35 - Shipwreck

It generally took some time to collect a large enough number of prisoners to make a regular shipment. This one contained many Jews, taken by Felix in his raid against an Egyptian “Messiah” on the Mount of Olives. The weaker rebels had been killed off, while the stronger were being sent to Rome to fight wild beasts in the arena. There were also leaders of robber bands who infested the highways of Judea, and others who, like Paul, were to be tried by a Roman court. Those who had already been sentenced to death were heavily chained and guarded by legionaries.

The entire contingent was under the command of an Italian centurion by the name of Julius, of the First Augustan legion, with headquarters at Caesarea. Julius was personally entrusted with the prisoner Paul.

Paul said his goodbyes to the representatives of the congregation of Caesarea, to Phillip and his daughters, and to the other believers who’d served him so devotedly during the two years of his imprisonment. Luke, who’d gone to Jerusalem, returned with a small sum of money the congregations collected for him. Paul had already sent Tychicus and Trophimus to Ephesus. With the special permission of the procurator, who became even more kindly disposed to Paul after the visit of Agrippa and Bernice, Paul was permitted to take Luke, Aristarchus, and Timothy with him on his journey. Timothy would later be sent on to Ephesus. Titus was already in Corinth.

Julius, of course, was told that Paul was a Roman citizen going to the capital to stand trial before Caesar. He also knew that the prisoner was a man of some importance, since he’d appeared at an open hearing before the royal couple. The procurator indicated that he would do well to treat the prisoner with consideration. And of course Paul made it his business to win his new guard’s friendship.

Julius was an honest and faithful soldier, a typical Roman legionary, ready to lay down his life in the execution of his duty, the kind of man whose discipline and devotion Paul respected. Paul talked much about the faith, and though he didn’t succeed in converting him, Julius was softened toward his prisoner and became interested in his fate.

Paul was given privileges not granted to the other prisoners. In the hot July nights he was allowed to sleep, together with his friends, on the upper deck of the wretched, foul-smelling little ship that made the first leg of the journey from Caesarea to a port in Syria. And when the ship touched at Sidon Paul was allowed to go into the city, under guard, to visit his friends. The little congregation there had been told that Paul would pass that way and a delegation was waiting with useful gifts, a mattress, a warm cloak, and a supply of kosher food. Luke was given some medicinal oils and wines.

It wasn’t until they reached Myra, in Lycia, that the centurion found a strong, roomy ship, which was carrying a cargo of Egyptian wheat, linens and pottery to Italy, along with a group of merchants. Julius transferred his prisoners and his detachment of soldiers to the new ship, for the rest of the journey.

As soon as he set foot on the Alexandrian ship Paul began to acquaint himself with the merchant travelers and the sailors. Some were believers, and many had heard of Paul. As an experienced sea traveler, Paul could talk the language. He could speak intelligently with the crew, the chief helmsman and even the overseer of the ship’s slaves.

During the first few days out of Myra the ship traveled slowly through a level, shining blue sea. The air was calm and the ship hugged the coast, to take advantage of the land winds. Paul was free to move about, and he circulated everywhere. He went down to the lowest holds where the condemned prisoners were chained to the side of the ship in noisy, tiny cells close enough that they could hear the roaring of the tigers and lions that they would have to fight in the Roman arena.

Paul spoke to these condemned men about the divine help sent down for all men through Christ. Some of them had heard this before. In fact, some were Jews who were guilty of trying to hasten Messiah’s coming. But others were hearing of Christ for the first time, and they took with them a name to call on when they felt their lives ebbing out between the jaws of the wild beasts.

Paul also spoke with the sailors and with the slaves who sat chained to the oars. He talked to the officers, the passengers, and even the soldiers. He never ceased preaching the salvation of Jesus Christ.

In the evenings, when Paul and his companions sat down to their common meal, a group of soldiers, sailors, passengers, and resting slaves gathered around them to listen in thoughtful silence to the prayers and hymns the strange man and his friends sent up to the heavens toward their invisible God.

So the ship moved forward at a leisurely pace, hungry for the wind, until it reached the island of Crete. There, at a port called Fair Havens, not far from the city of Lasea, they dropped anchor, and stayed awhile.


The High Festivals of the New Year and the Day of Atonement came along. Paul and the other Jewish believers on the boat observed the fast rigorously. They prayed as a congregation, and transferred themselves in thought to the services in the Temple.

Now the Jews generally considered the Day of Atonement to be the end of the sailing season. Sea travel would be dangerous after that, and no Jew would set foot on a boat if he could possibly avoid it. But the captain decided to proceed with the journey and to turn the ship toward the Adriatic. Hearing this, Paul sent word, warning him that sailing on would endanger everyone on board as well as all the valuable cargo.

Julius, who was eager to end the journey and to be rid of his responsibility, let himself be persuaded by the captain, who considered Fair Havens too small and uncomfortable to pass the winter in. He wanted to at least reach the livelier port of Phoenix, on the other side of the island. He had two hundred and seventy-six people on board to be fed and provided with water, as well as the wild beasts in the hold. He argued that he would run short of supplies in Fair Haven.

So the ship turned westward.

At first a moderate south wind filled the brown sails. But before they were within sight of Phoenix the sky suddenly darkened, and the sea began to heave. The darkness became so dense that it was impossible to see a fathom’s length in any direction. A wind of typhoon strength, the Euroclydon, suddenly burst on them, and threw the ship about as if it were an oyster shell. The sails flapped violently and threatened to tear apart. The sailors clambered up the masts and furled the sails, and everyone helped to pass strong ropes around the ship’s frame as the waves threatened to crack it apart. So the ship drove before the wind, without sails, helmsman, or rowers, rising on the dizzy crests of the waves and plunging into the troughs. At any moment it could smash into a thousand fragments, for they were still close to the shore of Crete. Sky and sea were invisible, and the ship felt like it was rolling over in the vast, dark jaws of a wild sea beast.

After two days had passed this way, the sailors and passengers began staggering from the holds to the deck and throwing a good part of the cargo overboard, precious sacks of grain intended for the citizens of Rome. Then they began to throw even the tackle overboard, followed by the costliest part of the cargo, the delicate pottery, the bronze vases and the phials containing Egyptian balsams. But the storm raged on, and the days passed until everyone lost count, for in effect if was one long black night, and one long, furious struggle with the wild sea beast.

Ashen blue mists swirled around the ship, as if to contain it within a circle of death and despair. The ice-cold waters flew with a metallic ringing against the walls, hammered at the deck, lifted the whole ship, and threw it down again into the depths. The sailors held on tooth and nail to the sides of the ship. Passengers and beasts were hurled from side to side. They rolled around among pails, bundles of rope, sacks, and vessels. The roaring of the imprisoned beasts was heard from below, mixed with the screams of the condemned criminals.

Then there came a time when the ship found herself in the middle of a treacherous and suspended calm, as though the waves, defeated in their purpose, were in sinister consultation. The sea was flat, but it seemed to be sinking to a lower level, the ship with it. Then the prow began to rise, higher and higher, and the ship began to spin. Suddenly the thick mist broke apart, and a vast wall, green like jade, frozen, and suspended, appeared on one side. To the unspeakable horror of the passengers, the ship seemed to be driving straight for the green wall. The prow rose one or two degrees higher, it cut into the wall, but near the summit, and a thousand torrents descended on the deck. The ship’s timbers groaned from end to end, but they held. And scarcely had the first wall been pierced than a second appeared behind it.

Thus it went, day after day. The air in the cabins was heavy with a thick, salty odor. The travelers, unceasingly seasick, were choked with their own vomit, and could not touch food. Their own bodies had become repulsive to them, and they were filled with revulsion at the sight of each other, at the smell of each other’s unwashed and befouled flesh, and the contact with each other’s limbs. They no longer called on their gods, for they were exhausted, too exhausted to care about living. Here in the belly of the wild sea beast, all were in the same boat, captives and captors, slaves and freedmen. And they were united in one frantic desire, to escape from this interminable horror, either through rescue or through death.

The captain lost all authority, and the sailors were on the lookout for land. They moment they saw it, they planned to throw themselves into the water. The soldiers discussed whether or not they should kill the prisoners if the ship broke apart, in order to escape responsibility for them. The prisoners knew this, but they didn’t care. Their only thought was that if death were coming anyway, let it come swiftly.

And in the middle of all this spirit of despair, hatred, and murder, one man alone kept his self-control – the apostle.

He had not been saved from the judgment of the High Priest so that the sea could swallow him. No sir! Besides, he’d been shipwrecked three other times in his life; and three times he’d been saved. Not only would he be saved a fourth time, but he had a vision assuring him that all his fellow passengers would be saved as well, for his sake.

So it was natural, considering the condition of everyone else, that the one who remained calm became the leader. He was set apart. Even in their lethargy they could see it in his bearing, self-assurance and faith. And at the right moment, he went through the ship, saying to one group after another, “Fear not, not one of you will be lost.”

And to Julius and the ship’s captain he said, “If you’d listened to me when I warned you about leaving Crete, this wouldn’t have happened. But don’t worry! I’ve been assured that only the ship will be harmed. No man’s life will be lost.”

The centurion Julius and the captain stared at Paul in a daze.

For fourteen days the ship rode the storm. And shortly before dawn on the fifteenth day, they felt the ship begin to ride more evenly. The swell no longer seemed to come from the lowest depths of the sea, but was rather a surface agitation. The helmsman dropped the lead, and read the marks on the rope by the light of the lantern. Twenty fathoms. So they weren’t far from shore. A little later, they dropped it again. Fifteen fathoms. Now they knew that not only were they in the vicinity of land, but that they were moving toward it. In the darkness, they couldn’t tell if it was a beach or a cliff, or even savage rocks scattered under the surface of the waters. The storm was still heavy enough to dash the ship against a submerged needle of rock, and crack it like an eggshell.

So the captain gave the order to drop anchor and wait until daylight. But the sailors secretly made for the rescue boat, and began to launch it. Paul, who was standing nearby, knew of their plot and found Julius to advise him of what was afoot.

“They can’t be allowed to leave the ship!”

The soldiers rushed over and cut the davit ropes, so that the boat couldn’t be lowered into the sea. They also surrounded the sailors.

At the same moment dawn began to break, a gray light stealing through the same mists that had engulfed them for two whole weeks. But Paul was not dismayed.

“We will surely be saved,” he announced, with infectious faith. “Be of good heart, take some food, and strengthen yourselves for the last effort.”

He himself set the example. He took a piece of bread, made the benediction, and praised God loudly, “Because You have saved us from the rage of the sea.”

And as the people grouped around him, amazed, he assured them again that not a hair of their heads would be touched.

“And now,” he said, “let’s throw anything overboard that’s not tied down.”

The order was obeyed. Sailors and passengers spread through the ship and brought up on deck whatever of cargo, tackle, and vessels there was still aboard. The ship was virtually stripped.

But the mist still hung like a heavy curtain on every side, veiling sky and sea. It dissolved very slowly, and only in part. They could see they weren’t very far from the entrance to a natural basin. The captain commanded that the mainsails be unfurled. Perhaps the winds would drive the ship in the harbor. The anchor ropes were cut and the ship was abandoned to the wind, for it was impossible to steer.

And the wind did begin to carry the groaning vessel toward the harbor entrance. Bursts of water washed over the deck, but the ship seemed to hold her course naturally for a while. But then an underswell turned her prow, and suddenly they felt the keel scraping on a sandy bottom. The stern swung right and left, battered by waves, while the forecastle gyrated in the grip of the sands. Then their greatest fear happened. The ship began to break up in the middle with a fierce cracking of timber.

From the upper deck sailors and passengers began to jump into the shallow water. Word spread rapidly among the soldiers that it was time to kill the prisoners, lest any escape. But what about Paul, the one who was behaving more like an officer than a prisoner? To Julius, it was unthinkable that any harm be done to him. He wasn’t a convert, but he did believe that everything Paul predicted would surely happen.

“Open the cabins!” he ordered. “Let the men out! Let them jump, and those who can’t swim can hold on to planks.”

There was a wild scrambling up from the hold, and down the rope ladders hanging over the ship’s sides. Some carried planks, while others, trusting to their strength as swimmers, went down into the sea. In a few moments the waters were filled with bobbing figures. One by one the men were thrown on the sandy beach on the island they would later learn was Malta.

They all lay there, exhausted, wondering about this man Paul. Was he a good spirit or an evil spirit? Was he a prophet of good things, or a sinister magician, to be dreaded?


Later that morning, when the islanders were attracted to the shipwreck, they too would have reason to wonder. Like all primitive people they were suspicious of strangers, equally ready to kill or to rescue. A fire was lit, so that the sailors and passengers could dry themselves, and Paul was gathering fallen twigs and branches of the cypress trees rooted near the shore. Suddenly a cry rang out, for a viper had attached itself to Paul’s hand. To the superstitious natives, this was a sure sign that the man was a murderer, for it was their belief that when a murderer fled from justice, he was pursued by a snake, which never failed to catch up with him.

“A murderer!”
“An evil spirit!”
“Beware of him!”

Paul remained calm. He watched the snake as it wrapped itself on his arm. With his free hand he seized the viper by the head, and held it away from him. The thick coils tightened, then began to unwind, and Paul quickly threw the reptile into the fire.

This caused a different shout to go up. “No! Not an evil spirit! A good spirit! One sent to us from heaven!”

And the islanders crowded around him, open-mouthed with admiration. They begged him to come to their huts, to heal their sick. Before long word spread to the authorities, not just about the snake but about how he’d rescued a shipload of men. The governor of the island, having a sick father, sent for Paul, and Paul healed the old man.

So for the three months that Paul remained on the island, he was treated more like a deity than a human being.

* * * * *

Winter passed, and a mild, early spring breathed over land and sea. Ships sailed past Malta, and one of them dropped anchor in the port. The two twin figures of Castor and Pollux were carved on its prow, and it was on its way from Thessalonica to Rome. The centurion boarded his prisoners, and this time the passage was smooth. They sailed the short distance from Malta to Sicily, rested for three days in Syracuse, then made their way through the narrow straits between Rhegium and Messina, into the southern end of the Tyrrhenean Sea. A steady wind carried them to Puteoli, the port of Rome, by Naples.

There was a large Jewish community in Puteoli, and the offices and warehouses of the Alexandrian grain dealers were there. There was also a little congregation of Christians, the ones who helped Phebe carry the apostle’s letter to the Romans. Word soon spread that the apostle himself was in their midst, in chains, on his way to be tried before Caesar, and a delegation came down to the boat to greet him. By now Julius was so accustomed to the unexpected where Paul was concerned, that he was not at all surprised at this.

It was necessary to stay in Puteoli for seven days so that both soldiers and prisoners might rest and arrive in Rome in good condition. Julius allowed Paul to go into the city, in the company of a legionary and to spend the seven days among his friends. At the end of the week, Paul promised the believers that he would return to them a free man.

Julius assembled his prisoners, and the long convoy set out on foot for Rome, a distance of three days. On the third day they came to the Via Appia, which ran from Brundisium all the way to the capital. The breath of Rome’s greatness could be felt long before they got there. The road broadened and villas sprang up on either side.

A mile out of Rome’s boundaries they paused at a way station. The prisoners were fed and given water to wash their hands and feet. They spent the night there, and resumed the march in the morning. Paul marched at the head of the procession chained to Julius. Luke and Aristarchus walked behind them, carrying Paul’s baggage. As they walked they saw monuments and mausoleums. Carriages passed in both directions. Finally they came to the Appian Forum, and a small delegation was waiting there for Paul. He recognized Priscilla standing in the middle of it, and she had her arms stretched out to him.

At long last he was in the Eternal City! At the Inn of the Three Taverns the elders of the community, under the leadership of Junius and Andronicus, were waiting for him.

* * * * *

In the early spring a damp mist rose from the swampy fields on either side of the Appian Way, and the mists of the marshland mixed with those that rose from the Tiber.

Through the milky whiteness that lay on the city shone the palaces and columns crowning the hills of Rome. Paul, in the company of his friends, went with the procession of prisoners and soldiers as far as the Porta Capena. He was a curious sight in the midst of his loving and enthusiastic followers. Beards and tongues wagged, eyes shone, and hands gestured. As the parade moved on, Paul’s entourage grew larger as men and women came to join it. A Roman patrician, reclining in the litter his slaves carried down the Appian Way, looked out at the spectacle of a Jewish prisoner accorded this strange reception at the gates of the city of the Caesars. He couldn’t help but think, “It seems that the conquered Jews have come hither to conquer the conquerors!”

And they were not wrong.


END OF PART TWO