Twilight and Dawn; Or, Simple Talks on the Six Days of Creation Part 9

And then we read how, at G.o.d's word, that waste of waters went into the place prepared for it, and the dry land appeared. "At Thy rebuke they fled; at the voice of Thy thunder they hasted away. The mountains ascend, the valleys descend, unto the place which Thou hast founded for them" (you will find the verse reads like this in the margin of your Bible). "Thou hast set a bound that they may not pa.s.s over; that they turn not again to cover the earth" (Psalm civ. 7-9). I was very young when I learnt this long Psalm; and though I understood very little of it, and certainly did not know that these verses spoke about what we have been reading of in the Book of Genesis, I was very fond of repeating it, and I especially liked the part which describes the "great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts. There go the s.h.i.+ps: there is that leviathan, whom Thou hast made to play therein." Of course I need not tell you that I did not know what the leviathan was; but I liked the name because it was such a long, difficult word, and I have known other children who were particularly fond of strange and hard names. As we grow older we learn many things; and so--for I told you my home was by the sea--I got, in time, to know the meaning of a very difficult verse; that one which speaks of the "bound" which G.o.d has set, beyond which the sea with its proud waves "may not pa.s.s." When the tide was coming in I used to watch the long blue waves with their foamy crests coming nearer and nearer, and when I heard them break with a loud noise against the strong rocks I was quite sure that those stern barriers were the "bound" which kept them back, and would not allow them to come any further.

But by-and-by I went to a place where the sh.o.r.e was quite different. There were no rocky cliffs, like giants, guarding the land; only a long reach of soft white sand, with which I was never tired of playing--making forts with moats round them to keep off the enemy; or gardens with straight paths, and trim beds in which I planted sea-daisies and poppies.

It seemed as if there was nothing about this sh.o.r.e strong enough to keep back the great waves. They rolled in upon the sand with an angry roar when the wind was high, and swept away my castles and gardens in no time. Still, even here there was a bound, for the sea did not overflow the land; and so I learnt that those waves, which threaten to overwhelm everything in their resistless march, are kept in their place by G.o.d, who alone can say to the restless ocean, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed."

As the poet George Herbert has beautifully said,

"Tempests are calm to Thee; they know Thy hand, And hold it fast as children do their father's, Which cry and follow, Thou hast made poor sand Bound the proud sea, even when it swells and gathers."

I do not mean that the waves, as they rush like an invading army upon the land, have no effect upon it. Look at the Map of England, and see how the outline of the coast on the east and south has been jagged and broken. Or go and see the Needles in the Isle of Wight, and you will learn how the constant dash of the ocean can hollow out not only caves, but deep coves and spreading bays, especially when the land against which it breaks is made of chalk, or some of the softer rocks. Thus in the course of long centuries, the seash.o.r.e may rise or sink; peninsulas may become islands by the narrow neck which united them to the mainland sinking into the water--but whatever the land loses in one place, it gains in another, by the quant.i.ty of sand and mud cast up by the waves. Many changes are caused by the restless sea, but yet, even in its wildest moods, it owns the curbing hand of its Maker; it may ebb and flow, but still keeps in its appointed place.

This ebbing and flowing, which is caused by the coming in and going out of the tides, was a great puzzle to me long ago. I used often to hear the fishermen say at what hour it would be "full tide"; but I saw no mark which could help them to fix the time, and wondered, when I found their words came true, how they could know so surely. When I was older I learnt, what is very interesting, that the gradual rising of the ocean, which is called the "flow," and the gradual going back again of the water, which is called the "ebb," do not happen at any chance time, for nothing is by chance in G.o.d's creation, but at regular intervals, and in obedience to one of those wonderful rules made by G.o.d, which people call the "laws of nature"--rules which never change as the rules which men make so often do. And so we notice that for about six hours from the time when the tide begins to rise, the sea gains upon the land, either stealing on, step by step, over the pebbly beach, and creeping tip the mouths of the rivers, or, when the winds are abroad, rus.h.i.+ng over the sand, and das.h.i.+ng against the rocks, as if it would sweep all before it. No power upon earth can stop that steady onward march of wave upon wave, until the unseen boundary is reached. Then we say, "It is full tide." The mighty ocean seems to pause for a few minutes, then some old fisherman, who has known that sh.o.r.e all his life, says, "The tide has turned"; and for six hours the gradual fall goes on. At last the lowest point of the "ebb" is reached--a few minutes' rest, and then the "flow"

begins again.

To those who have seen it all their lives there is nothing strange about this, but when some brave Roman soldiers, who were accustomed to conquer wherever they came, saw for the first time this ebb and flow of the tide, they were more frightened than they would have been if they had seen an army of savage men with spears and clubs rus.h.i.+ng upon them with their fierce war-cry. They were in the presence of a power which they could not understand, and in terror they besought their general to lead them against foes whom they could face, or to take them back to their own land!

By-and-by you will be interested in learning more about the tides, but I will only tell you now that they are caused by the sun and moon. Two pair of waves travel round the earth every day, the greater pair obedient to the moon, which, because she is so much nearer to us, has a greater power of drawing the water to herself than the sun has; the lesser pair obedient, in like manner, to the attraction of the sun. This is all that I can tell you now about a very difficult subject, and it is more than I told Chrissie or Ernest when we were talking about the sea; but then you know we had not much time for matters hard to be explained. One thing which I think we did talk about was the depth of the sea, and I know there were some differences of opinion about this as well as about its colour.

First of all, then, How deep is the "deep, deep sea"?

Actually, in some places, five miles deep, about the height of the loftiest of mountain-peaks. I have heard that these far-away ocean-depths are very quiet and still--no rolling waves ever break their stillness, and this is proved in a very beautiful way. At the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, where overhead great billows which seem mountain-high are in ceaseless motion, there lie beds of delicate sh.e.l.ls, so small that you need a microscope to see their beauty, yet these sh.e.l.ls are unbroken; no storm ever reaches their quiet home; they are among the lovely things which the ocean hides in its "treasure-caves," and they only come to light when the long line with a clip at the end, which is used for deep-sea soundings, brings them to the surface from those

"Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Where the salt weed sways in the stream."

These delicately "chambered" sh.e.l.ls were once the homes of creatures which lived in the sunless depths of the ocean, for though it is totally dark at the bottom of the deep, deep sea, life is now known to exist at all depths below the surface of the ocean; on the ocean-floor starfishes and their relations abound, and some of those brought from a great depth are very beautiful indeed--telling to those who have eyes to see, the same tale as the little fern buried in the coal--that it is the glory of every created thing to show forth something of its Creator, even in hidden places where no human eye can trace its loveliness.

I am sure when we speak of the treasures of the sea, you are thinking of places where pearls lie deep, hidden in the sh.e.l.l of the oyster--but I did not know until lately that not only iron and copper, but also gold and silver, are found in sea water.

And now what can we say of the colour of the sea? I used to think that it was always a clear green, but that was because the sea which I knew appeared to be that colour, for I had seen it only near the sh.o.r.e, where the bottom was fine white sand, and the sunset light made the water s.h.i.+ne like an emerald. And so the sea was green to me, and I was often puzzled and vexed to find that I could never catch this beautiful green water; for you know that if you dip your bucket where the sea looks greenest or bluest, all the lovely colour will seem to be left behind, and your bucket-full will look as colourless as water drawn from a well. Where the sea is dark blue, you may be sure that it is deep where it looks gold and purple, the sun has tinged it with the glory of his rising and setting; where it is grey and sad, it takes its sorrowful hue from the rain-clouds overhead. These are some of the reasons why the sea is of such different colours, but the water is sometimes coloured, to some extent, by myriads of living things which give it a reddish tinge; in the cold Northern Ocean, where the icebergs are, travellers tell us the sea is green because there its tiny inhabitants are green; while those who have sailed in the South American waters tell of countless swarms of minute creatures which make them glow like fire on a dark night, lighting up the crest of every wave as it rolls past the s.h.i.+p.

The sea is also coloured by those beautiful plants which we often call by one common name--seaweeds, but which are almost as varied in their way as the land plants are.

Columbus, when sailing sadly through unknown seas in search of the New World of which he had dreamed so long, came upon water so covered with long green weeds that it seemed like a floating meadow, while his vessels could hardly make their way through the gra.s.sy tangles of what is now known as the Gulf-weed.

I have seen the sea off the coast of Ireland green for miles, with long, ribbon-like plants covering its sandy bottom, sheltering, and perhaps helping to feed, the millions of crawling and running and swimming creatures, many of them so small as to be nearly invisible, which find their home there. This sea-gra.s.s, or Zostera, the only flowering plant to be found in the sea, is very useful to the poor people who live near the coast. They gather it when the tide is low, and dry it in the sun, and it serves them for nice soft beds; though I should think they must always keep a briny, fishy smell about them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "O'ER BANKS OF BRIGHT SEAWEED, THE EBB-TIDE LEAVES DRY."]

The Irish fisher-folk also gather the common brown seaweed with pods, which are really air-bladders, and serve to keep it afloat. I have many a time watched the women and children wading among the pools, cutting it from the rocks with sickles, and putting it into baskets, which they carry home on their backs; for this precious harvest of the sea is what they depend upon to make their potatoes grow well and yield a plentiful crop. There is another kind of seaweed, of a pretty purple colour, which they eat, and call it by an Irish name which means "leaf of the water."

But it is far away in the watery valleys of the great Pacific, where the sea is very calm, that the ocean forests grow. I have read that there giant leaves of the sea grow upon stems longer than those of our tallest trees, and spread abroad like waving palms. Though you are not likely ever to see such seaweeds as these, you will find, wherever you may be, though much more abundantly on some sh.o.r.es than others, some of those beautiful "weeds"--green, red, or brown--which have their use as well as their beauty; for they help to purify the water, just as plants do the air.

Perhaps I should not promise more than the brown Tangle and the green Ulva, with its bright lettuce-like leaves; for red seaweeds belong to deep water, and are not easy to find. Many an hour have I spent peering and groping in the little pools at low water in search of these same much-prized rosy-tinted "flowers of the sea"; and many a disappointment I have had, even after a fortunate find, in seeing how soon the lovely colour faded, in spite of all my efforts to keep it.

We often speak of the "salt sea" or "the briny ocean," without perhaps thinking how it comes to be salt. I used to think it was because there were vast salt mines at the bottom of the sea; but that was only a guess at the truth.

Let us think what happens when there is a heavy shower; how quickly the raindrops gather force until they run down the street, making gutters on each side! But how unlike the muddy water in these gutters is the rain as it fell from the sky--how is this? It is the same water, but as it hurries along each drop picks up and carries with it its own little grain of sand or dust. If tiny gutters are tinged by the mud which they carry with them, how much more must this be the case with the great rivers which empty themselves into the ocean! They carry with them not only sand and earth, but the minerals and salts which are contained in them, to form the bed of the ocean. The salt which is thus washed out of the soil by streams and rivers is not evaporated, but remains behind, for the sea has no outlet through which it can again be carried away.

If you go to Switzerland, you will be able to see for yourself how a great river as it rushes along its course washes away the soil. The Rhone, when it enters the Lake of Geneva, is so laden with mud that its waters are brown and turbid. For some distance you can trace the course of this brown water as it makes its way through the deep blue of the lovely lake, not mingling with it--but by the time the river reaches the other end of the lake it has rid itself of its burden: the mud has sunk to the bottom, and the Rhone flows out a clear stream. This is a strange and beautiful sight which perhaps you may see some day.

Have you ever noticed how often the sea is mentioned in the New Testament?

We read of the Lord Jesus walking beside it, and sailing over it in the boat with His disciples. And I daresay you remember how He once sat in the boat upon the sea, while He taught the people who were upon the sh.o.r.e. The Sea of Galilee must have been calm and quiet then, but it was not always so. Travellers tell us a great deal about the beauty of this lake, when the sky is clear, and the crimson bloom of the Oleanders is reflected in the still water. But they speak also of the sudden and dangerous storms, which rush down from the mountains, and turn the gla.s.sy lake into a raging sea.

In the gospel by Mark we read of just such a storm of wind, when the Lord Jesus Christ was in the little boat with His disciples crossing over to the other side. It was such a terrible storm, that the waves dashed into the boat until it was filled with water.

"And all but One were sore afraid Of sinking in the deep; His head was on a pillow laid, And He was fast asleep."

Yes, amid all the tumult and alarm, the Saviour who was often weary in this sad world, was sleeping upon the cus.h.i.+on of the boat. He slept on until the disciples came and awoke Him with their cry, "Master, carest Thou not that we perish?" Then the voice of the Lord was heard above the rage of wind and water, and their cry of terror, as He rose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, "Peace, be still." The proud waves obeyed that voice of power, the wind was hushed, "and there was a great calm."

Do you remember what the Lord said to His disciples, and what they said to one another, as they "feared exceedingly"?

Perhaps you wonder how anyone could be afraid, no matter how dreadful the noise of the winds and waves might be, when the Lord Jesus was there. It is true that in that little boat, tossing upon the dark stormy lake, was the One who upholds all things by the word of His power, the One whose word those stormy winds fulfil; but the disciples, though they had been so much with Him, were now to learn a little more who their Master was, and to find that there was no fear of peris.h.i.+ng when the Lord of life was with them.

They seem to have forgotten, too, that He had said, before they launched the boat, "Let us pa.s.s over unto the other side"; or they might well have afforded to be quiet when He slept, for after He had said those words, they were as sure of being there with Him as if already landed.

How kind it was of the Lord to put the disciples with Himself, and say, "Let US pa.s.s over"; and how safe and free from fear of harm are those happy people who have trusted themselves, with all they are, and all they have, for this life and the long life that is to come, to this mighty, gracious Saviour and Lord! One who knew this great happiness, once wrote these beautiful verses about having Christ in the boat as he sailed over the ocean of life, with its many storms. He said--

"My bark is wafted from the strand By breath divine; And on the helm there rests a hand Other than mine.

"One who has known in storms to sail I have on board; Above the raging of the gale I hear my Lord."

Once again in the same gospel by Mark we read of a tempest coming on while the disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee; but this time their Master was not with them in the boat. He had told them to go to the other side while He sent away the crowds of people whom He had been feeding with the five loaves and two fishes--and then He had gone into the hill-country to pray.

The evening came on, the sky growing dark much more quickly than it does in our country, and Jesus had not come to them. Still the disciples rowed, and tried to get their boat to land, and still the storm grew louder.

"Fierce was the wild billow, Dark was the night, Oars laboured heavily, Foam glimmered white."

How they must have longed to hear again that well-known voice rebuking the rough wind, and saying to the angry waves, "Peace, be still!"

But the tired disciples rowed on; and Jesus had not come to them. They did not know what we know, that their Master was watching them; He knew that they could not bring their boat to land, and that they were worn out with toiling at their oars, and were sad at heart too. And so, just at the darkest, coldest hour of that night of fear, the Lord came to His beloved ones. I have seen a picture of the weary men in their tossing boat, and a s.h.i.+ning figure which is meant for the Lord Jesus, as He came to them, walking upon the white crests of the waves. But no picture can give a true idea of that wonderful scene.

Do you remember how frightened all in the boat were before they knew that it was the Lord?

They cried out for fear; and in answer to their cry they heard their Master's own voice talking with them, and saying, "Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid." Ah, what a change was there!

"Sorrow can never be-- Darkness must fly, When saith the Light of light, 'Peace; it is I.'"

And now, before we come to the end of this "world of water" chapter, listen to a wonderful story of the sea, told by the only one who could tell it--the heroine of the tale.

Look at the map of Scotland, and you will find its most northerly county, Shetland of the Hundred Isles, lying between the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea. Perhaps you know this part of the world mostly in connection with the pretty little s.h.a.ggy Shetland ponies which feed upon the young heather, and are brought to England for children to ride; but those who have visited it can tell very interesting stories about the wild country, with its warm-hearted kindly fisher-folk, and they often bring home with them beautiful shawls which the women and girls knit from the soft wool of their sheep.

They tell us that of the hundred islands, about thirty are inhabited. Some are large, but others so small that only one or two families live upon them; and others are little more than rocks--the home of sea-fowl of every wing.

In the largest island you will soon find Lerwick, the chief town. Now look to the very south for the lofty cliff called Sumburgh Head, and near it Grutness Harbour, where they catch the grey fish.

It was from this harbour that a small vessel, the _Columbine_, set sail on Sat.u.r.day, January 30th, 1886, intending to make the voyage--rough at all times, but often very perilous in winter--along the coast to Lerwick.

Many a boat had perished on these cruel sh.o.r.es, even since lighthouses have been placed to warn the seamen from the most dangerous rocks. If you had asked the captain of the _Columbine_ about his route, he would have told you that he must steer past Cape Noness, then close to the Isle of Mousa, with its ancient castle built in the time of the Picts; Bressay Island would next come in sight, and then the tall lighthouse which guards Lerwick Harbour. He might have told you, too, that upon that January morning he was starting with only one pa.s.senger on board--an elderly woman who was leaving her home in the south of the island to go and see a doctor at Lerwick, as she had been ill for some months.

The two men who formed the crew of the _Columbine_ returned the same day as they had set sail, in an open boat belonging to their vessel. They said it had been blowing hard when they started, and they had not got more than four miles on the way when the captain was knocked overboard by a sudden jerk of the boom. They quickly lowered the boat, and rowed hard to save him; but, sad to tell, all their efforts were in vain, and they were at length obliged to give up the attempt as hopeless, and were about to return to the s.h.i.+p, when, to their dismay, they saw that she had drifted out to sea, and, with her helpless pa.s.senger on board, was now far beyond their reach.

The men pulled with all their strength; but the sea was so heavy, and the _Columbine_ drifted so fast, that the distance between them rapidly increased; and at last they had to turn and make for the sh.o.r.e, which they reached with difficulty in their little open boat.