At this meeting I saw sinners yielding to Christ with tears of sacred penitence, for the first time in my life. Never in all my life had a spectacle more sublimely beautiful met my eye. I do not believe the world affords a more grateful sight than that of a sinner weeping and repenting before his Creator.
The parting scene of that meeting left an indelible impression on my memory. Even now I see that affectionate company marching in regular and joyful procession before the stand, each shaking hands, as he passed, with the preachers. Still I feel the tears chasing each other down my cheeks, as I grasped the hand of the sailor preacher so firmly, that it seemed I should never let it go; while he, seeing my emotion, observed, “Never mind, brother; we are on board of Zion’s ship now.” I had stood tearless alike amidst the wailings of the tempest and the roar of the battle, but here, among a few Christians at a camp-meeting, my heart was soft as a woman’s, and my tears flowed like rain. Does the reader inquire what made the difference? I answer, it was the love of God.
When I returned home, one of my first acts was to unite myself with the Methodist Episcopal church: an act which has led to the formation of many pleasant friendships, and which has proved the source of much religious enjoyment to my soul.
My mind often reverts, with a mixture of joy and sorrow, to the fate of the three hundred men and boys who sailed with me in the _Macedonian_, when I left England for the first time. Of these, alas! how many perished in battle! The rest were scattered over the four quarters of the globe. Beside myself, I never heard of but one of them who embraced religion. This was John Wiskey, one of our quartermasters. He settled in New London, and when he met in class, for the first time, he said he blessed God he had got out of that floating hell, the _Macedonian_. He afterwards removed to Catskill, on the North River, where he maintained a good Christian reputation.
My shipmate, who received me so hospitably in Mansfield, became unfortunate, lost his property, and died, but not before I had the satisfaction of offering a prayer at his bedside.
The little fellow who escaped from the _Macedonian_ with me met with a melancholy fate. This I learned one day from the following paragraph in a newspaper: “Drowned, out of a pilot boat, off Charleston Bar, Mr. James Day, one of the crew of His Britannic Majesty’s late frigate _Macedonian_.” Thus have I been signally favored--a brand plucked from the fire. For this special favor I hope to render my heavenly Father the eternal tribute of a grateful heart.