“With an unspeakable mingling of fear and hope we applied ourselves to the task of casting the cotton into the sea, at the same time lifting up earnest and united prayers to God for deliverance from the threatened destruction, occasionally gliding in close contact with each other, and speaking words of hope in each other’s ears, and feeling, as we toiled, a blessed confidence that our prayers were not in vain.

“It did not seem more than five minutes from the time we commenced to throw the cotton overboard, for we had scarcely tumbled twenty bales into the sea, when we heard a shout from the quarter deck: 

“’Avast heaving cotton overboard! The wind is coming out from our lee! Avast there!’

“It was the captain’s voice, bidding us stay our hands; we obeyed, and looking up we saw him clinging to the rigging, apparently so drunk that he could hardly stand, while away over our lee-bow we could see blue sky and fair weather, and it seemed that in less than ten minutes from the time the hurricane was at its height, the wind had chopped around in shore, and was gently wafting us away from danger, and out into deep water again.

“There were glad souls on board the Pandora that day, as she swung around in obedience to the helm, and we laid her course again for our destined port.  And some who before had mocked at prayers and blasphemed the God we loved, admitted then that God had answered prayer, and that he had delivered us from death.

“And I love to repeat the story to the praise of the Lord, who yet lives to hear, and bless, and save his trusting children.”

NO FEAR OF THUNDER.

Some years ago a camp-meeting was held in Southern Indiana.  It rained nearly all the time of the meeting.  Father Haven, a man mighty in prayer, rose to preach.  Just as he announced his text it thundered, and the congregation seemed to be restless and alarmed.  The old hero instantly said, “Let us engage a moment in prayer.”  He prayed that God would allow the storm to pass by and not disturb them.

After having plead for a few moments he said, “Friends, keep your seats; it will not rain one drop here to-day.”  He commenced to preach, and it thundered again.  He repeated his assurance, and thus it continued until the storm-cloud was almost over the encampment.  It divided north and south, and passed about a quarter of a mile on either side of them, reunited again and passed on, and not one solitary drop of rain fell on that encampment.

THE PRAYER OF THE PILGRIMS FOR RAIN ANSWERED.

It is well known that many of the good men who were driven from England to America by persecution in the seventeenth century, had to endure great privations.  In the Spring of 1623 they planted more corn than ever before; but by the time they had done planting, their food was spent.  They daily prayed, “Give us this day our daily bread;” and in some way or other the prayer was always answered.  With a single boat and a net they caught some fish, and when these failed, they dug in the sand for shell-fish.  In the month of June their hopes of a harvest were nearly blasted by a drought which withered up their corn and made the grass look like hay.  All expected to perish with hunger.