CONVERSION OF MYSELF, TWO BROTHERS, AND MANY
OTHER GIPSIES.
I ALWAYS said my prayers night and morning, and asked God to give
me power over drink, and sin, and self, but failed as often as the
temptation came to me. I was like the chaff driven before the wind. I
often groaned before the Lord, and hated myself after every defeat,
because so easily overcome; and not being able to read the Word of God,
never having been to school, it was no wonder that I was ignorant of
the way of life.
About this time I became so concerned about my soul that I seemed to
rest nowhere. I travelled through Bedfordshire and around to London,
to see my father and mother, and they helped me in my trouble with my
children for a little time. Then my sister and her husband accompanied
us with their van, and as they had no children of their own, she
was like a mother to mine, and he was kind as a father to them. My
sister could read the New Testament, and used to read to me about the
sufferings of Christ, and His death upon the tree for sinful man. She
told me it was the sins of the people that nailed Him there, and I
often felt in my heart that I was one of them. She was deeply moved
when I wept, and said, “Oh how cruel to serve Him so.” I took farewell
of them, but left my youngest child with them for a time, and travelled
on to High Barnett, and made tracks for Luton, Bedfordshire. All the
while I was very lonely and sad at heart, and often when my children
were asleep, and my horses put away for the night, I have wrestled and
struggled on the ground before God with the powers of darkness, but
found no relief. It was like the troubled sea casting up mire and dirt.
If ever there was a soul that understood the meaning of wormwood and
gall, I did.
One morning, just before we reached Luton, I had left a daughter to
hawk her goods, and told her I would wait for her on the roadside
with my van. While waiting, I looked up and saw two vans approaching
from Luton. To my great delight it was my two brothers, Woodlock and
Bartholomew; who were equally delighted and surprised to meet me. We
began to talk, and I found that they were in the self-same trouble
about their souls. God was dealing with them and convincing them of
sin. How wonderful are the dealings of God with the children of men.
As we talked, we felt how nice it would be to settle down, and go to
God’s house and learn of Him—for I had got tired, of my roaming life.
The more we talked about it the stronger the conviction grew, and we
resolved to be different men, whatever the consequences might be. My
brothers turned round and went with me to Cambridge. Upon arrival, we
went to a public-house, and told the landlady how we felt. She began
to weep, and said, “I have a book upstairs that will just suit you,
for it makes me cry every time I read it.” She went upstairs, and
brought it down, and lent it to us to read. We went out into the road
to mind our horses, and a young man came out to read the book to us. As
he read, our convictions grew stronger. We felt, like its author (it
was “Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress”), that we wanted to get rid of our
burden. My brother Bartholomew rose up and said, “If God does not save
me I shall die.” All of us felt the smart of sin at that moment and
wept like little children. We returned the book, and thanked the woman
for lending it to us. Sad to relate, soon after this, her husband,
coming home the worse for drink, was thrown out of his trap and killed
on the spot. I felt it was another warning for me, and praised God,
in my way, that I had been spared.
On Sunday we went to the Primitive Methodist Chapel, Fitzroy Street,
Cambridge, morning, afternoon, and night. At night Mr. Guns preached.
His points were very cutting to my soul; he seemed to aim directly
at me. I tried to hide myself behind a pillar in the chapel, but he,
looking and pointing in that direction, said, “He died for thee.” The
anxious ones were asked to come forward; and in the prayer meeting the
preacher came to where I was sitting, and asked me if I was saved. I
cried out, “No! that is what I want.” He tried to show me that Christ
had paid my debt; but the enemy of souls had blinded my eyes, and made
me believe that I must first feel it and then believe it, instead of
receiving Christ by faith first. Thousands make a great mistake there.
I went from that house of prayer still a convicted sinner, but not a
converted one.
I again travelled to London, to Epping Forest, to see my father and
mother, who were there encamping in their tent. I put my horses in a
piece of enclosed ground, and on Monday, when I went to fetch them out,
the Spirit of God told me it was wrong. I told God that that should
be the last time I would ever do such a thing, or sin against Him
knowingly. I then told my father and mother, brothers and sisters, and
some of the gipsy tribe, that I was done with roaming and wrong-doing,
and that I meant to turn to God, by His help. How they looked at me
and wept. My eldest brother, who was weeping, said, “My brother is
going to heaven and I am going to hell.” My two brothers, Woodlock
and Bartholomew, sold their horses to a man, but the man lent them
the horses after he had bought them, that they might take their vans
through London to Shepherd’s Bush, on a piece of building land close
to Mr. Henry Varley’s chapel. Brother Woodlock went to take the horses
back to the man who lent them, and while he was away I sold mine, being
determined to have no hindrance, as I meant to settle down and find
Christ, if He was to be found. Bless Him! He saw that I was in earnest;
and the Spirit of God told me I should be saved that night. And so
I was, with my dear brother Bartholomew. After I got my van settled
I built up my tent, and then I asked God to direct me to some place
where I might learn the way to heaven. I could think of nothing else
but Christ. I believed His blood was shed for me—yes, for me, a poor
gipsy—and not only for me, but for you, dear reader; yes, for all the
world. Praise His name.
I inquired of a young man if he could direct me to a place where there
was going to be a service that night. He said, “Yes.” Just then a young
man stepped up and said, “Are you going to be religious?” I said, “I
don’t know anything about being religious; what I want is Christ, and
Christ I will have before I come back.” This man was so angry at my
determination being so great that he said he would be a very devil in
the midst of us. I went off to the meeting, my brother Bartholomew
going with me. We found a little mission hall in Latimer Road,
Shepherd’s Bush. It was a prayer meeting, and several working men were
there. They were singing that good old hymn—
“There is a fountain filled with blood.”
As they were singing the power of God took hold of me. I was standing
up, and my mind seemed to be taken away from everybody and fixed
heavenward. It seemed as if I was bound in a chain and they were
drawing me up to the ceiling. I was unconscious until I fell on the
floor, and they told me afterwards that I lay there wallowing and
foaming for half an hour, like the son that the father brought to Jesus
(Mark ix. 17). When I came to myself, I seemed to hear the voice of
Jesus saying, “Thou dumb and deaf spirit, come out of him and enter
him no more,” and the spirit rent me sore, and came out that same
hour. Some of my children were there, and, crying, said, “Oh, dear,
our father is dead!” Blessed be His name, I had only then commenced
to live! My bands fell off, my tongue was loosed, and I immediately
rose and told the people that Christ had saved me. My dear brother
Bartholomew was saved the same night. No human instrument pointed me
the way; God began it and God finished it. I told the people that
my wife had been dead three years, and that I had been under deep
conviction ever since that time. The change was so great that I walked
about the hall, looking at my flesh. To me it did not seem the same
colour. My burden was gone, and I told the people that I felt so light
that if the room had been full of eggs I could have walked through and
not have broken one of them. Glory be to God for His wondrous way in
dealing with me. I went forth a new creature in Him. When I arrived
home my children were called, and, for the first time in that gipsy
home, I knelt with them in prayer. I began at the right place—with my
dear children. I shall never forget that night how I sang; and well I
might, when such a sinner as I had been was delivered from my guilt.
My joy was indeed great, and I told my children that “old things had
passed away,” and that we must lead a new life together. I did not
sleep much that night. I was talking to Jesus, and asking Him how I
should go on. A voice seemed to say, “Now are ye clean.” I said, “It
is enough, Lord. My soul believes it. What must I do to Keep clean?” A
voice came again, “Abide in me.” I did not know at that time that it
was in the Bible, but you will find it in John xv. 3, 4. Oh, how sweet
it sounded to my soul! I was lost in wonder, love, and praise, and fell
asleep singing,
“My Jesus, I love Thee,
I know Thou art mine.”
In the morning I went on my knees in my gipsy van and asked God to
guide me by His Spirit to live as He would have me, for I was willing
to obey Him. Going outside and looking round the van, I thought I never
saw anything look so new and bright. My brother Woodlock came to me
and asked me how I had been saved, for he had heard the news. I told
him I was a new man, that I had found a peace as calm as a river, and
that Jesus had cast out the evil spirit. He replied, “Yours is a real
conversion.” The devil made my statement a snare for him, telling him
that he must feel just exactly as I felt or he would not be converted,
so he was kept in bondage till the following Sunday. After breakfast I
again prayed with my children, and asked God to save them, receiving an
impression while I was praying that I must go and speak to the other
gipsies that were encamped on the same piece of ground, numbering about
twenty families. Being quite willing to take up my cross I obeyed and
went, when in their midst I began to sing, and I told them what great
things the Lord had done for me. Many of them were bathed in tears. I
turned round to my brother Bartholomew’s van, and saw him and his wife
on their knees, and she was crying to God for mercy. God saved her
there and then. My brother Bartholomew and I then commenced a prayer
meeting in one of the gipsy tents, and my eldest son and daughter were
brought to Christ that morning, with several others, until thirteen
gipsies professed to find Christ as their Saviour. I shall never forget
our first prayer meeting. We were like the woman at the well, crying,
“Come, see a man that told me all things that ever I did. Is not this
the Christ?” The prayer meeting ended, and there was a calm.
Now commenced a new life. My attention was first drawn to my fiddle,
that I had played and loved in the dancing saloons; and so that it
should form no temptation to me, I made up my mind to part with it,
although it had brought me in great gain. I took it to a pawnshop in
Shepherd’s Bush, and asked the broker what he would give for it, as I
wished to sell it. He said, “What! sell your best friend?” I told him I
had found Jesus, and He had taken away all desire for worldly things.
He wept, and taking my hand said, “May God bless you,” and we parted.
This was April the 6th, 1869.
Mr. Henry Varley, of Notting Hill, heard of our conversion and came to
invite us to his tabernacle. We accepted his invitation and received
considerable help from his preaching. He put a mission tent on the
ground where we were staying, and called it the “Gipsy Tabernacle.”
A lady volunteered to teach the gipsy children in the daytime, and
several young men came in the evening to give us an hour’s reading,
and to hold services on different nights in the week. On April 11th,
1869, my dear brother Woodlock found Christ in Mr. Varley’s vestry, and
joined us in praising God. At this time the devil began to rage. Seeing
he had lost three of his servants he did his best to upset us, and we
were all turned off the ground where we had been staying. Some of the
friends told me to hire a field. I did so, at a rent of £25 per annum.
We moved our tents and vans into this field, and all the gipsies went
with us. The tents were pitched all round the field, with the mission
tent in the centre. Meetings were continually held, and we had every
opportunity to testify to our gipsy friends what the Lord had done
for us. But the enemy had not done with us. Several of the gipsies’
antagonists got drunk, fought, and made a great disturbance; and as we
had paid no deposit on the land we were again expelled.
We went to God in prayer, and asked His guidance in the matter, as
we three brothers were determined to work for God. I was led to a
farmhouse close by. Knocking at the door, the gentleman came out and
asked me what I wanted. I told him the Lord had sent me to ask him
to let us come under the railway arch that was in the corner of his
field. He said he was afraid to let us come in. I assured him that we
were honest, and that he might use our horses—for we had bought more
to enable us to go to Kent for the hop season, where we had worked for
Mr. Hodge, Orphan Green, for many years. He seemed at a standstill,
not knowing what to do. His wife then came out and entreated him on
our behalf, and he yielded and gave me the key. We stayed there until
September. He found work for us, and we had some precious times all the
while we were there. We still kept going to Mr. Varley’s tabernacle
until we left for Kent, proving that “godliness is profitable for all
things, having the promise of this life and that which is to come.”
Soon after we wrote to my father and mother, telling them we were
converted, and then went to see them at Lowton Forest. They soon
prepared something for us to eat. We told them that before we partook
of food now we prayed. All knelt down, and my father cried for mercy,
and said he ought to have set the example. Instead of that, we had come
to teach him; and both father and mother rested upon the promise of
God. They were then seventy years of age. They lived five years after
that, trusting in the finished work of Christ.
I have already intimated that we went down to Kent during the hopping
season. This time someone had already told my master that his fancy
men had turned religious. He replied that he was very glad to hear it.
When I met him at the farm he said, “Good morning. I have heard good
news.” I told him at once that I had found Christ. He gripped my hand,
and the tears stood in his eyes. He said, “You must come up to the
house to-night, and then we can talk more about it.” We accordingly
went, sang some hymns, and talked about our conversion, and the power
of God fell upon us. His wife said we had better turn it into a prayer
meeting. We were soon on our knees, and I believe from that time
several of that family were savingly converted to God. They built us
a tent in the cherry orchard, and we held services right through the
hopping season. The work was so blessed that Mr. Varley came down to
help us. The policeman who was told off on duty there was told to take
his staff with him. He replied to his superintendent that he would much
rather take his Bible, for the gipsy was preaching Jesus, and such had
been the change produced that the staff was not required. More blessed
to relate, the policeman and his daughter were converted, during the
services there. Praise God!
At Michaelmas, the season being over, we made tracks once more for
Cambridge, to settle down for the winter on a piece of ground near the
Gas House in Barnwell. On Sunday we commenced to sing the praises of
God outside near our vans, and very soon a crowd of people congregated
round us. We talked to them of Jesus and His love, and invited them
to the chapel. We went off singing, the people following us, and the
chapel was soon full. We never lost the influence of that meeting. All
glory to our risen Saviour, who hath chosen the weak things of this
world to confound the mighty.