A Mission in Staffordshire, 1854.
THE work at Baldhu, which had been going on almost incessantly for three
years, was now beginning to flag; that is to say, there was not that
ardent and eager attendance at the services and meetings, to which we
had been accustomed in the revival time. We had had occasional lulls
like this before, but they did not last more than a few weeks; and then
the "swallows" returned, and the bright hot summer of work came again
with its loud songs and pleasant fruits. This dullness was continuing
longer than usual; the crowded congregations were falling off; strangers
did not come from a distance; the people at home were not so lively.
However, the classes were continued, as also the services at the church,
and the number of communicants did not decrease. Still any one could see
that the revival was over. It was rather discouraging to me, and a cause
of triumph to some outsiders; but we were occasionally cheered by work
amongst visitors, and with sick-bed cases.
The majority of the people were complacently waiting for another tide of
revival; this was their custom, but it sat very uneasily upon me. I did
not like it, nor agree to it; but at that time I knew not what else to
do, but wait as others did. I said that we looked like vessels which had
come so far up the river with the tide; and now that it had turned we
were stranded and fast in the mud. Sometimes I changed the figure to
one not so ignoble, and likened ourselves to the stately vessels
anchored in Falmouth harbour, which were there because the wind was
contrary. We were wind-bound too, and dependent on circumstances; but my
idea of true religion was that we ought not to be like this. I rather
took for our type the great steamers which are propelled by powerful
engines, and come in and go out, and proceed on their voyage without
regard to wind or tide. We ought to be constrained I said, from within
by the love of God and thus be enabled to show the power of grace by
riding over all obstacles and triumphing in the midst of
discouragements. "He giveth songs in the night." Any bird can sing in
the sunshine.
The self-restraint and self-control I had exercised in my churchy days,
and which I supposed was derived from sacraments, I found wanting in my
new work. We required something with authority, such as church and
priest supply. I could not, however, conscientiously go back to that
legal system, nor did I think there was any need, for I was sure there
was something somewhere, to be had, which should and would supply our
want, if I could but discover it. It appeared to me that my people,
without this, were subject to impulse, and consequently in bondage to
their feelings.
In this time of lull I found that the steadfastness of some was shaken;
but I had known others, who had gone further back than these, return at
a revival time with new vigour. In this way, some of the Cornish people
professed to be converted scores of times. While ruminating on these
things and praying over them, I was surprised by receiving a letter
pressing me very much to come at once and preach in a parish in
Staffordshire, near Birmingham. Mr. Aitken had been on a mission in the
north, and on his return had stopped a night at this place, and preached
one of his alarming and awakening sermons. The effect was so great that
the people, together with their clergyman (a curate in sole charge) were
in much trouble and anxiety about their souls; there was a gloom hanging
over them, as if they had been sentenced to some dreadful doom, and did
not know what to do, or how to avert it.
It is a good thing to wound, but it should be with the object of making
whole; it is a blessed thing to show sinners their lost condition, but
only for the purpose of getting them to lay hold of the great salvation
which is provided for such.
In his perplexity the curate went to see the Bishop (Lonsdale) of
Lichfield. When his lordship had ascertained the cause of the trouble,
he took up a pamphlet which was lying on the table, and said, "If you
cannot get Mr. Aitken back, send for this gentleman, and pay his
expenses." "This gentleman," meant the author of the pamphlet, which his
lordship held in his hand, namely, myself; "his name and address are
here." said the Bishop; "take the book and read it carefully; he seems
to have both knowledge and experience in such matters."
I was written to forthwith, and the letter urged me to "come at once."
In compliance, I started off that night, and reaching the place on
Saturday afternoon, opened a mission the same evening without further
notice. On Sunday I preached three times, and went to the school-room
for the after-meeting. There we had a scene which, for noise and
confusion was quite Cornish. Men and women cried aloud for mercy, while
some believers who were there shouted for joy. The curate in charge was
completely bewildered, but felt he could do nothing; and seeing, as he
remarked, that I appeared to understand it and know what I was about, he
thought he had better remain still, till the noisy meeting was over.
That same night, before he retired, he gave his heart to God.
The work went on in this place with the force as of an explosion; just
as if hungry desires had been pent up a long time, and now they had vent
and opportunity to be satisfied. The church was crowded: every day, even
in the week; and we were kept in the schoolroom night after night till
twelve and one o'clock.
The town was a dark, smoky, sulphury place, and the air filled with
exhalations and iron filings from the various works. It was a dreadful
atmosphere, and everything was black and dirty; the red fires from the
furnaces around glared all night long and presented an awful appearance.
To come from the pure air and beautiful scenery of Cornwall into such a
place as this, was most trying and uncomfortable; but the reward was
great. The work was deeply interesting, and scores of men and women of
all classes, besides five clergymen, professed to be converted that
week.
The devil did not leave us alone; he was very angry, and raised up a
great opposition. The rector of the old church, who used to be most
benevolent and smiling, suddenly changed, and made it his business to
call on the curate in charge of the church, to tell him that he was
quite sure that his friend the vicar (who was away at the time in ill
health) would never have sanctioned this excitement. The curate said
that the Bishop had bid him invite Mr. Haslam, and that he had done so,
not knowing anything further about me or my work. The rector went off to
write to the Bishop forthwith, and in the meantime ordered bills to be
posted all over the town, warning people against "the Cornish fanaticism
at St. James's," which, of course, had the effect of drawing out a
greater concourse of people.
What with excessive work and bad air, by Friday evening I was quite
exhausted. I came out of the pulpit to the vestry, and remembering that
Cornish miners, in order to recover themselves after climbing ladders,
often found it necessary to lie down flat on the ground, I thought I
would try the same plan for a few moments while the people were going
out to the schoolroom. I did so; and while I was in this position a
clergyman came in and asked me if I was ill. "No," I said, "I am only
resting for a short time."
"Very well," he said, "rest on; but listen to me. The Bishop has sent me
here to see and hear you, and this is my report to his lordship."
Opening out a paper he held in his hand, he read: "St. James's crammed
to excess with a most orderly and devotional congregation; their
attention to the sermon marked and riveted; sermon from St. Luke xv,
verse 2, 'This Man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.' The
exposition of chapter most vivid and instructive; never heard better, or
so good; the application fervent and pointed; altogether, most edifying
service."
"There, that is my report, so you need not be afraid of anything you
hear. I will tell the Bishop all about it. Thank you very much for what
I have heard. God bless you. Good-night!"
"Oh," I said, springing up from the ground, "do not go yet! the best
part is to come. You have only seen me let down the nets; come now and
see them pulled up." "What is that?" he said, "Where am I to come?" "To
the schoolroom," I replied, divesting myself of my gown and bands, and
putting on my coat with all haste. "Come with me!"
He seemed a little afraid, and asked many questions. When we reached the
place we could scarcely get in, and the noise certainly was tremendous.
"What is all this confusion about?" he asked. "I think I had better not
go in to-night."
"Oh, come in, come in!" I said; "do not fear." But somehow he slipped
off in the dark, and I did not see him again. When I entered, almost the
first thing I noticed was the two curates of the parish church, taking
notes. However, I did not heed them, or ask to see what they had
written; for I would always rather have real work, though with a noise,
than orderly, respectable stillness, and spiritual death.
On Saturday I rested, but was very unwell all day, and did not know how
I should be able to work on Sunday. When the morning arrived, my
strength and voice were gone; it was impossible to preach. The people
met together and had a prayer meeting before the service, asking the
Lord to restore me. The curate was so much cheered, that he came to me
and said, "If you only get up and try, we feel sure you will be able to
preach." I got up, but had to go to bed again, for I was very ill.
Just before eleven o'clock a visitor arrived, a very queer-looking
little man, in a black suit of Quaker cut, and a college cap without a
tassel, with the corners of the square board rounded off. Standing by my
bed-side in this costume, he said that he was a convert of Mr. Aitken's,
and had come all the way from Birmingham to hear me. "Moreover," he
said, "I am a herbal doctor. Please let me feel your pulse."
He did so, and looking grave, sounded my lungs, put his ear to my chest
and then asked, "What is the matter with your left lung?"
I replied, "I don't know. Three doctors told me, more than fourteen
years ago, that it was all gone." "Well," he said, "you stay quietly in
bed till I come again at half-past eleven."
When he returned, he bade me get up and dress, and then gave me a cupful
of something very hot with cayenne, at the same time telling me that I
should be quite strong enough to preach by twelve o'clock.
So I was. I preached that morning, and again in the afternoon; after
that I went to bed till six o'clock, when I took another dose, and in
the strength of it preached a long, loud sermon to a crowded
congregation; after which I attended the after-meeting, and was there
till twelve o'clock at night. I then set off to the station, accompanied
by at least two hundred people, and left by the one o'clock train for
Birmingham, to the house of my new friend the herbal doctor. He nursed
me like a mother, and let me go on my way home to Cornwall the next day.
I never heard any more of the rector of the parish, or of the Bishop,
but was frequently cheered by letters saying that the work thus begun
was going on week after week in the same place. Some years after, when I
was passing, I stopped there for a few days, and gave them "a lift," as
they called it; and I then saw with half a glance that they had become
practised workers--that both clergymen and people were fitted to
missionize the whole country side.
One's great object in this mission work is not only to save souls, but
to encourage believers to do their part; that so the effect of a mission
may be continued and extended. God has a twofold blessing for us. He
says "I will bless thee and make thee a blessing;" and it is well to
remember that the benefits we receive are not so much to be kept for
self, as to be imparted and transmitted to others, even as they were
transmitted to us.