The Shunter's Warning.

IT was evening-time on the platform of a busy railway station. The passengers had taken their seats in the up-train; the whistle was given; already the engine was starting to crawl slowly out of the station; a man was banging the last of the carriage doors as the train went past him.
Suddenly a stumble, a cry; then a fearful shriek rent the air. How had it happened? Nobody knew, but the unhappy man had lost his hold of the handle and slipped down—down between the platform and the footboard of the carriage; while still the train moved on, twisting and turning poor Jack over and over. A moment of horror-stricken suspense, then the train was stopped, and the ambulance corps of railway men were beside their unfortunate comrade, sawing away the wood to set the injured shunter free. He was fearfully hurt, and as they strove to release him, he cried, "Let me die! Let me die! Oh, let me die!"
But his mates knew better. While life remained, there might be hope, and some of them were Christians; they knew Jack was not ready to die. Lifting him gently on to the stretcher, they bore him home; for a few hours, he lay between life and death. Then, almost by a miracle, Jack turned the corner, and the doctors held out hope.
As soon as possible, I went to see him. Slowly, very slowly, he was mending, and the first shock of anguish had passed away.
"You have had a narrow escape, Jack," I said, sitting down beside him, "Supposing it had not been 'almost killed' but 'quite,' what then? If your life had been taken, would you have been ready?"
He turned away impatiently.
"It's all very well for a young lady like you, miss, that's got nothing to do to be it Christian, but I've got my living to get."
"So have I," I answered promptly, "and as to having nothing to do, I expect I put in quite as busy a week's work any week as you, for only my spare time can be given to trying to win the railway men for God. It is not a question of time. You will have to find time to die! You have been very close to death. God has given you a solemn warning to be ready. Are you going to pay no heed?"
But Jack heeded not, nor cared to listen, and sorrowfully at last, I came away.
Days lengthened into weeks; Jack's recovery was a marvellous one, and at last, he was able to return to work. Months passed, and then another terrible warning was sent to him. Again, Jack met with an accident—again he came face to face with sudden death—and again his life was spared. This time his injuries were not so serious; he was only detained at home a few days, and then went back to his work once more, as far as we knew, unchanged and unconcerned as ever. Twice warned, and twice neglectful; would God always allow His warnings to be thus rejected, and in mercy spare him again and yet again?
Months passed away. It was a winter's night; Jack was shunting a goods train on its way to London. In the darkness of that gloomy night, he had to grope his way up and down the line, coupling and uncoupling the trucks, and shunting them here and there, signalling by means of a lantern he carried in his hand. It was tedious work; the night was thick, the rails were wet and greasy; somehow, no one ever quite knew the story, Jack the shunter lost his foothold, and again, with an awful cry, slipped between the tracks of the train.
Help came at once; Jack was borne away to the nearest hospital, and his wife was sent for; but at first it seemed as if he were but little injured, in spite of all—as if once again he had been within an hair's breadth of death and had been spared. His injuries were attended to, and the doctors gave every hope. He was settled comfortably for the night, and then, full of joy and infinite relief, his wife went home.
The hours crept slowly on; midnight came and went, and then in that strange mysterious time, when the vital powers of life are at their lowest ebb, there came a startling change. There was some terrible internal injury, unsuspected at first—a few short moments of anguish, then unconsciousness and death.
At two o'clock in the morning, Jack the shunter was suddenly called into eternity.
No time to summon his wife—only the nurse and doctor were there beside him. Jack the Shunter, twice face to face with death, and twice spared, the third time, hurried into an endless eternity.
God warns, but God cannot allow us to trifle with His mercy. He has not promised to give us place for repentance over and over again, if we continue to neglect.
"He that being often reproved, hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy." We do not know where God has drawn the line beyond which His mercy and forbearance cannot go; there is but one safe way—be ready, be in time. Come now, while God offers you perfect cleansing through the blood of Jesus, while He yet invites you to give yourself to Him, while still He says, "Him that cometh to Me, I will in nowise cast out."
Here and now yield yourself to Him; He has called and warned and entreated you so long, but He will not always wait and plead. "Seek ye the Lord while He may be found; call ye upon Him while He is near." That surely tells of a time when He will not be found—a day when God will be far, too far away in mercy and grace to hear our cry. There is but one time in His offer of salvation—that time is NOW!
Grace Pettman.
"The Christian" January 2, 1902.