him hear. I could see him get up and come to the water's
edge; though he could not see me, his stentorian voice
reached me
plainly. His first words were:
'"Is that you, William? Coke is drowned."
'I corrected him, and thus replied:
'"Do you remember a bend near some willows, where you wanted
to cross yesterday?"
'"Yes."
'"About two hours higher up the river?"
'"I remember."
'"Would you know the place again?"
'"Yes."
'"Are you sure?
'"Yes, yes."
'"You will see me by
daylight in the morning. When I start,
you will take my mare, my clothes, and some food; make for
that place and wait till I come. I will cross there."
'"All right."
'"Keep me in sight as long as you can. Don't forget the
food."
'It will be gathered from my words that
definite instructions
were deemed necessary; and the
inference - at least it was
mine - will follow, that if a mistake were possible Samson
would avail himself of it. The night was before me. The
river had yet to be crossed. But, strange as it now seems to
me, I had no misgivings! My heart never failed me. My
prayer had been heard. I had been saved. How, I knew not.
But this I knew, my trust was complete. I record this as a
curious
psychologicaloccurrence; for it supported me with
unfailing
energy through the
severe trial which I had yet to
undergo.'
CHAPTER XXVI
OUR experiences are little worth unless they teach us to
reflect. Let us then pause to consider this hourly
experience of human beings - this
remarkable efficacy of
prayer. There can hardly be a contemplative mind to which,
with all its difficulties, the
inquiry is not familiar.
To begin with, 'To pray is to expect a
miracle.' 'Prayer in
its very
essence,' says a
thoughtfulwriter, 'implies a
belief in the possible
intervention of a power which is above
nature.' How was it in my case? What was the
essence of my
belief? Nothing less than this: that God would have
permitted the laws of nature, ordained by His
infinite wisdom
to
fulfil His omniscient designs and
pursue their natural
course in
accordance with His will, had not my request
persuaded Him to
suspend those laws in my favour.
The very
belief in His omniscience and omnipotence subverts
the spirit of such a prayer. It is on the
perfection of God
that Malebranche bases his
argument that 'Dieu n'agit pas par
des volontes particulieres.' Yet every prayer affects to
interfere with the
divine purposes.
It may here be urged that the
divine purposes are beyond our
comprehension. God's purposes may, in spite of the
inconceivability, admit the efficacy of prayer as a link in
the chain of causation; or, as Dr. Mozely holds, it may be
that 'a
miracle is not an anomaly or irregularity, but part
of the
system of the universe.' We will not entangle
ourselves in the abstruse metaphysical problem which such
hypotheses
involve, but turn for our answer to what we do
know - to the history of this world, to the daily life of
man. If the sun rises on the evil as well as on the good, if
the
wicked 'become old, yea, are
mighty in power,' still, the
lightning, the
plague, the falling chimney-pot, smite the
good as well as the evil. Even the dumb animal is not
spared. 'If,' says Huxley, 'our ears were sharp enough to
hear all the cries of pain that are uttered in the earth by
man and beasts we should be deafened by one continuous
scream.' 'If there are any marks at all of special design in
creation,' writes John Stuart Mill, 'one of the things most
evidently designed is that a large
proportion of all animals
should pass their
existence in tormenting and devouring other
animals. They have been
lavishly fitted out with the