Wreck of the "London. " by Anonymous

At last, but with greater precaution than before, the port cutter was launched, and got safely down. Six men were in her, but as she rose and fell with the fury of the waves, and every moment appeared likely to swamp, all felt the propriety of the Captain's words, that in such a sea there was but little chance for the boat. The command of the boat belonged to Mr. Greenhill, as second engineer, and without loss of time he was anxious that all who had determined to make one more desperate struggle for life should hasten from the poor doomed ship. She was fast settling down to the water's edge; there was a fearful swirl of water around her stern, and the cutter was in danger of being sucked down into the whirlpool of the wreck. It was a leap for life in the case of each one who jumped from the vessel, for the cutter seemed no more than a piece of cork upon the tumultuous billows, and no wonder that many paused and drew back in horror from a leap to what seemed nothing short of instant death.

It was while the ship was fast filling with water, and death every moment drew nearer, that some last words were spoken that will never be forgotten by the survivors, or by those to whom, in some instances, they were sent. What were Mr. Draper's last words? He had been exhorting and praying, without intermission, for more than twelve hours before the ship went down. Two of the survivors have a distinct remembrance of him as they last saw him, about an hour before the boat left. He was then in the saloon, and men and women were still gathering around him, and saying, "O! Mr. Draper, pray for me! " The last words these two survivors heard him utter were these: "Well, my friends, our Captain tells us there is no hope, but the Great Captain above tells us there is hope that we may all get safe to heaven."

Another saw him a few minutes before the boat pushed off, and his testimony is that Mr. Draper was then heard exclaiming, "Prepare to meet your God. " The devoted minister was calm and self-possessed, although the corpses of women and children were floating over the deck. His wife was with him: hand in hand they would go down together into the deep, and together enter into the Father's rest, in a very few moments now. Patience a little longer. Mrs. Draper was a sharer in her husband's faith, calmness, and heroism; a noble co-operator with him in all sweet deeds of self-sacrifice. It moves one to tears to hear of her thoughtful care for others in that last dread moment. A short time before the boat had left the vessel she handed her rug to some of the sailors to help to keep them warm. "But what will you do without it? " "It will only be for a few minutes longer," is said to have been her reply. There was, in this last act of hers, the simple, quiet expression of what her life had been for many years -- a life of inobtrusive effort for the good of others. In the hour of awful peril, when it would have only been womanly and natural for her to have claimed her husband's care and solicitude, we do not hear of her, for a single moment, interrupting him in his sacred task. She herself, doubtless, did what she could to help him in the work of imparting spiritual instruction to those who were every moment expecting death.

When Mr. Draper was last seen, and that was a few minutes before the boat was cut away from the sinking ship, he was heard speaking with deep emotion, but with the clear strong voice which naturally belonged to the cheerful-hearted man -- and that he was right through life -- saying these words; "Those of you who are not converted, now is the time; not a moment to be lost, for in a few minutes we shall all be in the presence of our Judge. " And again the word sounded, "Prepare to meet your God. " These were the last words that he was heard to speak by any who escaped, but doubtless, during the few minutes of life that yet remained, he continued to comfort and exhort; and not, perhaps, until the cold waters closed around him, did he give himself leisure to pray for himself, perhaps saying, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit."

Peace be to his sweet and precious memory! Although no monument marks the spot in the vast cemetery of the deep where his ashes repose, the place of his sepulture is well known to Him by whose mysterious hand he was buried, and in the appointed hour the sea shall give up its dead, and he shall be found in his place at the end of the days. Death to him had not come untimely. Thousands will bewail his loss, because it is theirs, not his. For him to die was exceeding gain. He had less of earth only to have more of heaven. Through the tempest and the flood he found an earlier passage to immortality than his love of labour in the Master's vineyard allowed him to anticipate; but it is all well, because ordained by Him whose way is in the sea, whose path is in the great waters, and whose footsteps are not known.

There were other last words spoken while the little boat was being held to the ship's side with all the energy of despair. Mr. Munro, a passenger, had made up his mind to try the faint chance of escape which entering the cutter afforded. All felt that escape was next to impossible, and Mr. Munro among the rest. Before leaving the vessel, however, he went down to the cabin where were some friends of his from Ballarat, Mr. and Mrs. Hickman and their young family. It was a terrible task even to make the proposition that he had come to make known: it was that there was room in the boat for one! It was impossible that the poor children could escape; not one of them could be expected to take the fearful leap required; nor could Mrs. Hickman; but her husband, -- he could escape, perhaps, if he would, and if the boat did live out the fearful sea, he might be saved. Mr. Munro urged his friend to avail himself of the chance.