ONE Sunday afternoon, a few years ago, two young railway porters stood on the platform at D— station. They had an hour’s leave before the next train came in. They were making plans as to how they should spend it. “Let us go where we can have a bit of fun,” they said.
“If it’s fun you want,” said an old porter who was passing by, “just you run up the ladder and look into the signal-house. There you’ll see the signal-man reading the Bible, and he’ll give you a lot of tracts, and maybe preach you a sermon into the bargain; and it will be the best bit of fun you ever had in your life.”
Scarcely were the words spoken when the two thoughtless young men were at the top of the ladder, looking in at the open door of the signal-house. There, sure enough, sat the signal-man, enjoying the hour of leisure also allowed to him, with a Bible open before him; and, to add to the “fun,” he got up and handed a tract to each of them, desiring them to read it.
“Read it! oh, yes!” said they; and forthwith one of them began to read aloud a sentence here and there in what he supposed to be a true Methodist drawl, advancing with his companion, as he did so, into the signal-house, the more to rouse, as they both expected, the anger of the signal-man. But they were not prepared for what followed. Without saying a word, the signal-man rose up. locked the door behind them, put the key in his pocket, and sat down.
“Young men,” he then said, “it is not often I have an opportunity of speaking a word to you about your souls. I have one now, and I will make the most of it. I will read you some passages from God’s word, and will endeavour to explain them to you. Will you kindly be still whilst I do so?”
“No, indeed,” said the young men, “we didn’t bargain for that. We have but an hour’s leave, and a good bit of it’s gone already, and we don’t mean to spend the rest hearing a sermon. So you’ll unlock the door and let us out.”
“No,” said the signal-man, “I shall not let you out till I have said what I have got to say. You know how often an accident happens to those employed on the line. How can I know that it might not be so this very day? And what account could I give of myself to God if I had had this opportunity of speaking to you of Christ, and had neglected it? If one of you were killed, I should then feel that your blood was upon my head.” And, in spite of their further angry remonstrances, the signalman read one passage after another from the word of God. He spoke to them of the awful danger of the unsaved sinner, of the love of God even to those dead in sin, shown in sending His Son to die for them. He told them God had pardon and life for such as they were, on account of what His Son had done.
When he had spoken at some length, he unlocked the door and said, “I am now clear of your blood; I can do no more but pray for you.” The two young men then went down the ladder, cursing and swearing, for their hour was all but over, the up-train was close at hand, and one of them had to go on with it to L—returning by the following down-train. The signal-man’s sermon seemed to have left no impression upon either of them but that of disgust. Perhaps you think that it was unwise of the signal-man to have forced the subject upon them, and that he should have waited for a more fit season. But God, who has told us to be “instant in season,” has also told us to be “instant out of season.”
The young porter who had to go to L—tried, no doubt, to forget all that had passed in the signal-house, and to think of something more agreeable. But he was to be reminded of the signal-man’s last words in a way he little expected. His journey to L— and back occupied two or three hours, and he returned to D— as the evening closed in. He at once saw as he stepped out on the platform that something unusual had happened. There were anxious-looking people going to and fro, there were marks of blood on the platform, and a little group of men with awe-struck faces were crowding round the door of one of the offices. The young man seemed to hear again ringing in his ears the words he had tried to forget— “There might be an accident today, and one of you might be killed.”
“Something the matter? “he inquired, quite afraid to hear the answer. “Yes,” he was told; “a porter slipped off the platform just as the last train went by. It took both his legs off. They have taken him in there. He is dying.”
The young man pushed his way through the crowd. Was it his friend? No; God had not yet closed the door for him. The man who lay senseless on the table was the old porter, who had sent them up to the signal-house, and kneeling by his side, in earnest prayer, was the signalman! The poor man was still breathing, but gave no other sign of life.
In a few moments all was over, and the young porter could now begin to realize the fact that the man who but a few hours before had been scoffing at the word of God was himself gone to appear in God’s presence. It was an awful thought. Could there be any hope for him?
The young man asked one who was present when the accident happened to tell him all about it. Had the poor man been senseless all the time? “No, not at first.” “And did he speak after you took him up?” “Yes, he spoke when we brought him in.” “What did he say?” “He said, ‘Fetch the signal-man! I am dying. Fetch the signal-man! I want him to pray!’ Yes, that’s the way he went on— ‘Fetch the signal-man.’ So we went to fetch him, and he came at once, but then, poor fellow, he couldn’t speak, and we couldn’t find out if he knew what was said to him; but we could do no more.”
And we know no more. The eternal condition of that poor despiser is to us unknown, and must be until the coming of the Lord. But there was one trembling sinner who went that night to ask again to hear the words of life from the one who had spoken to him in vain three hours before. The young porter believed and was saved. His companion remained unmoved. He must have been far more hard hearted from that awful evening than he had been before.
Circumstances alone can never change the heart. It is by the mighty power of the Holy Ghost alone that under any circumstances a sinner is brought to repentance. Thus the one thief on Calvary believed and was saved— his companion, who alike saw the dying Saviour before him, perished in his sins.
I would now ask you, reader, to consider this solemn truth, that, in the case of those that scoff at the people and the word of God, it is not, alas! simply in ignorance that they do so; at least in many, if not in most cases, it is not ignorance, it is the terrible enmity of the natural heart of man against that which he knows to be of God. When the old porter saw the awful reality of death before him, the one to whom he had turned for help was the very man whom he had treated as a fool, perhaps as a hypocrite, and, as it came out, he had known in his heart that the signal-man was right, even at the time that he had mocked him.
ML 03/09/1902