MR. BROAD’S LAST CHURCH MEETING—LATIMER CHAPEL
THE eventful evening at last arrived. It had been announced from the
pulpit on the Sunday before that a special meeting of the church would be
held on the following Wednesday to consider certain questions of
discipline—nothing more—as it was not thought proper before the general
congregation to introduce matters with which the church alone was
qualified to deal. Everybody, however, knew what was intended, and when
Wednesday night came the vestry was crowded. Mr. Broad sat in a seat
slightly elevated at the end of the room, with a desk before him. On his
right hand was Brother Bushel, on the left was Brother Scotton, and on
the front bench were Brother Wainwright and a few of the more important
members, amongst whom was Thomas Broad, who, although it was a week-day,
was in full ministerial costume; that is to say, he wore his black—not
pepper-and-salt—trousers and a white neckerchief. Mr. Allen and George
were at the back of the room. There were no women there, for although
women were members as well as men, it was always an understood thing at
Tanner’s Lane that they were to take no part in the business of the
community. Seven o’clock having struck, Mr. Broad rose and said, “Let us
pray.” He prayed for about ten minutes, and besought the Almighty to
shed abroad His Holy Spirit upon them for their guidance. As the chosen
people had been brought through the wilderness and delivered from the
manifold perils therein, so God, he hoped, would lead His flock then
assembled, through the dangers which encompassed them. Oh that they
might be wise as serpents and harmless as doves! Might they for ever
cleave to the faith once delivered to the saints! Might they never be
led astray to doubt the efficacy of the Blood of the Atonement once
offered by the Son of God! Might they, through their Saviour’s merits,
secure at last an entrance into those mansions where all the saints of
God, those faithful souls whom He had elected as His own, of His own
eternal foreknowledge, would abide for ever, in full fruition of the joys
promised in His Word.
The prayer over, Mr. Broad rose and said that he was there that night to
discharge a most painful duty—one which, if he had taken counsel with
flesh and blood, he would most gladly have avoided. But he was a humble
servant of their common Lord and Master. It behoved him to cease not to
warn every one night and day; to remember that the Holy Ghost had made
him an overseer to feed the church of God which He had purchased with His
precious blood. He had done nothing in this matter without constant
recurrence to the footstool of grace, and he had also consulted with some
of his dear brethren in Christ whom he saw near him. They would have
observed that Brother Allen and his family had for some time absented
themselves from the means of grace. He should have said nothing upon
this point if they had joined any other Christian community. If even
they had attended the Established Church, he would have been silent, for
he was free to confess that in other religious bodies besides their own
God had faithful servants who held fast to the fundamental doctrines of
His book. But it was notorious, alas! that his dear brother had gone
NOWHERE! In the face of the apostolic command not to forsake the
assembling of themselves together, what could they do but suspect that
his dear brother’s belief had been undermined—sapped, he would say? But
to that point he would return presently. Then, again, they were all
familiar with the circumstances attending the late political contest in
the county. He knew that many of his dear brethren differed one from
another concerning matters relating to this world, although they were
all, blessed be God, one in Christ, members of His body. He himself had
thought it better to follow as far as he could, the example of his Lord
and Master to render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s, and to lead
a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty. He would not
for a moment, however, condemn any who differed from him in carnal
policy. But his dear Brother Allen and his son had overstepped the line;
and, considering this was a mixed church, he was of opinion that they
should have acted—what should he say?—with more Christian consideration.
More than this, Mr. George Allen was known to have abetted an unruly mob,
a position highly unbecoming, he might say, to one occupying the position
of member at Tanner’s Lane. But he might, perhaps, be permitted to dwell
for a moment on another point. His dear Brother Allen and his son
had—there was no doubt of it—consorted with infidels, one of whom had
been convicted by the laws of his country—a convict—and it was through
their instrumentality that his brethren had been led to wander from the
fold. This was the secret of the calamity which had overtaken the
church. Wolves, he would say—yes, wolves, grievous wolves—had entered
in, not sparing the flock. Let them consider what an Infidel was! It
meant a man who denied his Maker, Revelation, a life beyond the grave,
and who made awful jests upon the Holy Scriptures! He had evidence that
in this miserable household there was a portrait of that dreadful
blasphemer Voltaire, who on his deathbed cried out in vain for that
salvation which he had so impiously refused, and amidst shrieks
of—despair, which chilled with terror those who stood by him, was carried
off by the Enemy of Souls to the lake that burneth with brimstone, where
their worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched.—(Sensation.) (This
was a famous paragraph in one of Mr. Broad’s sermons preached on great
occasions, and particularly when he supplied a metropolitan pulpit. The
story had been contradicted twice in the county paper by a Frenchman, a
retired teacher of his native language, who had somehow heard of the
insult offered to his great countryman, and a copy of the contradiction
had been sent to Mr. Broad. He was content with observing that its
author was a Frenchman, and therefore probably an atheist, “with no
consciousness of moral obligation.” Voltaire’s diabolic disappearance
continued, therefore, to be one of Mr. Broad’s most striking
effects.)—This was a subject of great delicacy. They knew how closely
related he was to Brother Allen through that dear saint now in glory. He
did not—he could not—(Mr. Broad seemed to be affected)—allude in any
detail to what had happened; but still it was his duty to point out that
Mr. George Allen had been in constant intercourse with a female in an
infidel family—yes, before his wife’s death he had been seen with her
_alone_! _Alone_ with an infidel female! He only hoped that the
knowledge of this fact did not accelerate the departure of his blessed
daughter—daughter in the flesh and daughter in Christ. He could not
measure the extent of that intercourse; the Searcher of hearts alone
could do that, save the parties concerned; but, of course, as she was an
unbeliever, they must fear the worst. For himself, he had felt that this
was the root of everything. They would judge for themselves how
fervently he must have appealed to the Mercy-seat, considering his
position and relationship with his dear brother, before he had seen his
way to take the present course; but at last God had revealed Himself to
him, and he now committed the case to them. Might God have mercy on
them, and His Spirit lead them.
Mr. Allen and George had scarcely restrained themselves, and George,
notwithstanding his father’s injunction, leapt up before the concluding
sentences were out of Mr. Broad’s mouth. Mr. Scotton, however, rose, and
Mr. Allen pulled George down. Mr. Scotton wished to say just one word.
They could not, he was sure, overestimate the gravity of the situation.
They were called together upon a most solemn occasion. Their worthy
pastor had spoken as a minister of the gospel. He, Mr. Scotton, as a
layman, wished just to remind them that they were exercising judicial
functions—(Brother Bushel fidgeted and got very red)—and that it was
necessary they should proceed in proper order. With regard to two of the
charges, the evidence was fully before them; that is to say, absence from
public worship and what might perhaps be thought want of consideration
for the peace of the church.—(“Praps,” grunted Bushel—“praps
indeed.”)—But with regard to the third charge, the evidence was _not_
before them, and as this was the most important of the three he would
suggest before going any farther that they should hear what Mr. Broad
could produce.
Brother Bushel objected. It was very seldom indeed that he offered any
remarks in public; but this time he could not refrain, and introduced
himself as follows:
“Brother Scotton says ‘praps.’ I don’t say ‘praps,’ when people go
settin’ class agin class. Praps nobody’s windows was broke! Evidence!
Hasn’t our minister told us George Allen has been to London? He wouldn’t
tell us an untruth. Due respec’, Brother Scotton—no lawyering—none of
that—of them functions—’specially when it’s infidels and ricks may be
afire—aught I know.”
Mr. Broad interposed. He quite understood Brother Bushel’s ardour for
the truth, but he was prepared to produce some simple corroboration of
what he had affirmed, which would, he thought, satisfy Brother Scotton
and the brethren generally. “Thomas,” quoth Mr. Broad, “will you please
step forward and say what you know?”
Mr. Thomas thereupon advanced to the table, and said it would ill become
him to expatiate on the present occasion. He would confine himself to
obeying the mandate of his father. He then reported that he had been led
to visit the Colemans at first as friends of the Allens, and not knowing
their devilish tendencies. God had, however, he hoped, mercifully
protected him. If it had not been for God’s grace, where might he not
have been that day? It was true that they were disciples of the French
sceptic; his likeness was on the walls; his books were on the
bookshelves! Mr. George Allen had been in the habit of associating not
only with Mr. Coleman, but with the daughter, and with the daughter
_alone_! as has already been stated. She was also an infidel—more so,
perhaps, than her father; and Satan had a way, as they all knew, of
instilling the deadly poison so seductively that unwary souls were often
lost, lost, lost beyond recall, before they could truly be said to be
aware of it. He wished, therefore, that evening to confess again, as,
indeed, he had just confessed before, that by grace he had been saved.
It is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that
showeth mercy. He trembled to think how near he himself had been to the
pit of destruction, lured by the devices of the great Enemy of Souls; but
praise be to God he had been saved, not through own merits, but through
the merits of his Redeemer.
Mr. Broad purred with pleasure during this oration, and looked round on
the audience for their approval. Mr. Allen was now completely quieted.
The speech had acted like a charm. He rose immediately.
“Mr. Broad,” he said deliberately, but with much emphasis—you might have
heard a pin drop—“the value of the testimony just given depends upon
character of the witness. May I ask him to explain _how he came by that
scar on the back of his hand_?”
Mr. Allen remained standing. There was no sign of an answer. He sat
down for a moment but still there was no movement. He rose again.
“Mr. Broad, as there is no reply, will you permit me to give the
explanation?”
Mr. Thomas Broad then slowly erected himself near the table at which his
father was sitting. He held on by it hard, and gulped down half a glass
of water which was there. His tallowy face looked more tallowy than
ever, and his voice shook most unpleasantly as he was just heard to say
that he did not know with what object the question was put—that it—that
it—seemed—seemed irrel—irrelev—and these were the last syllables ever
heard from the lips of Mr. Thomas in Tanner’s Lane, for he dropped into
his seat and apparently fainted. There was great confusion while his
recovery was attempted. He was conveyed into the chapel, more water was
given him, smelling-salts applied, and in due time he regained his
senses; but his father, on his return to the vestry, announced that after
what had happened the meeting had perhaps better be adjourned. He felt
it impossible to go any further just then. Tanner’s Lane Church,
therefore, departed, much musing, and was never again summoned on that
business. Mr. Allen had some thoughts of demanding another meeting and a
formal acquittal, but the pastor was suddenly struck with paralysis, and
although he lingered for nearly two years, he preached no more. So it
came to pass that George and his father are on the church books till this
day. There was, of course, endless gossip as to the meaning of Mr.
Allen’s appeal. Whether George ever knew what it was is more than I can
say, but it is certain that Cowfold never knew. Mr. Allen always
resolutely repelled all questions, saying that it would be time enough to
go further when he was next attacked. The Broads, mother and daughter,
asserted that no doubt Thomas had a mark upon the back of his hand, but
that it had been caused by a nail in a fence, and that he had fainted
through indisposition. This theory, however, was obviously ridiculous,
for Mr. Allen’s reference had no meaning if Thomas had met with a simple
accident. Mrs. Broad saw that her son’s explanation, greatly as she
trusted him, was weak, and at last Thomas, with Christian compunction,
admitted that the fence was the palings of the College garden, over which
he had once clambered when he was too late for admittance at the College
gates. This was true. Mr. Thomas on the very evening of his interview
with Pauline, had obtained admission over the palings, had been detected,
and there had been an inquiry by the authorities; but the scar, as we
know, had another origin. Mrs. Broad was compelled to circulate this
story, and accompanied it with many apologies and much regret. It was
the sorrow of her life, she said; but, at the same time, she must add
that her son was delayed by no fault of his. The President had
investigated the matter, and had contented himself with a reprimand. Her
friends would understand that Thomas would prefer, under the
circumstances, not to visit Cowfold again, and considering her dear
husband’s sickness, she could not advise that prosecution of the Allens
should be pressed.
Cowfold, however, was not satisfied. Mr. Allen would not, as a man of
the world, have thought so much of such an indiscretion. Why was Mr.
Thomas late? Cowfold could not endure simple suspense of judgment. Any
theory, however wild, is more tolerable than a confession that the facts
are not sufficient for a decision, and the common opinion, corroborated,
it was declared, by surest testimony, was that Mr. Thomas had been to the
theatre. There was not a tittle of evidence to support this story, but
everybody was certain it was true. Everybody repeated it, and constant
repetition will harden the loosest hearsay into a creed far more
unshakable than faith in the law of gravity.
Just before Mr. Broad’s last illness, the secession of the Allens was
imitated by about twenty of the younger members of the congregation, who
met together on Sunday, under Mr. Allen’s guidance, and worshipped by
themselves, each of them in turn making some attempt at an exposition of
the Bible and a short address. By the time Mr. Broad died Tanner’s Lane
had sunk very low; but when his successor was chosen the seceders
exercised their rights, and were strong enough to elect a student fresh
from college, who had taken an M.A. degree at the University of London.
He preached his first sermon from the text, “I am crucified with Christ,”
and told his hearers, with fluent self-confidence, that salvation meant
perfect sympathy with Christ—“Not I, but Christ liveth in me;” that the
office of Christ was not to reconcile God to man, but man to God; and
this is effected in proportion as Christ dwells in us, bringing us more
and more into harmony with the Divine. The Atonement is indeed the
central doctrine, the pivot of Christianity, but it is an at_one_ment, a
making of one mind. To which Tanner’s Lane listened with much wonderment
and not without uncomfortable mental disturbance, the elder members
complaining particularly that this was not the simple gospel, and that
the trumpet gave an uncertain sound. But opposition gradually died out;
the meeting-house was rebuilt, and called Latimer Chapel. The afternoon
service was dropped and turned into a service for the Sunday-school
children; an organ was bought and a choir trained; the minister gave
week-day lectures on secular subjects, and became a trustee of the
Cowfold charity schools, recently enlarged under a new scheme. He
brought home a wife one day who could read German; joined the County
Archæological Society, and wrote a paper on the discoveries made when the
railway station was built on what was supposed to be an ancient British
encampment. For Cowfold was to become an important junction on the new
line to the north, and Mr. Bushel’s death had been accelerated by
vexation through seeing a survey carried across his own fields.
As for Mrs. Broad and Tryphosa, they left Cowfold and went into
Lancashire, to be near uncle Flavel. George, notwithstanding the new
doctrine in Latimer Chapel and the improvement in the Cowfold atmosphere,
was restless, and before the revolution just described was completed, had
been entirely overcome with a desire to emigrate with his child. His
father and mother not only did not oppose, but decided to accompany. Mr.
Allen had saved money, and though he and his wife were getting on in
years, there was nothing in either of them of that subsidence into
indifferent sloth which is the great mistake of advancing age. Both were
keen in their desire to know the last new thing, eager to recognise the
last new truth, forgetful of the past, dwelling in the present, and,
consequently, they remained young. They were younger, at any rate, just
now than George; and it was his, not exactly melancholy, but lack of zest
for life, which mainly induced them so readily to assent to his plans.
One bright June morning, therefore, saw them, with their children, on the
deck of the Liverpool vessel which was to take them to America. Oh day
of days, when after years of limitation, monotony, and embarrassment, we
see it all behind us, and face a new future with an illimitable prospect!
George once more felt his bosom’s lord sit lightly on his throne; once
more felt that the sunlight and blue sky were able to cheer him. So they
went away to the West, and we take leave of them.
What became of Zachariah and Pauline? At present I do not know.
* * * * *
THE END
* * * * *
_London_ _Hodder and Stoughton_ _1913_
FOOTNOTES
{132} “O ze (ye) my feris (companions) and deir freyndis, quod he,
Of bywent perillis not ignorant ben we,
Ze have sustenit gretir dangeris unkend,
Like as hereof God sall make sone ane end:
The rage of Silla, that huge sweste (whirlpool) in the se
Ze have eschapit and passit eik (each) have ze:
The euer (pot) routand (roaring) Caribdis rokkis fell
The craggis quhare monstruous Cyclopes dwell:
Ze are expert: pluk up zour harts, I zou pray,
This dolorous drede expell and do away.
Sum tyme thereon to think may help perchance.”
—_Gawin Douglas_.
“Endure and conquer! Jove will soon dispose,
To future good, our past and present woes.
With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;
Th’ inhuman Cyclops, and his den defied.
What greater ills hereafter can you bear!
Resume your courage, and dismiss your care.
An hour will come, with pleasure to relate
Your sorrows past, as benefits of fate.”
—_Dryden_.