps as they had not for some time, that He who walked on the storm-tossed waves of Galilee and made the yielding waters a sapphire pavement under his feet, that He who stilled the tempest with the voice of his imperative word, is the only “Sovereign of the sea,” the only Master of nature.
The awful disaster brings to light more clearly than ever that the curse of the world and the crime of this age is the spirit of rivalry, the craze for speed, the desire for luxury. The train of humanity, on account of this dare-devil disposition for reckless adventure, is running so fast that it has already developed a “hot-box” and is doubtless doomed to wreck if there isn’t a halt called soon. People generally are too reckless and restless. There is witnessed on every hand, in all circles and realms of twentieth century activity, an untempered and untamed mania for speed. The regular movements of modern machinery it seems can no longer satisfy this depraved and abnormal desire. Hence the strong hand of legislative enactment must, for the sake of the public welfare, put up a safeguard. Instead of luxury and speed, regard for safety and human life should and must be the rule of those who “go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters.”
The element of heroism and self-sacrifice displayed by some of the men and the undying devotion exhibited by the wife who refused to leave her husband, are silver linings to the dark cloud of the awful disaster, are redeeming features to the dreadful calamity. This, however, is only one of the innumerable instances of the great law of vicarious sacrifice.
While death is taking such heavy toll from human life, it is well for one and all to heed the admonition, “Be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.”
