The experiences were as varied as possible; some were awe-striking, some were pitiful, some verged on comedy.  The comfortable thing—­the beautiful thing—­about the confessions, was that each man seemed tacitly to imply a piteous prayer, “My brothers help me to keep near my Saviour.  I may fall unless you keep by me;” while the steady-going, earnest men took no praise to themselves for keeping straight, but generally ended with some such phrase as, “Praise the blessed Lord; it’s all along o’ His grace as I’ve been walkin’ alongside o’ Him.”

One fine man, with stolid, hard face, rose and steadied himself against a beam.  His full bass tones were sad, and he showed no sign of that self-satisfied smirk which sometimes makes the mind revolt against a convert.

“My friends, I’m no great speaker, but I can tell you plain how I come to be where I am.  I was a strongish, rough young chap, and thought about nothing but games.  I would fight, play cards, and a lot of more things that we don’t want to talk about here.  When I married, I drank and thought of nothing but my own self.  Once I took every penny I had off a voyage to the public-house, and I stopped there and never had my boots off till I went to sea again.  Every duty was neglected, my wife went cold in the bad weather, and my children were barefooted.  When you’re drinking and fooling you can see nothing at all, and you think you’re a-doing all right, and everybody else is wrong when they try to help you.  Out at sea I gambled and drunk when I could get the money; I made rare game of religious men, and lived as if I had never to die.  Then I was persuaded by one of my mates to visit the Mission ship, the very first as ever come, and I wish there was twenty.  I’d had a bad time ashore, and my children was frightened of my ways, though I was kind enough when sober, and I’d left the wife to pick up a living how she could.  Then I heard what Mr. Fullerton said; God bless him!  And I says to myself, ‘Tom Barling, you’re no better than a pig you’re not.’  But I was proud, and I needed to be brought low.  I went again and again and talked with old John about the Mission ship, but, bless you, I couldn’t see nothing.  But some kind of a—­what I may say a voice kept a-saying, ’Tom Barling, you’re not a good ‘un,’ and at last I got what I wanted, and I bursts out crying for joy, for I had learned to trust my blessed Saviour, whose blood cleanses from all sin.  And now by His grace I’ve dropped the drink, and them fits of bad temper, and my family looks well, and I’m so quiet in my breast here like, as I can walk for hours on deck and pray quiet, and never think of no drink, nor cards, nor excitement, and I never nags at any man that’s wrong as I was, but I says ’I wish you were happy as me, mate, and you may be if you’ll come to the dear Lord.’  And that’s all.  I bless God for the Mission, because there’s many a chap like me that would like to do right but he don’t know how.  I was a bad chap, and I went on doing bad things because I knew no better; and so, brothers, when you see a mate going wrong just coax him.  And God bless you, gentlemen and ladies, and all on us.”