Chapter III: Voyage in the Morley (4)

They appeared to reproach themselves for the sacrifice of rest and comfort they made me endure. Taking advantage of this state of mind, I entreated them to reflect seriously on their duty, keeping constantly in mind the absolute necessity there was, now more than ever, to avoid, under every pretence whatsoever, the company and conversation of the sailors. I assured them that any found unmindful of this line of conduct, should be instantly confined, and not allowed a moment from the prison until they were handed over to their sentence, which should visit them in all its heaviness, as no effort would be made to lighten the burden of their misfortunes,—and that they must go forth to their lot tainted with characters more black and odious than what their former crimes had brought upon them. I was afterwards under the necessity of using harsh measures with one of the late offenders, Mary Linch, who, disregarding the injunction imposed on her for beating one of her fellow-prisoners, had the temerity to break through her confinement and go upon deck.

15th.—The personal inconvenience to which I have subjected myself by keeping watch in the prison, and which I mean to continue in order to defeat every machination which the licentiousness of the sailors may attempt, however distressing in its effects upon myself it may prove, has been attended with much advantage; as, by breaking up any plans they may have formed, their insolence has been repressed, and their forwardness to mischief overawed. Besides, the conduct of the women, such I mean as may have had a leaning towards a dereliction of duty, and of those sentiments of returning virtue acquired on the voyage, were checked in their relapse, and brought by a sense of shame to a proper recollection and recovery of themselves; so that nothing at present exists to disturb a harmony as perfect seemingly as what I had recently congratulated myself upon, previously to the late occurrence. On account of the severe weather, a heavy gale blowing with constant rain, the women could not get their cooking done, and to show them a little indulgence I issued an additional ration of wine.

16th.—The restoration of order and proper conduct among the prisoners, the sailors also having discontinued their nocturnal annoyance, had led me to think my watching in the prison any longer was unnecessary; but accident has put in my way a paper which has considerably altered my mind on that point. This paper, which I found last night in the prison, appears to have been written to one of the prisoners by a sailor concerned in the late attempted breach into the prison: the hand-writing is evidently disguised, but the contents betray a determination to break down the bars of the prison as soon as they should perceive that I was become weary of watching. “_There are plenty of us to do it_,” says this curious document, and its intimations in general are so direct, that I think myself imperatively bound to persevere in the arduous duty I have proposed to myself.

The contents of this paper should have been inserted here at length, but that many expressions in it are too indecent for publicity: however, if any person have a wish to inspect it, I have preserved it for that purpose, as the best evidence of the fact, that violence may be threatened with impunity on such an occasion. It contains also a threat against myself, which of course I despise;—in this respect, however, they appear to have an eye towards my pistols, as the same important paper plainly shows.

17th.—At the usual hour this day I read a sermon to the prisoners, to which they were all exceedingly attentive. The remarks which it appeared necessary to make on passing occurrences, produced a strong impression on their minds, and many shed tears of painful remembrance over those crimes which brought them to their present wretched state, and found in their sorrow relief from their reflections.

The weather being excessively cold and inclement from the nature of the season, and the high latitudes through which the ship’s course lay, the cooks found it difficult to dress the victuals: I therefore signified my intention to allow them wine four times a week, should their conduct merit such indulgence.

Many of the prisoners had worked up the straw and the other materials for industrious employment;—some into decent bonnets for themselves,—others the like for sale, out of which they hoped to make as much as would help to equip them respectably on landing, and for that purpose solicited my interference to procure them purchasers.

20th.—The constant system of keeping watch at night in the prison, has completely disconcerted the designs of the sailors, who, having committed themselves in a wilful breach of propriety which they cannot now turn to the base purposes they had proposed, are evidently filled with disappointment and vexation, and they appear the more annoyed as there is no possible way for venting their dastardly malice. Besides, they are ashamed of their late behaviour in worrying the women during the night, from the contempt cast upon such unmanly tricks. At all events, they seem to have given up that part of their plan, as no disturbance now takes place during the night: yet I have sufficient cause to believe they will renew their attempts on the prison, should any opportunity offer.

This day a discourse on the mischiefs of idleness was delivered in the prison, and the remarks with which it was followed appeared to act forcibly upon their minds, if a judgement may be formed from the tears of contrition which some of the late delinquents copiously shed, when I desired them to ask themselves—whether it was not in a moment of idleness they had unfortunately given way to that temptation which led them into their late transgression against religion, virtue, and order. To the others I addressed some advice on the value of time, and the necessity of not letting a moment pass without doing something useful; and to avoid every thing which could tend to disunite them, or sour their minds against one another, as by cultivating good-will and friendly feeling among themselves, now, they would be the better fitted for those employments which they will have to resort to during the term of their sentence. The transition to the idea of their unfortunate circumstances drew reflection to their situation, and gave a favourable moment to impress upon them a thorough sense of those duties by which they must be regulated in that country in which they were now nearly on the point of being landed. The behaviour of the sequestered females is satisfactorily humble and correct.

21st.—The tranquillity of the prison continues undisturbed by the sailors at night, although circumstances occurring during the day betray their intention of further mischief, should an opportunity be open to encourage the attempt. The conduct of the penitent offenders continues to exhibit unequivocal marks of sincere return to virtuous reflection; and in proportion as the voyage draws near to its termination, the interest excited by their compunction increases.

Their companions from Newgate, who have remained unblemished, and progressively improving, use the most earnest intercession for the offenders, praying to have them united with them once more. In this instance, the recollection of the danger they had incurred made me unwilling to listen to this charitable advocacy; but they, with a kind perseverance which does them credit, applied to the Reverend Mr. Reddall, and this amiable man lent his assistance to their wishes, putting into writing the prisoners’ sentiments, which he this day presented to me in the form of a letter, in the name of all the females from Newgate, signed also by the penitents.

With this entreaty my compliance was easy, both in compliment to the intercessor, and from a wish to cultivate the disposition shown by the petitioners. I accompanied the reverend gentleman to the hospital, where, having called them together, I remarked with much earnestness on their general state, gave them my hearty forgiveness, and promised to befriend them in every possible way. It would be difficult to express the feelings of gratitude they displayed;—it was signified in sobs and tears;—it was eloquent in the interruption of their emotions. One, the most distinguished for habitual levity, was the most fervent in her expressions of mingled joy, shame, and sorrow; she fell on her knees, and repeatedly asked for that pardon which had already been pronounced. The scene was affecting to those present. I encouraged them to persevere in their present resolutions, and told them that they were now at perfect liberty to mix with their companions, but forbade them positively to go on deck, which I assured them was purely for their own welfare. They with one voice requested to be continued in their present sequestered situation, as best suiting their state of mind; to which request they had my ready consent. The following is a copy of their letter:

“Morley, at Sea, Aug. 21, 1820.

“HONOURED SIR,

“It is in the deepest sorrow of soul we presume to pray your
regard to our wretched situation. We never till now knew what it
was to be completely unfortunate, because we have drawn it all
upon ourselves by listening to the false persuasions of the wicked
sailors, who have led us astray from our duty to God and you. We
scarcely dare ask your forgiveness, our crime has been so bad, and
our ingratitude so great; and yet we cannot bear the distress we
are in at the thought of having acted as we have done.

“If our repentance can at all wipe away our offence, we beg most
earnestly that you will bear witness to its sincerity; and at
least be assured that we will not any more give you cause to be
offended with us. But if your goodness will pardon our weakness,
and overlook this transgression, our whole lives shall be given to
make amends for what we have unfortunately done. We do not desire
to go upon deck any more, but we humbly hope you will not send us
away in anger; and although we merit a poor character from you, we
hope you will pity us, and be as lenient as you can.

“We venture to offer our most grateful thanks for the goodness and
care you have always shown to,

“Honoured Sir,
“Your penitent and unhappy servants.”
(Signed by seven.)

“Thomas Reid, Esq.
Surgeon, &c. Ship Morley.”

22nd.—About two hours past the last midnight, the men of the same watch, whose indecent and unlawful doings have been so often already noticed, being on deck in turn, prepared to avail themselves of an advantage arising from an injury done to the bars of the prison, at the fore-hatchway, which had been crushed and displaced by the striking of a small cask, as it was hoisting from the hold. This damage, which occurred yesterday, could not then be effectually repaired, and _this almost paper edifice_ had no protection except the wretched locks upon the hatchway. Of this I was aware, and remained on the alert in case of any attack.

At the hour above mentioned I heard the hatchway locks at the grating distinctly opened and shut, no doubt by means of duplicate keys, and afterwards a rustling noise was heard as if the fellows were descending. This noise suddenly ceased,—no attempt further was made, nor any more annoyance given during the rest of the night. During this affair the utmost tranquillity prevailed throughout the prison, not one of the women having stirred; nor does it appear that any of them were aware of the circumstance.

24th.—At the usual hour I read a sermon in the prison, and have much cause to bestow commendation on the propriety generally evinced by the women. In my remarks I adverted to their behaviour latterly, bestowing merited praise on those who continued to observe the rules of moral and religious instruction which they had heard so frequently and with such evident benefit, since the beginning of the voyage, and who had uniformly testified their love for good conduct by never swerving from their duty. To those who had unfortunately relapsed, but whose subsequent contrition had cancelled their offence, I held forth the language of commiseration and forgiveness, exhorting them never to confide again in themselves alone to guard against sin, but with fervent and frequent prayer to entreat the aid of divine grace, when their reformation could not fail to be perfect, and their peace of mind ensured.

The sailors in appearance show less hostility than heretofore, and no further annoyance is offered during the night; the women also seem in no instance whatever to hold communication with them, even in passing conversation.

27th.—Matters continue progressively interesting, as the period approaches when the final separation is to take place between those intended for the colony at Van Diemen’s Land, and those proceeding afterwards to Sydney. A thoughtfulness marks every turn and action, mingled with sadness in some, and resignation in others; whilst many openly regret the termination of the voyage, as putting an end to comforts of mind and condition which they had not before enjoyed, and had not to expect in the place to which they were going. Still, however rarely, a trace of wild temper breaks in spite of all sincerity of intention to the contrary. This unhappy tendency of early habit was shown this morning by one of the younger prisoners, (Ann Farrell,) who for some very trifling cause quarrelled with and beat one of her companions. In the fervour of the confusion my presence put an end to animosity, which was instantly succeeded by tears of sorrow.

A sermon on the immortality of the soul was this day read in the prison by the Reverend Mr. Reddall. After its conclusion, I drew their attention forcibly to the subject, by reminding them of a similar discourse having been addressed to many of them in Newgate by Mrs. FRY. This allusion to their beloved benefactress called forth a flood of tears, with the strongest expression of feelings I ever witnessed among them, the whole exhibiting a scene highly complimentary to the revered object of their affectionate remembrance, and creditable to the poor women themselves: the effusion was spontaneous, full, and general; for most of them had known the lady’s goodness and humane exertions from their own experience, and the others mingled sympathetic tears with theirs. One moment such as this, even in the minds of those proud ones whose disdain for their former offences would spurn the unhappy wretches, would restore them surely to pity and protection. The haughtiest contemner of the sinner must, in this genuine display of gratitude and sorrow blended together, have instantly forgotten the errors of the past, and have felt confidence in the renovated purity bespeaking such humble declarations of contrition and fervent affection towards that bright and happy benevolence, which with sweet persuasion first led them back from the ways of sin and death, and taught them to cherish a hope of happy immortality.

28th.—In a former part of this volume I stated my firm belief, that even convicts are susceptible of gratitude; and in this opinion am I further confirmed by the feelings of the unfortunate creatures committed to my care, as expressed in the following letter addressed to me, and presented by the Reverend Mr. Reddall. The zealous and unwearied benevolence of this gentleman induced him often to visit them in the prison, for the humane purpose of giving useful counsel to those who might be disposed to receive it: on one of those occasions they solicited him to write this letter, expressive of their sense of obligation; they afterwards put their names to it, to be delivered to me before any of them left the ship.

“Morley, at Sea, Aug. 28, 1820.

“HONOURED SIR,

“As the voyage, through Divine Providence, is now near its close,
and feeling as we do, indeed as we ought, the full force of your
good-will towards us, it would ill accord with the impressions on
our minds, fixed there by your faithful performance of every good
office for the promotion of our comfort and our good, did we not
assure you of our gratitude, and offer you our thanks.

“These latter, it is true, are but of little worth; but they are
the offerings of sincerity, and we know you will not despise them:
the former will, we trust, be kept fresh within us to the latest
days of our pilgrimage below, by thinking on your many virtues,
and by the recollection of your truly benevolent and unceasing
attention to our various wants and best interests during the
passage. If, Sir, we consider the numerous cases which required
your professional skill and attendance among us, we are reminded
of your promptitude and attention, whether required by day or by
night.—If we reflect on your zeal for our moral and religious
improvement, we feel how much we owe, and how little we can ever
repay you.—If we place you before us as our protector, your
unshaken firmness in the face of danger,—your rectitude of
conduct, which the virtuous alone possess,—and the great
deprivations of rest and comfort we are grieved to say you are
enduring on our account, entitle you to every good feeling, in
return, of which our hearts are capable.

“Honoured as we have thus been by you, and favoured by your
sympathizing distribution of those comforts tenderly and humanely
provided for us by the Government of our beloved country, the
grief of mind our unhappy cases must naturally have excited within
us has been greatly assuaged; and we trust that, through the grace
of God, your good advice and able instruction in moral virtues and
religious truths will not be lost upon us, but that we shall
benefit by your counsel, when you will be in happier climes: and,
Sir, if through your instrumentality we shall again become worthy
members of society, wherever we may be placed, we shall have
continual cause to bless you, and to offer up our prayers for that
Government which has placed us under your valuable protection.

“Receive then, most respected Sir, our united best wishes for your
every good, temporal and eternal; and permit us to be, with a
grateful sense of our obligation,

“Your faithful and dutiful servants.”

(_Signed by one hundred and twenty-one._)

“To Thomas Reid, Esq. Surgeon, &c.
From the female Convicts
on board the ship Morley.”

29th.—In the afternoon of yesterday Van Diemen’s Land came in sight; but the Captain deeming it safest kept the ship laid to, and this morning again making sail, we arrived with a favourable wind in the Derwent, and anchored before HOBART-TOWN about half-past three in the afternoon, when the Naval Officer came on board. Soon after I waited on His Honour the Lieutenant Governor with dispatches from the Secretary of State for the Colonial Department, and was informed that a considerable number of the convicts would be received at this destination. The conduct of the women since the last date has been highly meritorious, with the exception of a trifling irregularity charged upon an elderly prisoner, which not having been sufficiently substantiated deserved no further notice.

30th.—Captain Brown having had occasion to go on shore this morning on the ship’s concerns, and it being necessary for me to wait upon the Lieutenant Governor, it appeared best to delay until the Captain’s return. In the afternoon I went ashore to see the Lieutenant Governor, who signified his intention of coming on board the Morley to-morrow. There having been a very heavy fall of snow, which continued the greater part of the day with sleet and squalls, the women were obliged to remain below. Nothing in their conduct has occurred to lessen my good opinion of them. They appear all in excellent disposition, and quite resigned to their situation. The anxiety of many of them is extreme to ascertain who are to be left at Hobart-Town; but though I am aware, from conversation with the Lieutenant Governor, that fifty at least will be required for this colony, still it seems more prudent to withhold that information, as they might otherwise feel themselves released from accustomed restraint, and, if so disposed, might be tempted to give loose to some irregularities.

However favourable the present state of circumstances be, I shall continue my nightly watching, until the termination of the affair is more satisfactorily decided by the removal of such women as are used to attract the attention of the sailors. The state of the prison is singularly tranquil, and the conduct of the sailors is remarkably quiet and reserved.

31st.—Having watched over the conduct of the prisoners throughout the day, I was detained by various concerns in the prison until half-past eight last evening, when I retired to my cabin to prepare the necessary papers for the women who were to go on shore. This did not occupy me more than one hour and a quarter; and on returning to keep watch for the night, I found that the sailors had, in my absence, taken four females out of the prison. Having made immediate search, assisted by Captain Brown and the chief mate, I discovered three of them in the hammocks of three of the sailors; the fourth, who was elsewhere concealed with a sailor, came from her hiding-place;—the four were of course put immediately in proper restraint.

At an early hour this morning I waited on the Lieutenant Governor, and laid the whole affair before him, when he entered warmly into the merits of the case, and promised his full support. This circumstance hastened His Honour’s determination to come on board, as he had previously intended. About 11 A. M. the Lieutenant Governor came and inspected the condition of the prisoners, expressing in strong terms his approbation of their appearance, and also the satisfaction he felt, and the conviction he entertained of their moral improvement. Agreeably to promise, I interested myself in their behalf, and obtained a comfortable settlement for many of the most deserving, and enabled the others destined for this dependency to indulge in the most pleasing expectations as to the same effect.

The Lieutenant Governor having returned, a constable came on board by order of His Honour, and took into custody the four sailors with whom the women had been found, also a fifth who was principally concerned in taking them out of the prison: he was about taking them away, when the remaining crew, in the most violent and mutinous manner, broke off their work; three of them forced the constable to take them also as prisoners along with the other five; to which the constable felt himself compelled to submit. The rest refused to return to their duty, and to a man went below. The Police Magistrate, Mr. Humphrey, who was not in town when I waited on the Lieutenant Governor in the morning, now came off to the ship, followed by a serjeant with a file of soldiers. On his coming aboard, the sailors were commanded by Captain Brown, by the advice of the Magistrate, to go to their duty; but they obstinately refused. The Magistrate in the most mild and liberal manner advised them to reflect on their imprudence, and pointed out to them the serious consequences they incurred by such behaviour. Still they persisted, directing their whole violence of abuse against me for having, as they said, threatened to shoot any of them who should come in my way,—with other strange and unfounded clamours of the same kind. To the remonstrances of the Magistrate they appeared to pay but little attention, although the soldiers were drawn up under arms beside them. Upon their alluding to me, I openly challenged them then or at any other time to advance any charge they might have against me, as I was perfectly amenable to the laws, if my conduct were not correct; but, at the same time, I renewed my warning to them in the most solemn manner, not to be found trespassing on the precincts of my duty, else, if they did not keep in recollection this salutary caution, they would with positive certainty have to repent of their folly. After much silly and vulgar rodomontade, they suddenly changed their tone, and one by one, in the most ungracious manner, laid aside their stubbornness and returned to their work.

In the mean time the three sailors who had forced themselves on the constable, and were conducted to prison, having been humanely reprimanded by the Lieutenant Governor and sent back, came again on board and went to work like the rest: the soldiers, however, were ordered to remain on guard upon deck during the night. The sullen manner in which the sailors returned to their duty convinced me that they harboured evil designs, and from information received, I had been previously assured that they had formed an intention of offering to me serious personal injury; I have therefore determined to keep watch in the prison as before, and in the most effective manner to repel their aggressions.

Nothing can be more plainly demonstrative of the deplorable state of insubordination existing among sailors in the merchant service, than the occurrences of this day have proved; for, over such selfish and ungrateful beings the master can exercise no authority whatever of a coercive nature, whilst they, acting on an arbitrary code of regulations formed among themselves, can insult him with impunity, the law allowing him no redress. In this state of things the voyage must depend for its comforts, security, and in some measure for its success, on their capricious combinations.

_September_ 1st.—Last night passed away without further disturbance on the part of the sailors, and the guard was this morning recalled. Having to wait on the Lieutenant Governor, by appointment, in the forenoon, I was obliged to anticipate my usual hour, and shortly after 9 A. M. assembled the women in the prison, accompanied by the Reverend Mr. Reddall and Captain Brown, to read to them the following farewell address prepared for the occasion.

On many former occasions of this kind their behaviour demanded from me the strongest approbation; but I must confess that on the present the feeling evolved in the course of this duty was such as would be creditable to any Christian assembly whatever. Their expressions of grief and contrition for the errors which had placed them in their present unhappy situation were poignant in the extreme, and would indeed be difficult of description. The keen sense of virtue acquired by fruitful repentance made them look down upon themselves as deeply degraded by vice, and cast an additional gloom and disgrace over their punishment. That hour I found indeed full reward for all the pains I had taken in their improvement, because it showed me that, however frail and erring some of them might still prove, the far greater number were sensibly, and I would hope permanently, reformed.

FAREWELL ADMONITION.

Having now arrived at that destination to which many of us have for some time looked forward with anxious solicitude and uncertainty, I wish to avail myself of the present opportunity to offer a few reflections which have at different times occurred to me, respecting your future conduct and welfare in life. In putting together my thoughts upon this subject, it has been my aim to frame an advice for the moral guidance of you all, but more particularly of those whose tender years and inexperience may unfit them for performing a part on the great theatre of life, to which they will very soon be introduced. To use this world so as not to abuse it, is decidedly the most important lesson that either religion or philosophy inculcates; but it must not be denied, at the same time, that it is one of considerable difficulty.

It is not my intention to entertain you with a dissertation on speculative philosophy, or a discussion of theological arguments; I shall simply, for the sake of perspicuity, endeavour to observe a certain order in the arrangement of my subject; but my sole object is to solace your minds by explaining, as well as I can, the pleasing advantages which every one of you may receive from the doctrines of the Christian religion.

First, then, let me request your attention to the behaviour of one of your own sex, in whose situation, as a sinner, many of you, perhaps, will perceive a strong resemblance to your own. The transaction is recorded in the Gospel according to St. Luke, 7th chapter 37th and following verses, in these words: “And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner. And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most? Simon answered and said, I suppose that he to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore, I say unto thee, her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little. And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. And they that sat at meat with him began to say within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also? And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.”

This interesting little narrative presents to us one of the most affecting pictures to be met with any where in Scripture. The life of this woman had been stained by the commission of crimes of the deepest dye in the sight of Heaven. Her heart was now filled with bitter anguish, and the keenest remorse, which left no room for hope in her bosom. She had long endured the wretchedness of a sinful life; the scorn of the world had often lacerated the finest feelings of her heart; her sense of shame was intense, and with the most profound humility she fell at the feet of her Redeemer, but dared not to supplicate or indulge a hope of mercy: she never ceased to wash the feet of Jesus with her tears, and to dry them with the hairs of her head; thus showing her repentance to be sincere: and she found mercy. Jesus did not reject her; but, with the tenderness of an affectionate father, pronounced those encouraging words, “Daughter, thy sins are forgiven thee.” Can any of you imagine the inexpressible joy, the heavenly rapture, that thrilled upon the heart and illuminated the hitherto darkened soul of this deluded sinner, when the eternal Son of God signified her pardon? It is quite certain, that, however greatly we may magnify the idea of her happiness, we shall fall short, infinitely short, of the delightful reality; for we are assured by divine authority[21], that “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”

We have every reason to believe that the shame, confusion, and sorrow, with which this unhappy woman was overpowered, were entirely removed at the very instant of pronouncing her forgiveness: for these soul-harrowing feelings belong to guilt; they are the price which must be paid for sinful pleasures; they are, in short, the only certain fruit that sin produces. These very feelings were intended by our Maker to stop us in the career of vice; from which having fairly turned, they disappear, and give way to that real, inward satisfaction which is the happy effect of sincere virtue.

I think we shall do well to pause here a moment, and inquire whether there were any other means by which this woman could have been released from the bondage of sin, and enabled to break the galling fetters in which she had long been bound in the slavery of Satan? To this it may be confidently answered, Undoubtedly not. There is no possibility of our heavenly Father being reconciled to us while we continue in the practice of sin. It does not even follow as a natural or necessary consequence, that our own mere repentance gives us any claim to demand forgiveness; it is alone to the wonderful goodness of God we are indebted for that mercy, who has been graciously pleased to promise pardon to the true penitent, on account of the atonement which Christ made for the sins of us all by his own sufferings.

Although in my former addresses, the subject of repentance was treated more at length, and made, I hope, clear to the understanding of you all, yet I am not aware that it is in my power to render you a more important service, than again to take here a cursory view of its most important advantages.

I enter on the consideration of this subject with the greater pleasure, because I am satisfied that my former arguments were not thrown away, and that with many of you the great work of repentance is already begun. If the conviction exist in your minds, that sin is odious, and destructive to the soul, no matter how alluring soever and deceitful its appearance may be, what can prevent you from extending your abhorrence of it a step further, which will bring you to conversion? To render penitence complete and effectual unto salvation, we must first discover the nature and enormity of our offences, in a perfect and lowly consciousness of our own sinfulness. A confused belief that we are not what our Maker intended we should be, will never produce that change in our hearts which is necessary to real repentance: we must have a particular and distinct knowledge of all our vices, and a thorough conviction of our iniquities. It is not enough that, with frigid soul and unmoved heart, we acknowledge in general terms that we are excessively wicked and corrupt,—that there is no good in us, and then to indulge in transient sorrow for a moment. This mode of action does not certainly deserve the name of repentance, and in the end, I greatly fear it will prove worse than useless; for it never fails to harden the heart, and to conceal from the sinner the true state of his soul.—_In the Christian religion there is no composition, no arrangement, no trifling, no fluctuation, no dalliance with duties, no deference to darling vices: if the eye offend us, we must pluck it out; if the hand is sinful, we must cut it off. Better to merit Heaven by every suffering, than eternal punishment by every gratification._

It is no very uncommon thing to see persons deeply affected with sorrow and contrition for past misconduct, and sincerely resolve to lead a new life for the future, and yet their resolution fall to nothing in a very short time. This, I am apt to believe, will always happen whenever the love of the world predominates over the more sublime desire of inheriting eternal life. To make repentance sincere and efficacious, we must have constant recourse to self-examination, and a candid, impartial inquiry into the state of our own hearts. For this purpose, you must seek frequent opportunities of retiring from the bustle of the world, and accustom yourselves to meditate in secret. Should your poverty or occupation prevent you from setting apart a particular hour in the day or the week, you can subtract a few minutes from the ordinary time allowed for sleep, “to commune with your own heart, upon your bed[22].”

Reflect seriously, that another day or week of your life is gone; then examine how much you have gained by that time. “Have you conquered any bad passion to which you were addicted? Are you more pure and holy in your own eyes? Look back on your past life; trace it from youth, and put to yourselves the question, What have been its happiest moments? Were they those of quiet and innocence, or those of riot and intrigue? Has success in almost any instance realized your expectation? Where you reckoned upon happiness in the highest degree, have you not many times been disappointed and found least? Wherever sin or guilty pleasure formed a part of your projected schemes, did they not leave some unhappy impression on your minds that remained when the gratification was forgotten? Are you more the children of grace, than you were before you shed a tear for your transgressions? In a word, do you think you have made any progress in the journey of salvation?” These are questions of too much importance to the eternal welfare of every one of you to be regarded with indifference, or carelessly overlooked, because answers to them may excite confusion, or cover your cheeks with the blushes of guilty shame.

There is no dungeon cell so miserable, or no retreat so unsheltered, as not to afford some corner where prayer and devotion, the exercise of every duty of religion, may be practised. The sincere penitent will often be found to select the most humble and retired apartment as the hallowed spot for devoutly worshiping his Maker; and his earnest supplications for mercy and forgiveness, will be as acceptable as if they had issued from the most magnificent palace. Even in the darkest solitude of prison-gloom the inspiration of religion can be felt, and its operation on the heart acknowledged by the silent tear of contrition, and the melting of the soul in grateful adoration of its beneficent Creator.

That the assistance of the divine spirit is necessary to complete the work of repentance, and support our virtue, must not be forgotten. Without God we are utterly incapable of performing any good act. But this ought by no means to discourage us from undertaking and persevering in the glorious struggle; for we are assured that we shall not be left alone, but have the divine spirit always near and ready to assist us. If our own effort to repent and reform be sincere, we have no reason whatever to doubt that God will graciously aid our endeavours. “True repentance produces an entire change of heart and life; of views, desires and actions; a complete renunciation of all vicious pursuits and gratifications, with a firm resolution to keep the commandments of the living God; any degree of it that falls short of this, is not that repentance to which God has annexed the promise of pardon.”

Were my limits less contracted, I should endeavour to give some little description of the condition of the hardened sinner, and contrast his gloomy expectations and distracting fears of eternal punishment with the glorious hope of salvation, that heavenly sunshine which continually illumines and cheers the soul of the blessed penitent. Even as it is, a brief sketch of some of the most prominent features by which these two characters are distinguished may be allowed.

Here, then, I would beg leave to ask whether any of you really believe that the life of a wicked person can, under any circumstances, be truly happy? To this very important question past experience enables you all to return a direct answer: let me solemnly advise you, my friends, to put it seriously to your own hearts. Methinks, in the painful conflict that agitates and confuses your minds, I hear the still small voice of conscience answering for you, and whispering _No_. Do not, I beseech you, attempt to stifle these virtuous struggles of conscience to rouse the spirit within you from the fatal slumber of sin; but regard them as the warning voice of your merciful Creator and Redeemer.

But to return from this little digression: Let us suppose a bad man possessed of great affluence, and enjoying good health; let him mix with the giddy multitude, and drink as deeply as he pleases from the poisoned streams of sinful gratification, yet could we hear the true language of his heart, we should know from his own confession that he was far from being happy; that in the words of the wise king of Israel, “even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness[23].” His mind is perpetually haunted with misgivings and slavish terrors, because guilt is always attended with suspicious alarm. He is afraid of his companions in crime, lest they betray him; and of those on whom he commits depredations lest they detect and punish him on the spot; and, what is still more cruel, he is afraid of himself. His conscience, when he does reflect, makes him tremble at the thought of divine vengeance directed against him for his sins, like the guilty king Belshazzar, who saw his dreadful doom traced by a hand upon the wall whilst he was impiously rioting in the midst of worldly pleasures[24].

Such reflections as these, are the certain attendants on a life of sin whenever the mind is roused into action; and there is no opiate that can keep the guilty imagination always asleep. There must be periods in the life of every wicked person, when he or she will be made dreadfully sensible of their degraded state; when they will be forced to drink to the dregs the nauseous cup of woe, in which a double portion of bitterness has been infused by the poisoning influence of sin. It is of such persons the sacred writer speaks, when he says, “The wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. There is no peace, saith my God, for the wicked[25].” To be alone compelled to brood over this black picture of human misery, would surely be dreadful punishment in this life; and, O my friends! can any of us fancy what it will be in that which is to come?

How infinitely more gratifying is the contemplation of the character and disposition of a truly good man, whose mind has been fortified by religion against every vicissitude of this uncertain life! His peace is not at the mercy of the varying circumstances of a world perpetually changing. He is well acquainted with the nature of true happiness. Afflictions do not overtake him unprepared; he knew that his Maker assigned him a particular duty during his pilgrimage on earth, and he is determined to perform it, whether it be pleasant or disagreeable, for he is certain that his labour will not be of long duration. He is taught by divine wisdom to form a true estimate of this world’s gifts, and he enjoys them with moderation and thankfulness: neither elated by success nor enervated by sensual indulgence, he meets adversity with the firmness of a Christian, and the confidence of a son of God.

From the above imperfect outlines, which are rudely and hastily traced, some idea may be gathered of the comparative condition of the hardened sinner, and the sorrowing penitent; and it is for yourselves to say which of them you prefer;—whether you will choose to exist for ever under the avenging displeasure of your omnipotent Father, surrounded by devils and infernal spirits, writhing under the most agonizing torture which you are assured will never end; or inherit a glorious crown of eternal salvation, and live for everlasting in the refulgent beams of heavenly favour, in company with the saints and angels, and the souls of the righteous purified and made perfect.

Is it possible that any of you can hesitate which of these conditions you would wish to be your own, at the awful hour of death, and the still more awful day of judgement? The question does not admit of a moment’s doubt. _Who among us shall dwell with the devouring fire? Who among us shall dwell with everlasting burnings?_ Let me once more advise you, my dear friends, to persevere in the godly work you have so happily begun, that you may at the last day hear the Saviour of the world pronounce those ecstatic words, Daughter, thy sins are forgiven thee.

The next subject to which I am desirous of directing your attention, is the manner in which you ought to conduct yourselves towards your superiors; and the way in which your leisure hours can be most usefully employed: on both these points my observations must necessarily be brief. Moral government was ordained by God to maintain good order, and promote happiness among his creatures upon earth; and the end of society is mutual convenience and safety. The existence of society can only be preserved by judicious arrangement of its members, by assigning to each some necessary employment for the performance of which he may be better qualified than his neighbour, while he, on the other hand, engages in some useful service which the former did not understand, or was unable to perform. In this manner the business of life is executed, by one working and another instructing and directing.

Mankind has ever been disposed to pay respect to superior knowledge or wisdom; hence arose the distinction of rank, which it is our duty still to respect, for without it society would soon degenerate, and present nothing but confusion, or superiority secured by ferocious wickedness. Respect to our superiors implies obedience to the lawful commands of those who are placed over us. This duty is enjoined by the express direction of our Saviour himself. In the first epistle of Peter, chap. ii. verse 17, he says, “_Fear God, honour the King_;” and in the next verse, “_Servants, be subject to your masters, with all fear; not only to the good and gentle, but also to the froward_.” Seeing then that it is our duty to submit to the divine will, let us do it without murmuring, and resolve cheerfully and faithfully to perform our allotted part. To oppose the decrees of God we know is useless; and although providence may have given us an humble station in this world, let it be our consolation that in the next all earthly distinctions will be destroyed.

With respect to the employment of your time, very little need be said; indeed all I wish to urge might be comprised in the single gospel advice, “Be not weary in well doing[26]:” and to this you have all shown a disposition during the voyage that does you infinite credit, and affords me inexpressible pleasure. The materials you had to work on were scanty; yet you managed to be seldom idle. Idleness is the bane of every social virtue; it corrodes the soul, poisons every innocent joy, and is the polluted fountain whence the foulest crimes are continually springing. Were we all to scrutinize our past conduct, there is not one of us but would be compelled to acknowledge that the hours of idleness were those in which we first meditated a departure from the peaceful paths of virtue. Whatever has occurred once, is liable to happen again: therefore our only security against temptation in future, will be honest employment. It was commanded by the Apostle Paul, that, “if any would not work, neither should he be allowed to eat[27].” If we do not contribute our part to promote the good of society, we cannot reasonably expect to be allowed a share of its privileges and advantages. Any occupation that is not absolutely vicious is preferable to idleness. I shall close my remarks on this head with the testimony of Solomon, who says, “In all labour there is profit, but the soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing[28].”

I think a few moments may here be profitably spent in considering the sabbath, and meditating on the important duties we are called on to perform on that hallowed day of rest. To every one whom Providence in its infinite wisdom has placed in situations that require labour, it must be gratifying to reflect, that one day in seven is, in all Christian countries, fixed for them to rest from their daily employment, and in some degree to be on a level with those of more elevated rank and fortune, by furnishing to both an opportunity to supplicate the throne of mercy for pardon of their transgressions, and of uniting their voices in pious adoration of the divine Author of Nature.

Public worship holds out so many inducements and advantages, particularly to the lower classes of society, that it has always been matter of great surprise to me that they should ever be absent when they have it in their power to attend. In the tabernacle of the Lord, the high and the low, the prince and the pauper, the captive and the free, meet to perform the same labour, to discharge the same duty, and with the hope of receiving the same reward. God is no respecter of persons. That the public worship of the Almighty is an indispensable duty, no one dares deny who has not the hardihood to deny the Scriptures, and all divine authority. In 10th chapter 25th verse of the Hebrews we are expressly commanded “not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together:” and in Deuteronomy, 31st chapter 12th verse, is said, “Gather the people together, men, and women, and children, and the stranger that is within thy gates, that they may hear, and that they may learn, and fear the Lord your God, and observe to do all the words of this law.”

Some careless and unhappy persons, who, at the risk of eternal misery, trifle away their lives and spend the Lord’s day in frivolous, indecent, or sinful amusements, endeavour to patch up some lame excuse, such as, If they were to go to church they could learn nothing, for they already know all that would be said; and with respect to their amusements, If they were not engaged in that way, they should be doing something much worse. The conscience must be very dull and wretched indeed, that can be satisfied with such flimsy apologies. God will not pardon crimes merely because we might have committed still greater ones. Suppose a man were accused of robbery, and the crime clearly proved, would a judge and jury be satisfied of his innocence, and acquit him, because he did not also commit murder? Such arguments are too absurd to require serious refutation.

God himself has commanded a particular regard to the sabbath, and enjoined strict attention to public worship, and it is highly criminal in us to question his authority, or disobey his mandates. We may, however, be very regular attendants at divine worship, and yet be very bad Christians. It is not hearing a sermon, or muttering a few words as prayers, that will obtain for us the blessing of God. It is only the prayer of the heart truly pious, and the effusion of devout contrition, that can reach the throne of grace.

The object of religious institutions is to have our souls awakened and impressed with a just sense of our own unworthiness; to subdue the influence of bad passions; to have our minds stimulated to acts of charity, and our virtue strengthened against the temptations of the world and the flesh. I am firmly persuaded that none of you will ever be so impious as to make light or turn into ridicule the ordinances of religion and the attributes of your Creator; you may however meet with hardened wretches who will endeavour to destroy the last refuge of the miserable, their hope of salvation, by scoffs and jeers; let me counsel you against hearkening to such enemies. What can they offer that will compensate for the eternal destruction of your souls? Show the profligate scoffers that you defy their sneers,—that you are not such fools as to be cheated out of happiness by coarse jokes, or profane ribaldry. Prove to the world, that although you were deceived into error, in an unguarded hour, still the seeds of virtue are alive in your hearts, and that your greatest, your first, your last desire is to be reconciled to your heavenly Father.