Times have changed in Plymouth since the early part of the nineteenth century and its remote days of which our grandfathers told us. They could remember the tracts of waste land where robbers lurked- today these are thickly populated districts. They in their boyhood used to shoot wild ducks on a marshy creek where now are standing a great railway station and docks; and there are other changes too many to count.
Still, as you traverse the narrow streets which lead down to the sea, you seem to catch something of the spirit of the old Plymouth, and to see in imagination some of the men and women who served their generation there long ago.
One such man as this was Captain Jarvis. He lived away from the bustle of the town in a lonely part called Lipson. Today this district is smothered by thousands of small stone and brick houses, but when he lived there nothing but green fields and shady lanes surrounded his dwelling.
Captain Jarvis had been spending the evening with some friends in Plymouth, and the time had passed too quickly, as he discovered when he pulled out his great watch.
"Near midnight! And I have a long and gloomy walk before me. No, my friend, urge me not to stay another moment." He uttered a hasty farewell and took his departure.
The summer air was warm and still. The watchman bade Captain Jarvis "Good Night," but no other human being seemed to be abroad. The moonlight fell softly on St. Andrew's Church, and as the Captain passed under its shadow, he stood still and gazed up at the splendid tower and beautiful proportions of the whole.
Perhaps he was thinking of the days when Plymouth was only a fishing village and the church was dedicated to the fisher-saint of the Galilean lake. Whatever his reverie, it was rudely disturbed by a sound from the great tower overhead.
The bell was tolling the midnight hour. Mechanically Captain Jarvis counted till the twelfth stroke had sounded and the echo was dying away. All was over then—but no! to his surprise and consternation the bell tolled once more—thirteen—and then ceased.
What could it mean? It was unearthly. A cloud had obscured the moon, and this passed off suddenly, so that the church and churchyard were bathed in a light almost as bright as day. Then it was that the Captain realized that he was not alone—a man, a stranger, was standing close to him.
"Sir," he said, "did you ever hear the like of that?"
"No," answered Captain Jarvis, "I never did. It is extraordinary. There must be something radically wrong with the clock." He moved to go as he spoke, for he did not wish to stand longer in that place with an unknown man.
"Good night to you, my friend," he said. "I shan't forget this night very soon."
"Good night, sir," the other returned. " `Twas strange we both heard it."
The weeks passed by uneventfully in the quiet house at Lipson.
But on a certain night, just as the dawn was breaking, Captain Jarvis woke with a wild foreboding, convinced that somebody was in urgent need and wanted him. In his dreams he had seen a face—that of the man who had accosted him in the moonlight under St. Andrew's Tower. "Surely it is but a dream!" he said, and composed himself to sleep again.
The next night, at the same hour, the same thing happened. He could not be rid of the impelling sense that he was urgently needed, and in the morning he confided to his wife his strange experience.
"For God speaketh once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it not. In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumberings upon the bed;... He keepeth back his soul from the pit, and his life from perishing by the sword."
On the third night he was sleeping soundly enough; but at two o'clock the summons came again, and he sprang up and aroused his wife.
"I must go," he exclaimed, "he is calling me."
Mrs. Jarvis listened quietly. She knew her husband to be a sensible, level-headed man. "It is no chance," she said. "God must be sending you out on some errand of mercy. Go by all means."
Encouraged by her words, he dressed for a journey, and groped his way to the back door that he might saddle and bridle his horse. As he entered the yard in the dim light he perceived signs of movement, and immediately there came toward him William, the coachman, leading the horse already saddled and bridled.
"William!" cried the astonished master, "how comes this?"
"I don't know, sir; except that I could not lie abed a minute longer. Something woke me, telling me you wanted the horse."
Then Captain Jarvis told William his own experience, beginning with the night when the clock struck thirteen. Finally, he rode out of the yard, and as he had no notion whither he should guide his horse, he gave him his head and let him choose the way.
The horse took the road across the plain, and went on and on in a northwesterly direction, never stopping till it reached the river's edge at the well-known crossing.
It was scarcely daylight yet. A thick haze lay over the sleeping Hamoaze; not even a seabird was moving. The Captain must find out the ferryman's house, and was just wondering how he would like this summary awakening when another surprise overtook him. The ferryman himself was standing on the shore at the Saltash passage, watching the man and horse as they approached the jetty.
"So it's you, cap'n, is it?" said the old Devonshire man. "I knaw'd someone would be here soon, but I did'n knaw 'twas you."
"I can't understand it, John," said the Captain. "Here am I mysteriously awakened and impelled to go out; here is William with my horse ready saddled for me; here is my horse bringing me to this place unguided; and here are you waiting on the shore to ferry me across. What does it mean?"
"I dunno, maister, but I'll tell'ee what, there's more in this yere thing than meets the eye."
The flat ferry boat soon landed horse and rider on the Cornish shore. The faithful animal, guided by some instinct, jogged on for mile after mile, and at last the Captain knew that they were on the road that led to Bodmin. He rode on without stopping for rest or refreshment, till at length he reached the town, dismounted in the courtyard of an old-fashioned inn, and entrusted his exhausted horse to the ostler.
"What has brought me here? Why have I come?" the tired man asked himself distractedly as he wandered out into the streets. These wore an aspect of excitement, yet it was not Fair-time, nor even market-time. Captain Jarvis inquired the reason of the stir.
"Bodmin Assizes, master! There's a great trial going on—a man being tried for murder of some one down in these parts. Maybe you'd like to go and hear it."
Captain Jarvis scarcely knew why he accepted so dismal a suggestion; but, having nothing better wherewith to occupy his time, he turned his steps towards the Assize Courts. There he sat and listened to what was going on.
A trial was drawing to its close, and the prisoner at the bar was striving with his last chance of proving his innocence of the crime alleged against him. Was he at or near the scene of this murder on the night when it took place, or was he—as he repeatedly affirmed miles away in the next county? This was the crucial question.
The case for the prisoner looked grave. Vow as he might the place of his whereabouts at the fateful midnight hour when the murder was committed, he was not able to produce one witness who could prove the truth of his assertions. The excitement in the court grew as the moments passed by. Soon the jury would retire to consider the verdict—"guilty or not guilty." A man's destiny hung in the balance.
Captain Jarvis held his breath. The prisoner's back was toward him, and he could not see his face. But he heard the judge speak to him: "Have you anything to say for yourself?" and he heard the man reply, "I have nothing to say, sir, except that I am an innocent man. There is only one man in the whole world who can prove my innocence, and I do not know his name nor where he lives. Some weeks ago, on the night in question, he and I stood together in the town of Plymouth when it was midnight, underneath the clock in St. Andrew's tower. It struck, not twelve, but thirteen, and we remarked on it to each other. If he were here he could speak for me; but my case is hopeless, for I cannot summon him."
It was his last word of defense, and as he sat down a thrill of sympathy ran through the court. Then it changed to sudden excitement as a man at the back stood up and began to speak.
"I am here, I am here!" shouted Captain Jarvis at the top of his voice. "I am the man who stood with the prisoner at midnight under St. Andrew's clock. What he says is absolutely true, it struck thirteen! I identify the prisoner as the man who was with me in Plymouth on that night, at the very time when the murder in Cornwall was being committed."
The name and position of Captain Jarvis were well known to many in the court, and placed him above all suspicion. So convincing was his subsequent relation of the facts that the accused man was pronounced innocent by the jury and set at liberty without delay.
In those faraway days in the West Country, when men and women had time to think over the significance of things, this story became widely known, and it was not attributed to chance or coincidence, but traced in all its stages to the guiding hand of God.
Evelyn M. Hingston
Even in this day God still works miracles. "Behold, the LORD'S hand is not shortened that it cannot save; neither His ear heavy that it cannot hear." Isa. 59:11Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear: (Isaiah 59:1). And this is the consolation of His people in all times of stress and tribulation.
He is still able to deliver those appointed unto death; and the sorrowful sighing of the prisoner comes before Him (Psa. 79:11;102:2011Let the sighing of the prisoner come before thee; according to the greatness of thy power preserve thou those that are appointed to die; (Psalm 79:11)
20To hear the groaning of the prisoner; to loose those that are appointed to death; (Psalm 102:20)). Wonderful deliverances He prepares for those who cry to Him in faith. But the whole world lay in bondage to "the wicked one" (Satan -1 John 5:1919And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness. (1 John 5:19)); and all the children of men were condemned to die were it not for that great work of salvation on Calvary's cross. That is why we bless God above all for His inestimable love in the gift of His beloved Son; "in whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins." Eph. 1:77In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace; (Ephesians 1:7).
Never was anyone more thankful than the accused man when, on the intervention of this witness at the eleventh hour, his innocence of the crime was proved. But do you know, dear friend, that God in the Person of His Son has intervened for you—not because of your innocence, but because of your guilt as a sinner. "For all have sinned." Rom. 3:2323For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; (Romans 3:23).
His holiness demands that no sin, guilt or defilement may enter His presence. But the story of Calvary's cross tells us how that in spite of sin "God can save, yet righteous be." The stroke of divine justice against sin broke and exhausted itself on Jesus as He hung upon the cross. Now all who by faith accept this wondrous atonement and own Christ as their Savior, can indeed know the power of that word: "If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed." John 8:3636If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. (John 8:36).