The shipwreck of the Borysthène.

— Most of our readers have surely read in the newspapers the moving news of the shipwreck of the Borysthène, off the coast of Algeria, on December 15, 1865. We extract the following passage from the account of a passenger who escaped the disaster, published in the Siècle of January 26.

“…At that very instant, a terrible, indefinable crack was heard, accompanied by such violent jolts that I fell.

Then I heard a sailor cry out: “My God! we are lost! pray for us!” We had just struck a rock and the ship split open; one could hear the gurgling of the water pouring into the hold. The soldiers, who had been lying on the deck, dashed about in the confusion, no matter where, uttering horrible cries; the passengers, half naked, threw themselves out of the cabins; the poor women clung to everyone, begging to be saved. They cried out to God; they bade their farewells. A merchant cocked a pistol and tried to blow out his brains: the weapon was wrested from him.

“The jolts continued; the ship's bell rang the alarm, but the wind roared so terribly that the bell could not be heard fifty meters away. There were cries, howls, prayers; there was something I cannot describe, horrible, mournful, dreadful. Never have I seen, never have I read of a scene so horrible, so harrowing. To be there, full of life, of health, in the face of a death one believes certain, is a terrible death!

“In that supreme and indescribable moment, the vicar, Mr. Moisset, gave them all his blessing. The voice, full of tears, of that poor priest, commending to God two hundred and fifty wretched souls whom the sea was about to devour, stirred everyone's very entrails.”

— Is there not a great lesson in this spontaneity of prayer, in the face of an imminent danger? Amid that crowd packed into the ship, there were certainly unbelievers who, shortly before, scarcely thought of God or of their soul, and behold, in the presence of a death held to be certain, they turn their gaze toward the Supreme Being, as toward the only plank of salvation. It is that, at the moment when one hears the last hour strike, involuntarily the most hardened heart asks itself what is to become of it. The sick man, in his bed, hopes until the last moment, which is why he defies every superhuman power; and when death strikes him, more often than not he has already lost consciousness of himself. On a battlefield there is an overexcitement that makes one forget the danger; and besides, not everyone is hit and there is some chance of escaping; but in the middle of the ocean, when one's ship is being swallowed up, one hopes only for the help of that Providence one had forgotten, and from which the atheist is on the verge of asking for a miracle. But, alas! once the danger has passed, how many give thanks to chance and to their good luck! an ingratitude which, sooner or later, they will pay for very dearly. (The Gospel According to Spiritism, chapter XXVII, no. 8).

— In such a circumstance, what is the thought of the sincere Spiritist? He says: “I know that I must strive to preserve corporeal life; I will therefore do everything in my power to escape the danger, for if I were to give myself up voluntarily, it would be a suicide; but if it pleases God to take it from me, what does it matter whether it be in one way or another, a little sooner or a little later! Death brings me no fear, for I know that only the body dies and that it is the entrance into the true life, that of the free Spirit, where I will find all those who are dear to me.” He glimpses, in thought, the spiritual world, the object of his aspirations, from which only a few moments still separate him, and to which the death of the body, which held him on Earth, is at last going to give him access; he rejoices, instead of grieving, like the prisoner who sees the doors of his prison opening. Only one thing saddens him: to leave those he loves; but he consoles himself with the certainty that he will not abandon them and that he will be near them more often and more easily than in life, that he will be able to see them and protect them. If, on the contrary, he has escaped the danger, he will say: “Since God still lets me live on Earth, it is that my task or my trials are not yet finished. The danger I ran is a warning that God gives me, to be prepared from the very first moment, conducting myself in such a way that I may be so in the best possible conditions.” Then he will thank Him for the reprieve granted and will strive to make use of it for his advancement.

— One of the most curious episodes of this drama is the case of that passenger who wanted to blow out his brains, giving himself certain death, whereas, by running the risk of the shipwreck, some unexpected help might arise. What motive could lead him to that insane act? Many will say that he had lost his head, which was possible; but perhaps he had been moved, in spite of himself, by an intuition of which he was not aware. Although we have no material proof of the true explanation, which is given below, knowledge of the relationships that subsist between the different existences at least gives it a high degree of probability.

The two following communications were given at the session of the Society of Paris, held on January 12.

I.

— Prayer is the vehicle of the most powerful spiritual fluids, which are like a healing balm for the wounds of the soul and of the body. It draws all beings toward God and, in a certain way, makes the soul emerge from the kind of lethargy in which it is plunged when it forgets its duties toward the Creator. Spoken with faith, it arouses in those who hear it the desire to imitate those who pray, because example and word also carry magnetic fluids of great force. Those spoken by the priest on the shipwrecked vessel, with the accent of the most touching conviction and of the most holy resignation, touched the hearts of all those unfortunate ones who believed their last hour had come.

As for the man who wanted to kill himself in the face of certain death, the idea came to him from an instinctive repulsion for water, because it is the third time that he dies in this manner and he endured a few moments of terrible anguish. At that moment, he had the intuition of his past misfortunes, which projected themselves vaguely in his spirit: that is why he wanted to end differently. Twice he drowned himself voluntarily, dragging his whole family with him. The confused impression that had remained with him of the sufferings endured gave him the dread of this kind of death.

Pray for those unfortunate ones, my good friends; the prayer of several persons forms a sheaf that sustains and fortifies the soul for which it is made; it gives it strength and resignation.

Saint Benedict. n (medium: Mrs. Delanne.)

II.

— It is not rare to see persons who, for a long time, had not thought of praying, do so when threatened by an imminent and terrible danger. Whence, then, can come this instinctive propensity to draw near to God in critical moments? From the same inclination that leads us to draw near to someone we know can defend us, when we are in great danger. Then the sweet beliefs of the early years, the wise teachings, the pious counsels of the parents come like a dream to the memory of those wavering men who, shortly before, found God very far from them, or denied the usefulness of His existence. These strong spirits, become faint-hearted, feel the anguish of death all the more keenly the longer they remained without believing in anything. They thought they had no need of God and could suffice unto themselves. God, to make them feel the usefulness of His existence, permitted them to be exposed to a terrible end, without hope of being aided by any human help. Then they remember that long ago they prayed, and that prayer dispels sorrows, makes one bear sufferings with courage, and soothes the last moments of the dying. All this appears to that man in danger; all this incites him to pray again to Him to whom he prayed in childhood. Then he submits and prays to God from the most intimate part of his heart, with a living faith that borders on despair, that He may forgive him his past aberrations. In that supreme hour he no longer thinks of all the vain dissertations on the existence of God, for he no longer doubts. At that moment he believes, and there is a proof that prayer is a need of the soul; that, if it had no result, it would at least relieve it and, for that very reason, ought to be repeated more often; but, fortunately, it has a more positive action, and it is acknowledged, as has been demonstrated to you, that prayer has for all an immense usefulness, both for those who make it and for those to whom it is applied. What I have said is true only for the greater number. For, ah! some do not recover faith in the extreme hour; who, with emptiness in their soul, think they are going to sink into nothingness and, by a kind of frenzy, themselves wish to hurl themselves down. These are the most unfortunate, and you, who know all the usefulness and all the effects of prayer, pray above all for them.

André. n (medium: Mr. Charles B.)

[1]

[v. Saint Benedict.]

[2]

[v. André.]