How I yearned for it! How should I reach
it, if ever? In this frame of mind the attempt was
irresistible. I started as near as I could from opposite the
two islands. As on horseback, I got pretty easily to the
first island. Beyond this I was taken off my feet by the
stream; and only with difficulty did I once more regain the
land.
My next object was to communicate with Samson. By putting
both hands to my mouth and shouting with all my force I made
him hear. I could see him get up and come to the water's
edge; though he could not see me, his stentorian voice
reached me plainly. His first words were:
'"Is that you, William? Coke is drowned."
'I corrected him, and thus replied:
'"Do you remember a bend near some willows, where you wanted
to cross yesterday?"
'"Yes."
'"About two hours higher up the river?"
'"I remember."
'"Would you know the place again?"
'"Yes."
'"Are you sure?
'"Yes, yes."
'"You will see me by daylight in the morning. When I start,
you will take my mare, my clothes, and some food; make for
that place and wait till I come. I will cross there."
'"All right."
'"Keep me in sight as long as you can. Don't forget the
food."
'It will be gathered from my words that definite instructions
were deemed necessary; and the inference - at least it was
mine - will follow, that if a mistake were possible Samson
would avail himself of it. The night was before me. The
river had yet to be crossed. But, strange as it now seems to
me, I had no misgivings! My heart never failed me. My
prayer had been heard. I had been saved. How, I knew not.
But this I knew, my trust was complete. I record this as a
curious psychological occurrence; for it supported me with
unfailing energy through the severe trial which I had yet to
undergo.'
CHAPTER XXVI
OUR experiences are little worth unless they teach us to
reflect. Let us then pause to consider this hourly
experience of human beings - this remarkable efficacy of
prayer. There can hardly be a contemplative mind to which,
with all its difficulties, the inquiry is not familiar.
To begin with, 'To pray is to expect a miracle.' 'Prayer in
its very essence,' says a thoughtful writer, 'implies a
belief in the possible intervention of a power which is above
nature.' How was it in my case? What was the essence of my
belief? Nothing less than this: that God would have
permitted the laws of nature, ordained by His infinite wisdom
to fulfil His omniscient designs and pursue their natural
course in accordance with His will, had not my request
persuaded Him to suspend those laws in my favour.
The very belief in His omniscience and omnipotence subverts
the spirit of such a prayer.
