A Mission in the "Shires." 1853.
At the time of which I am writing, twenty-six or twenty-seven years ago,
special services for preaching were not called by the name of
"Missions." I think that word has been derived from some Roman Catholic
perverts, who made aggressive efforts in London, which they called
"Catholic Missions." From them it has been adopted by some who love to
copy Rome and Romish phrases. Strange infatuation, by which these
Romanizers in vain court a Church which despises them, and gives them
neither place nor quarter! However, the word is now well understood, and
its meaning is plainer than any definitions of mine could make it.
My first journey to "foreign parts" (as the Cornish call it) was to a
town in Devonshire, where I stopped three or four days. The day I
arrived I preached in the church, because it was the regular evening
service; special services were not then known, unless it was for some
Missionary Society, or other such advocacy. The idea of preaching to
awaken souls, was considered very strange and fanatical. The church I
preached in had high pews, which prevented my seeing the occupants. I
was told that it was full, and certainly there were faces visible here
and there; but the whole congregation was so still, that the dropping of
the proverbial "pin" might have been heard. It was all very chilling and
dead, no "Amens!" or "Glory!" as in Cornwall; indeed, the stillness had
such an effect upon me, that I found it difficult to get on. After
making two or three hard appeals, and meeting with nothing but silence
for a response, I concluded, and came away much disappointed and
disheartened. However, the next morning, the vicar showed me some beads,
leathers, and flowers which had been left in the pews of the church. So
I found that the shots had hit somewhere, or something.
Walking through the town in the course of the day, a tall mason, with a
large whitewash brush in his hand, came running after me (not to
whitewash me) but to ask the question, which he did most eagerly, "Are
you the man that preached last night?"
I said, "Yes, I am."
"Oh," he replied, "will you preach tonight?"
I answered him somewhat doubtfully, "I suppose not," for the vicar did
not know what excuse there could be for my preaching a second time.
He continued, "Will you come to my house and preach this evening? I have
a good large room at your service, and can promise you a congregation."
I assented; so we fixed the time, and made all other necessary
arrangements. On coming down in the evening, I found my mason friend had
invited his neighbours, and finding more had promised to come than his
room would hold, he had opened the folding doors between two rooms
upstairs, taken down three large bedsteads, and having borrowed forms
and chairs, he was able to accommodate seventy people. As many as this
came, and more, for men and women stood on the stairs and landing
besides.
We sang heartily, and after prayer, I felt a little more at home than I
had done on the previous evening'; but it was not up to Cornwall yet! In
my address I had liberty and power to hold the people, and we had some
conversions that evening, and the following one also. My mason friend
was greatly cheered and revived, and from this time began reaching
himself, carrying on meetings in various cottages and farm places.
From there I went on into Dorsetshire, and arrived at the vicarage to
which I was going, rather late on Saturday night, very tired; so much
so, that I was glad to go to bed as soon as possible. On Sunday morning
I went to church and preached to a large congregation, the words which
God gave me. On coming out, the vicar's wife said, "If I had sat up all
night telling you about the people, you could not have preached more
appropriately; indeed, I am sure that some of them will think that I
told you what to say."
It was so, for this same lady was charged with telling me to put before
some of the congregation things which her husband dared not! In the
evening the church was crammed to excess, and the people were most
attentive and eager. Some of them could scarcely restrain their
feelings, so powerfully did the Word come home to them. At the
conclusion of the service, I announced that I had come there to preach
every night for the week, and would visit them during the day.
Accordingly in the morning I called at several cottages, in one of which
King George the Third used to attend a prayer-meeting with the country
people.
In the afternoon I went to the convict prison at Portland. It was sad to
look upon the prisoners clanking about in their chains, many of whom
were employed in making a road to the sea. I could not help saying to
the chaplain, who was walking with me, "What a picture is that! It is
exactly how Satan employs unbelievers to make their own road to hell. As
such, they are condemned already, because they do not believe in Christ;
and for the same reason, their sins not being pardoned, they are bound
in chains."
"Well," said the chaplain drily, "that seems all clear and scriptural.
Would you like to speak to them?"
"Yes," I said, "I should."
He then made a sign to the warder, who commanded that the convicts
should give attention, and the order was at once obeyed.
Standing on the bank, I spoke to them as they were assembled before me;
but instead of telling them of the devil and chains, as the chaplain
expected, I spoke of God's love to sinners, and said that "chastisement
and sorrows were not sent in anger, but in kindness. God is angry when
the wicked are allowed to go on unpunished; but when punished in this
world, it is not for expiation of sin (for only the blood of Jesus can
do that), but for the purpose of awakening and humbling the
transgressor, that he may with contrite heart return to the Lord, who
alone is able to deliver us from sin and from Satan's power. 'It is
good,' said the Psalmist, 'that I have been afflicted: before I was
afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept Thy word.'"
Many of the men were so affected, that they sobbed aloud, and I could
scarcely refrain from doing the same thing myself. After this I prayed
that the word spoken might be blessed to those who had heard it, and
then took my leave. It was not easy to dismiss this sad scene from my
mind, nor have I ever lost the impression it made upon me.
We had a very good time that evening in the church, and there was much
power and blessing. At the close of the service, I gave out that I would
preach again the following evening, and having no opportunity for an
after-meeting, the word preached was left with prayer for a blessing on
it.
The next morning there came an unexpected, as well as a most abrupt,
opposition to the work; and no wonder, for it was not likely that Satan
would permit it to go on smoothly. A vicar from the neighbourhood, who
had formerly been a military man, and had still the commanding manner of
such, presented himself, and tried to terrify my good and kind friend,
the vicar. He told him that he had heard a great deal about me; that I
was just like Starkie,* and preached the same doctrines; and that he was
deputed by other clergymen to come and ask that my preaching be stopped.
Then he went on to say that I was nothing less than a Jesuit in
disguise; and turning; to me, he said, "Sir, you know you are!" I
replied, begging his pardon, "I can assure you I am not. You must be
altogether misinformed." But he said, again turning round, and sternly
looking at me, "You know I am not mistaken or misinformed; your
countenance betrays you!" I smiled at this, not knowing how my
countenance looked. He was quite satisfied with himself, and rather more
so because he thought he had succeeded in extracting a promise from the
vicar that the services in question should be stopped.
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* A clergyman who had associated himself with H. J. Prince and some
others, and founded the "Agapemone" at Spaxton, near Bridgewater.
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This officer-clergyman then went away, saying that he was quite
convinced in his mind that I was a Jesuit, and nothing should ever
dissuade him; this interview had confirmed his thoughts on the subject.
My dear good friend was so afraid of that loud, overbearing man, that he
consented to give up the services after that night.
Presently another clergyman, evidently in concert with the former,
called on the same errand. His more gentle manner and plausible words
had greater effect, so that the vicar more than half decided to have no
service, even on that evening.
Before he had fully made up his mind, it so happened that there came on
a tremendous thunderstorm, accompanied with hail and vivid flashes of
lightning. This was considered by him quite providential, and an
indication that God wished the services stopped. When the sexton came
over to the vicarage, a little before the service time, the vicar said,
"Don't ring the bell for church tonight; it is of no use: no one can
possibly come out this weather!"
"Why, sir," said the sexton, "the church have been crammed full this
half-hour. It's no use ringing the bell, sure, for we ain't got no room
for no more people."
"Now, that is remarkable," said the vicar. "I do think, after all, the
Lord would have us go on. What do you think?" he said, turning to me.
I replied, "Without doubt I think so. I cannot suppose that the Lord
would send such men, in such a tone, to stop His work."
"Well, then," said the vicar, "we will go on till the end of the week."
But this could not be; for in the morning, as soon as he had decided to
stop the services, I sat down and wrote to a cousin of mine, in the
neighbourhood (and the letter had gone), to get me the parish church for
the next evening, and said, "I would come to her on a visit for a few
days, as my preaching in this place was brought to an end."
I spoke that evening, and announced that I would do so again on
Thursday. On the following day I went on this promised visit to another
part of the county, and was not long in the company of my cousin, before
I found out that she had been brought up in Evangelical doctrines, and
hated Puseyism; but that she had never been converted. In the evening,
we went to the Minster Church, the use of which she had obtained for me.
There, I preached from the words, "Behold, I stand at the door and
knock." (I did not know then, as I old now, that this is a text for
believers.) Accommodating it for my purpose, I made out that many people
assented to evangelical doctrines, without yielding to them: that is,
they heard the knocking, but did not open the door and receive the
Saviour; therefore, they remained unsaved; and if they died like that,
would be lost for ever!
When I first ascended the pulpit, which stood outside of a high chancel
screen, I looked towards the nave, and saw it filled with high pews,
which, as I thought, were for the most part empty; whereas, I could see
that the choir and chancel, which was brightly lighted, was full of
choir-men and boys, besides many people; so instead of turning my back
upon the many in the lighted chancel, and addressing myself to the
unseen few in the large dark nave, I turned round in the pulpit, and,
looking through the screen, I preached to those I could see. The people
in the nave, however, were most attentive to hear; and after the sermon
came up and asked me why I had turned my back on them, for they could
not hear all I said. Evidently they had heard something which had
interested them. Seeing so many were anxious, we invited those who
wished for further help, or instruction, to come home with us. Many did
so, and we held a kind of after-meeting, in which my cousin and several
others found peace.
I could not promise to stay there any longer, having settled to return
on Thursday to resume services in the church previously referred to.
Accordingly I went back to a neighbouring town, where my good vicar had
appointed to meet me. He did so, and, without delay, commenced telling
me, that he had had a long talk with some of his brother clergymen, and
had given his word that the services were positively to be discontinued
after that night; he also told me he had taken my place by the coach,
and that I was to start for Exeter the next morning, on my way home.
Then he went on to say that he found it would be dangerous to keep me
any longer, for he should have the whole neighbourhood up about it. In
his timidity, he would rather let the work stop, than be embroiled with
the neighbourhood!
The evening service was crowded, and the people were very disappointed
that I was not allowed to remain. However, I told them it could not be,
and that I must go--so took leave of them.
The next morning we rose early, and breakfasted at six o'clock, then
drove out to the turnpike road, to meet the coach at an appointed
corner, at seven. It arrived in due time, piled up high into the air
with passengers and luggage; but having an inside place secured for me,
we were not dismayed at the outside appearance. The coachman got off the
box, and, instead of opening the coach door as we expected, put some
money into my hand, and, with a grinning countenance, said, "There's
your money, sir. Sorry to say can't take you today; hain't got a crevice
of room anywhere. Good morning, sir." In a moment more he was up on his
box, with reins in hand. "Take you tomorrow, sir, same time. Good
morning." And off he went'. Imagine our surprise at being left on the
roadside in this unceremonious way. My good little vicar was most
indignant at being thus treated. "I'll make him pay for that," he said.
"I'll punish him--it's against the law." And then, as if a new thought
had suddenly come to him, he said, "Ah, I know what we will do! Jump
into the carriage again"; and putting my luggage in, he got up, and
drove me to the next town. He said, "We will take a post-chaise, and
make the coach people pay for it; that's it--that's what we will do."
I suggested that I did not think we could do that, having received the
money back.
"Ah, that's nothing," he said; "that's nothing. We will take a
post-chaise."
This scheme was prevented; for on arriving at the hotel, there was not a
carriage of any kind to be had. "Are you sure of that?" said the vicar
(as if all the world was in league with the coach proprietor). "Are you
quite sure?"
"You had better come and see for yourself," said the ostler, in a surly
tone.
We went into the yard, and found the coach houses quite empty.
"That's very remarkable," said the vicar; "but these people are
connected with that coach--it changes horses here. We will go to the
next inn."
There they did not let out carriages at all!
"Well now," said the vicar, "this is very remarkable," and was silent.
"Perhaps the Lord does not mean me to go today," I said meekly.
"It seems so, certainly. I must say it is very remarkable."
I suggested that I would stay at the inn till the next morning, as there
was no means of getting on. "Shall I do so?"
"Oh, no; certainly not--certainly not," said the kind man. "Not at
all--not at all. We will go back again."
"But," I said, "what will they think when they see me?"
Poor dear man, like many others he was dreadfully frightened at the
thought of "what will they think?" As if "they" did not go on thinking
whether one gives them occasion or not.
In due course, we arrived again in sight of the vicarage gate, and there
we saw the vicar's wife, with her hands up in astonishment. She
exclaimed, "What! are you come back?"
"Yes, we are indeed!" said the vicar, and he was going to tell her how
it was, but she was too impatient to listen, having, as she thought,
something more important to communicate. She said, "After you went away
this morning, the weather being so fine, I thought that I would go into
the village, and see some of the people who were at church last evening.
In passing by widow S.'s cottage, on my way to another, I saw her door
and window open, and heard her praying very earnestly, 'Lord, bring him
back! bring him back!' I thought she was praying about her husband, who
had recently died; and that I would go in and try to comfort her. So I
knelt down by her side, and repeated the words, 'I shall go to him, but
he shall not return to me,' when she turned round' and said, 'Oh, I
don't mean that!' and then, as if she grudged every breath which was
spent in other words, she went on repeating, 'Lord, bring him back!
Lord, bring him back!'
"'Who do you mean?' I said, 'what can you mean?'
"She went on, 'O Lord, I saw him go away. I saw them take him away.
Lord, bring him back! bring him back!'
"I again said, 'Who do you mean?'
"She took no heed, but went on, 'O Lord, when I opened the window I saw
him coming out of the vicarage gate. Lord, bring him back! do bring him
back!'
"At last I understood that she was praying for you to be brought back.
Then I said to her, 'Dear woman, do get from your knees, and let me talk
to you.' No, she would not get up.
"No, I can't get up. Lord, bring him back! bring him back!'
"It cannot be,' I said; 'he is on the coach by this time--a long way
off.' The woman became frantic at the thought. 'Oh, what shall I do?
what shall I do? Lord, bring him back!'
"Seeing that I could do nothing in the matter, I went to call on some
other people, and coming back found the widow still on her knees, urging
the same petition without stopping." "Well, that is remarkable,"
interposed the vicar. Without a moment's pause, I set off to show myself
to the widow.
"Now! there you are," she said; "the Lord has sent you back. I laid
awake best part of the night, thinking of some questions I wished to ask
you; and when I saw you go away like that, so early in the morning, it
gave me quite a turn. I thought I should be lost for ever!"
Her questions concerned her soul's condition. On my putting Christ and
His salvation before her for her acceptance, she found peace; and
afterwards became a good helper in the parish. There were some other
anxious ones she urged me to visit, which I did. On referring to my
letters, written at the time, I find a record of five persons who
professed to find peace that morning.
In the evening, we had a kind of service in the school-room, with as
many as we could get together, and spent a very happy time in prayer and
praise.
The next morning I started for home, which I reached late on Saturday
night, or rather early on Sunday morning, and appeared quite
unexpectedly among my people again. I gave them an account of the state
of things in the "shires." This, my first experience of "foreign
missions," was not encouraging.
Ever since my conversion, I had been over head and ears in conversion
work, and, as a loyal young convert, thought at that time there was
nothing else in the world to live, or work for! How surprised I was when
I found that this was not by any means the first thing in the minds of
my Evangelical brethren; and more so still when I saw that even
preaching for the salvation of souls was put aside altogether, if 'it
did not fit in with the stated service-day of the week, or public
opinion. If people came to church, or better still, to the communion
table, they were considered quite satisfactory enough, even though they
were dead in trespasses and sins. I did not, of course, expect anything
from my own neighbours, for I knew them of old; but from accredited
"standard bearers," I did expect something and got nothing.
While I was still feeling sore and disappointed, intending not to go out
on such errands any more, I found myself promised to another mission in
a most unexpected manner; but this did not happen to be out of Cornwall,
and therefore prospered better, as we shall see.