Sketch for Creditors

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Jun 7, 1877

Sketch for Creditors.

Samuel Vessie, the old East India merchant and ship-owner, left a large property to his wife and children. To his three sons he left his ships, and his business, together with all the books and papers of his office, and having made this provision he went on in his will to say: “Among my debtors are many worthy men whom I have not pressed, and whom I would not consign to needless suffering. It is my desire that those who deserve forgiveness may be forgiven, even as I pray that my Heavenly Father may forgive me.”

When the sons came to take possession of the business, one of their first moves, after having provided for the management of more weighty matters, was to consider this injunction of their father’s will.

“Our father has left us enough,” said John, the eldest brother, “and we will not fail to honor his memory and his wishes.”

“And lead others to hold that memory fresh and sacred,” added Andrew, the second brother.

And says Peter, the youngest son, “We will not forget our father’s oft repeated prayer—‘Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors,’ for I think he died with that prayer upon his lips—or in his heart at least. I would suggest that Mr. Witherspoon be requested to make out a list of those debtors whom he may judge to be worthy of forgiveness. He has been our father’s confidential clerk and correspondent for almost thirty years, and probably knows the exact standing and character of every person indebted. Let him give us a list, with such marginal explanation as he may deem necessary, and we can then do as we deem proper in individual cases.”

Peter’s plan was adopted. The old clerk made out the list, and the amount of indebtedness thus shown, without reckoning interest, was over twenty thousand dollars.

“A big sum,” said John, thoughtfully.

“And think of the interest,” suggested Andrew.

“Yet not as large as was our father’s and bearing no such interest,” says John, after more thoughtful consideration.

Time passed on. One cold, bleak day, in late autumn, a woman entered the counting-house. She was past the middle age, humbly clad, and her sad pale face was marked with care. John and Peter were in the office.

“Is Mr. Vessie in?” the visitor asked timidly, and with much tremulousness.

“That is my name, madam,” returned John, handing her a chair, “and this is my brother.”

“Your father held an account, or a note against my husband, and I have come to settle it.”

“What is your husband’s name?”

“He is dead, sir. His name was Lawrence Patten.”

“Do you know what was the nature of the indebtedness?”

“It was a debt of honor, sir;” and my husband could only die content when I had promised him, upon my bended knees, that it should be paid. Your father was his bondsman for a large sum. He was collector of taxes, and a partner whom he had trusted ran away with a great deal of his money—so much, that it crippled him; and would have been his ruin had not your father saved him. He was a poor man, but honest; and when he knew that he must die, he placed in my hands all his accounts, and all his property, and he bade me rest not until I had gathered together enough to pay this indebtedness. He said Mr. Vessie had been a father to him—had put forth his hand and saved him when others had forsaken him,—and he would rather his children should beg than that dishonor should attach to his memory.”

“Did your husband owe much else?”

“No, sir. He contracted no debts for his living. This was all, but it was a heavy debt for him to bear.”

“You say, you have raised the money?”

“Yes, sir. The original debt was three thousand five hundred dollars. The interest, he said he didn’t think Mr. Vessie would take more than simple interest, brings it up to something over five thousand.”

“I will find the account, my good woman, and see how it stands.”

Thus saying, John opened a drawer of his desk and drew forth the list, which Witherspoon had prepared, and the very first name was that of Lawrence Patten, and against it, in the old clerk’s hand, was the following: “An honest man, and poor. His indebtedness, entirely the result of the absconding of a business partner.” Then John found the note, given nine years before, with the interest, to the time of the clerk’s making the list, cast upon the back.

“The principal and interest I find to be five thousand three hundred and eighty-two dollars.”

“I knew it must be not far from that,” said the widow. She shuddered and her lips quivered as she spoke.

“You must find it hard to pay this, Mrs. Patten.”

“In one sense it is very hard, sir, but in another it is very easy, because it is right, and because I know my—my husband—would—but—”

She wiped her eyes again, and opened her reticule.

Just then John Vessie tore the note into pieces, and gave those pieces to the widow, who took them mechanically, and as she clutched them in her hand she drew from her reticule a large pocket book.

“Don’t take any money here, my good woman. You owe us nothing.”

“But—sir—”

“It is all right. The debt is paid.”

“Paid! the debt?”

“Yes. When our father, in his last hours, came to realize how much he needed God’s forgiving grace, he, in his heart, forgave his worthy and unwilling debtors; and he enjoined it upon us that we should honor his memory among his fellows. Your husband’s debt he forgave on earth as he hoped to be forgiven in Heaven; and I have cancelled the obligation.”

For a time the widow sat like one in a dream. Then she folded her hands, and tried to speak; but tears and sobs choked her utterance. Finally she raised her streaming eyes toward heaven, and to God she found speech. She blessed the sons; and she prayed that all joy and peace might be theirs. She was happy—very happy; life now offered her hope of comfort. She would go to her home, and she would teach her children to bless the memory of Samuel Vessie, and to pray for the good of his sons,

And with a face more radiant than she had worn for months, she turned from the office, weeping still in the exuberance of her joy.

John wiped his eyes and looked up.

“Peter, what do you think of that?”

“I was thinking,” replied the younger brother, “what we ought to pay Andrew for his share of the heart-wealth of this scene. Surely, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’”