Before I close I must tell you a story. This incident is so remarkable that when I first heard it it seemed to me that it could not possibly be true. But the man that told it was of such a character that I felt that it must be true because he told it, and yet I said, “I must find out for myself whether that story is true or not.” So I went to the librarian of the university where the incident was said to have occurred and I found out that it was true. The story as I tell it to you today is as I got it from the brother of the main actor in the scene. The story is this: About twelve miles from where I live, twelve miles from the city of Chicago, is the suburb of Evanston, where there is a large Methodist university, I think the largest university of the Methodist denomination in America; at all events, a great university. Years ago, before the college had blossomed into a great University, when there were not many students in it, two young country boys came from the State of Iowa—strong, husky fellows, and one of them was a famous swimmer. Early one morning word came to the college that down on Lake Michigan, just off the shores of Evanston, there was a wreck. It proved to be the Lady Elgin. The college boys with everybody in town hurried down to the shores of Lake Michigan. Off yonder in the distance they saw the Lady Elgin going to pieces. Ed Spencer, the famous swimmer, threw off all his superfluous garments, tied a rope round his waist, threw one end to his comrades on the shore, sprang into Lake Michigan, swam out to the wreck, grasped one that was drowning and gave the sign to be pulled ashore. And again, and again, and again he swam out and grasped a drowning man or woman and brought them safe to shore, until he had brought to shore a seventh, an eighth, a ninth, and a tenth. Then he was utterly exhausted. They had built a fire of logs upon the sand. He went and stood by the fire of logs that cold bleak morning, blue, pinched, trembling, hardly able to stand. He stood before that fire trying to get a little warmth into his perishing members. As he stood there he turned and looked out over Lake Michigan, and off in the distance, near the Lady Elgin, he saw men and women still struggling in the water. He said, “Boys, I am going in again.” “No, no, Ed,” they cried, “it is utterly vain to try; you have used up all your strength, you could not save anybody; for you to jump into the lake again will simply mean for you to commit suicide.” “Well,” he cried, “boys, they are drowning, and I will try, anyhow.” And he started to the shore of the lake. His companions cried, “No, no, Ed, no, don’t try.” He said, “I will,” and he jumped into Lake Michigan and battled out against the waves, and got hold of a drowning man who was struggling in this water and brought him ashore. And again, and again, and again, until he had brought an eleventh, a twelfth, a thirteenth, a fourteenth, and a fifteenth, safe to shore. Then they pulled him in through the breakers. He could scarcely get to the fire on the beach, and there, trembling, he stood before that fire trying to get a little warmth into his shivering limbs. As they looked at him it seemed as if the hand of death was already upon him. Then he turned away from the fire again, and looked out over the lake, and as he looked, away off yonder in the distance he saw a spar rising and falling upon the waves. He looked at it with his keen eye, and saw a man’s head above the spar. He said, “Boys, there’s a man trying to save himself.” He looked again and saw a woman’s head beside the man’s. He said, “Boys, there’s a man trying to save his wife.” He watched the spar as it drifted towards the point. He knew that to drift around that point meant certain death. He said “Boys, I am going to help him.” “No, no, Ed,” they cried, “you can’t help him. Your strength is all gone.” He said, “I will try, anyway.” He sprang into Lake Michigan, swam out wearily towards the spar, and reaching it he put his hands upon the spar, and summoning all his dying strength, brought it around the right end of the point to safety. Then they pulled him in through the breakers. Loving hands lifted him from the beach and carried him to his room up in the college They laid him upon his bed, made a fire in the grate, and his brother Will remained by to watch him, for he was becoming delirious. As the day passed on Will Spencer sat looking into the fire. Suddenly Will heard a gentle footfall behind him and felt someone touch him on the shoulder. He looked up and there stood Ed looking wistfully down into his face. He said, “What is it, Ed?” He said, “Will, did I do my best?” “Why, Ed,” he said, “you saved seventeen.” He said, “I know it, I know it, but I was afraid I didn’t do my very best. Will, do you think I did my very best?” Will took him back to bed and laid him upon it, and sat down by his side. As the night passed, I am told, Ed went into semi-delirium, and Will sat by the bed and held his hand and tried to calm him in his delirium. All that he thought about were the men and women that perished that day, for in spite of all his bravery many went down that day to a watery grave. Will sat there and held Ed’s hand, and tried to calm him. “Ed,” he said, “you saved seventeen.” He said, “I know it, Will, I know it; but oh, if I could only have saved just one more.”
Men and women of Birmingham, you and I stand this afternoon beside a stormy sea. Oh, as we look out at this tossing sea of life round about us on every hand there are wrecks. Will you and I sit here calmly while they are going down, going down, going down, going down to a hopeless eternity!
Men and women, let us plunge in again and again and again and again, until every last ounce of strength is gone, and when at last in sheer exhaustion we fall upon the shore in the earnestness of our love for perishing men, let us cry, “Oh, if I could only save just one more.”