“Onward we go, the world shall hear our singing,” &c.
After they had played this up the street for a time, the Army halted, and
Captain Roberts and one of the lieutenants addressed some words to the
“band” with fire and vigour running through them, to which the lads and
lasses, young men and maidens, saints and sinners, responded with the
“Old Methodist” and Primitive Methodist “Glory! glory! bless the Lord!”
“Hallelujah!” “Religion is the best thing in the world!” “Glory!”
another called out at the top of his voice. While the Army was giving
out no uncertain sound the brass band commenced, under marching orders
and exciting surroundings, reminding me of old times—
“We are marching home to glory,
Marching up to mansions bright,
Where bright golden harps are playing,
Where the saints are robed in white.”
And then, in obedience to the captain’s arms and orders, the lads and
lasses struck up with the chorus—
“There’s a golden harp in glory,
There’s a spotless robe for you—
March with us to the hallelujah city,
To the land beyond the blue.”
And in this way we kept on till we arrived at the “Salvation Warhouse.”
A drunken man dressed in rags, but with an intelligent-looking face and a
high forehead, must of needs have a word to say, and for a time a
“branglement” seemed inevitable. However, with a little tact the storm
blew over. After a little work at “knee drill” in the warhouse the Army
rested for a short time to recruit their animal strength. While this was
going on I looked out for a couch upon which to rest my bones for the
night, and this I found out at Mr. Atkins’, in the market-place. I then
retired to get my dinner and tea in a coffee-tavern, of pork pie and
coffee, among “chaps and their girls” who had come to Hinckley for a
“fairing.” From thence I strolled to some gipsy vans on the green, to
find a number of the women washing clothes. My reception was in anything
but heavenly language. The gipsies at this fair were from Staffordshire,
nearly all of whom were unknown to me. If two of the women had wanted to
impress a stranger with the idea that they were of the poor unfortunate
gutter-scum class, they could not have used more disgusting language than
they did. I chatted with them and gave the children some books and
pennies, which brought sorrow from the lips of the gipsy parents for
having insulted me. After strolling about among the gipsies and vans in
the fair for a time, and distributing some cards and picture-books among
the gipsy, show, and other travelling children, I wended my way, guided
by the sound of “the light and leading” of the Salvation band, to the
“Salvation shop,” to spend a happy hour or two. I sat in one corner and
looked quietly on, which seemed to puzzle them. The leaders all had a
good stare at me; and first one and then the other would try to draw me
out with the usual question, to which I replied very politely and left
them in a maze. Captain Roberts told me over breakfast on the Sunday
morning that I had been a puzzle to the “band” all the previous evening;
and, except to “Captain Roberts” and the good family with whom I was
staying, I still remain so, for aught I know.
The Army had commenced proceedings, and at the word of command began to
“fire red-hot shot at the devil.” It was a lively, exciting time. The
band struck up while they were sitting down—
“My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here,
Then why should I murmur when trials are near?
Be hushed, my dark spirit, the worst that can come
But shortens my journey and hastens me home.”
After this the “command” was for “knee-drill.” Certainly some of the
language and action of the soldiers was a little out of the “Friends’”
style of doing things. One soldier shouted out at the top of his voice,
with a large amount of enthusiasm, “Lord, help us to kill the devil, he
has troubled us long enough.” Another would call out, “Lord, the devil
has got some powder in his breast; light it with a match and blow his
head off;” to which another soldier would reply, “Give the devil string
enough and he will hang himself.” “Glory!” they all shouted.
They now got off their knees, and big and little began to relate their
experiences, and to “tell what the Lord had done for them.” Our “good
brother” in his experiences said, “While I was serving the devil, he made
a sign-post of me for a rogue’s shop. Now I am a member of the Salvation
Army, with a bit of blue in my coat, which is better than having red on
the end of your nose.” “Thank God, it is good, brother; hallelujah!”
shouted a number of volunteers.
One little boy said, in his experience with moistened cheeks, “Thank the
Lord; before I joined the Salvation Army I was a bad boy; but now I say
my prayers, and am trying to be good, and mean to get to heaven! Amen.”
One little girl, with tears in her eyes, said, “Before I joined the
Salvation Army I used to be a naughty, bad girl; now I am praying to God,
and try to be good. O Lord, do save my poor mother, and my brothers and
sisters, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.” A number of girls and boys
related their experiences in similar strains. One grey-headed old man,
with wet eyes and trembling emotion, thanked “God that He had put it into
the mind of one of the boys in the room to leave him a tract, and to
invite him to join the Salvation Army. It was the best thing that had
ever been done to him. Instead of serving the devil, who was a bad
master, he was serving God, and hoped to get to heaven. Bless God, and
the lads and lasses. Amen.”
The captain now called on the “band” to strike up one of their “marches,”
which they did:
“There is a better world, they say, oh so bright!
Where sin and woe are done away, oh so bright!
And music fills the balmy air,
And Angels with bright wings are there,
And harps of gold, and mansions fair, oh so bright!”