may be the character of any of our fellow-creatures, it is very
lamentable that they should suffer for crimes of which individually they
are not guilty. Let us hope that, in reference to this people, unjust
executions have ceased; that people will be careful in giving evidence
which involves the rights, liberties, and lives of their
fellow-creatures, though belonging to the unhappy tribes of Gipsies; and
above all, let us hope, that such measures will be pursued by the good
and benevolent of this highly favoured land, as will place them in
situations where they will learn to fear God, and support themselves
honestly in the sight of all men.
CHAP. VII. Of the formation of the Southampton Committee, and the
success that has attended its endeavours.
Although the Gipsies, on account of their unsettled habits, their
disposition to evil practices, and that ignorance of true religion, which
is inseparably connected with a life remote from all the forms of
external worship, and from the influence of religious society, may be
said to be in a most lamentably wretched state; yet is their condition
not desperate. They are rational beings, and have many feelings
honourable to human nature. They are not as the heathens of other
countries, addicted to any system of idolatry; and what is of infinite
encouragement, they inhabit a land of Bibles and of Christian ministers;
and, although at present, they derive so little benefit from these
advantages, there are many of them willing to receive instruction. The
following details, to which I gladly turn, will shew that, when _patient_
and _persevering_ means are used, Gipsies may be brought to know God; and
no body of people were ever yet converted to Christianity without means.
The following circumstances gave rise to the idea of forming a society
for the improvement of this people.
In March, 1827, during the Lent Assizes, the author was in Winchester,
and wishing to speak with the sheriff's chaplain, he went to the court
for that purpose. He happened to enter just as the judge was passing
sentence of death on two unhappy men. To one he held out the hope of
mercy; but to the other, _a poor Gipsy_, who was convicted of
horse-stealing, he said, _no hope could be given_. The young man, for he
was but a youth, immediately fell on his knees, and with uplifted hands
and eyes, apparently unconscious of any persons being present but the
judge and himself, addressed him as follows: "_Oh_! _my Lord_, _save my
life_!" The judge replied, "_No_; _you can have no mercy in this world_:
_I and my brother judges have come to the determination to execute
horse-stealers_, _especially Gipsies_, _because of the increase of the
crime_." The suppliant, still on his knees, entreated--"_Do_, _my Lord
Judge_, _save my life_! _do_, _for God's sake_, _for my wife's sake_,
_for my baby's sake_!" "_No_," replied the judge, "_I cannot_: _you
should have thought of your wife and children before_." He then ordered
him to be taken away, and the poor fellow was _rudely dragged_ from his
earthly judge. It is hoped, as a penitent sinner, he obtained the more
needful mercy of God, through the abounding grace of Christ. After this
scene, the author could not remain in court. As he returned, he found
the mournful intelligence had been communicated to some Gipsies who had
been waiting without, anxious to learn the fate of their companion. They
seemed distracted.
On the outside of the court, seated on the ground, appeared an old woman,
and a very young one, and with them two children, the eldest three years,
and the other an infant but fourteen days old. The former sat by its
mother's side, alike unconscious of her bitter agonies, and of her
father's despair. The old woman held the infant tenderly in her arms,
and endeavoured to comfort its weeping mother, soon to be a widow under
circumstances the most melancholy. _My dear_, _don't cry_, said she,
_remember you have this dear little baby_. Impelled by the sympathies of
pity and a sense of duty, the author spoke to them on the evil of sin,
and expressed his hope that the melancholy event would prove a warning to
them, and to all their people. The poor man was executed about a
fortnight after his condemnation.
This sad scene, together with Hoyland's Survey of the Gipsies, which the
author read about this time, combined to make a deep impression on his
mind, and awaken an earnest desire which has never since decreased, to
assist and improve this greatly neglected people. The more he
contemplated their condition and necessities, the difficulties in the way
of their reformation continued to lessen, and his hope of success, in
case any thing could be done for them, became more and more confirmed.
He could not forget the poor young widow whom he had seen in such deep
distress at Winchester, and was led to resolve, if he should meet her
again, to offer to provide for her children.
Some weeks elapsed before he could hear any thing of her, till one day he
saw the old woman sitting on the ground at the entrance of Southampton,
with the widow's infant on her knee. "Where is your daughter?" he
inquired. "Sir," she replied, "She is my niece; she is gone into the
town." "Will you desire her to call at my house?" "I will, sir," said
the poor old woman, to whom the author gave his address.
In about an hour after this conversation, the widow and her aunt
appeared. After inviting them to sit down, he addressed the young woman
thus:--"My good woman, you are now a poor widow, and I wished to see you,
to tell you that I would be your friend. I will take your children, if
you will let me have them, and be a father to them, and educate them;
and, when old enough to work, will have them taught some honest trade."
"Thank you, sir," said she; "but I don't like to part with my children.
The chaplain at the prison offered to take my oldest, and to send her to
London to be taken care of; but I could not often see her there." I
replied, "I commend you for not parting with her, unless you could
occasionally see her; for I suppose you love your children dearly." "Oh!
yes, sir," said the widow. The old aunt also added, "Our people set
great store by their children." "Well," I replied, "I do not wish you to
determine on this business hastily; it is a weighty one. You had better
take a fortnight for consideration, and then give me a second call."
How improbable did it then appear that this interview would ultimately
lead to so much good to many of her people! When the fortnight expired,
the widow and her aunt again appeared, when the following conversation
took place. "I am glad you are come again," said their friend. "Yes,"
replied the widow, "and I will now let you have my Betsy;" and the aunt
immediately added, pointing to one of her grand-children, "I will let you
have my little _deary_, if you will take care of her. Her father,"
continued she, "was condemned to die, but is transported for life, and
her mother now lives with another man." The proposal was readily
accepted; and three days after, these two children were brought washed
very clean, and dressed in their best clothes. It was promised the
women, that they should see their children whenever they chose, and all
parties were pleased. The eldest of these children was six years of age;
the widow's little daughter, only three. The first day they amused
themselves with running up and down stairs, and through the rooms of the
house. But when put to bed at night, they cried for two hours, saying
that the house would fall upon them. They had never spent a day in a
house before, and were at night like birds that had been decoyed, and
then robbed of their liberty. A few kisses and some promises at length
quieted them, and they went to sleep.
After remaining with the author three days, they were removed to one of
the Infants' Schools, where they were often visited by the widow and her
aunt. Soon after this the eldest girl was taken ill. A medical
gentleman attended her at the tent, a little way from the town, whither
her grandmother had begged to remove her for change of air. But the
sickness of this child _was unto death_. She was a lovely and
affectionate girl, notwithstanding the disadvantages under which she had
necessarily laboured. When on her bed, in the tent, suffering much pain,
she was asked by a gentleman, "Although you love Mr Crabb so much, would
you rather live with him, or die, and go to Jesus?" She answered, "I
would rather die and go to Jesus." Her death very much affected her
grandmother. She would not leave the corpse, which she often
affectionately embraced, till persuaded she would endanger her own life.
This appeared a melancholy event to all who wished well to the Gipsies in
the neighbourhood of Southampton. For the widow, fearing her child would
become ill and die too, immediately removed her from the school. And
many of the Gipsy people treated the women with great contempt, for
giving up their children; and the prospects of doing them lasting good,
became very much beclouded. It was however represented to them, that God
was doing all things for the best, and their spirits were soothed; and in
consequence, the little fatherless girl was again brought to the school.
After this event, the women remained a considerable time in the
neighbourhood, waiting to see if the little one, again given up to the
author, would be kindly treated. By this detention they were often
brought into the company of good people, whose kindness gained their
confidence. They began to listen to invitations to settle in the town,
and finally determined on doing so. Even the _old_ woman, who had lived
under hedges for fifty years, and who had declared but a short time
before, that she would not leave her tent for a palace, now gladly
occupied a house; this greatly encouraged their friends, who well knew
that it was not a small sacrifice, for a Gipsy to give up what is thought
by them to be their liberty.
A short time before these women removed from under the hedges, the sister
of the unhappy man who had been executed, came out of Dorsetshire with
her three children, on her way to Surry, where she had been accustomed to
go to hop-picking. Encamping under the same hedge with the widow and her
aunt, she was seen by the author in one of his visits to them. He found
them one evening about six o'clock at dinner, and took his seat near
them; and while they were regaling themselves with broiled meat,
potatoes, and tea, the following interesting conversation took place.
"Sir," said the widow, "this is my sister and her children." No one
could have introduced this woman and her little ones with more easy
simplicity than she did, while, by the smile on her swarthy countenance,
she exhibited real heartfelt pleasure. "I am glad to see you, my good
woman;" said the author, "are these your children?" "Yes, sir," replied
she, very cheerfully. "And where are you going?" "I am going into
Surry, sir." "Have you not many difficulties to trouble you in your way
of life?" "Yes, sir," answered she. The author continued, "I wish you
would let me have your children to provide for and educate." "Not I,
indeed," she replied sharply; "others may part with their children, if
they like, but I will never part with mine." "Well, my good woman, the
offer to educate them has done no harm: let me hope it will do good. I
would have you recollect that you have now a proposal made you of
bettering their present and future condition. You and I must soon meet
at the judgment-seat of Christ, to give an account of this meeting; and
you know that I can do better for your little ones than you can." She
was silent. The author then addressed these people and left the tents.
The next day he visited the camp again, when the widow woman said, "Sir,
my sister was so _cut up_ (putting her hand to her heart), with what you
said last night, that she could not eat any more, and declared she felt
as she never had done before; and she has determined to come and live
with us at Michaelmas." What was still better, in consequence of what
was said to this poor stranger, she did not go to the races, although she
had stopped near Southampton for that purpose.
From this time endeavours were made to confirm the woman's intentions to
stay at Southampton, and to place her children with the other. She was
asked, why she would not stay at Southampton then? "Why, to tell you the
truth," said she, "for it's no use to tell a lie about that, I don't want
to bring my children to you, like vagabonds; and as we shall earn a good
_bit_ of money at hopping, I shall buy them some clothes; and then, if
you will take me a room at Michaelmas, I will surely return and live in
Southampton, and my children shall go to school; but I will never give
them up entirely." She continued with her sister till the house which
had been taken for the latter was ready; during which time a gentleman
from Ireland, then living near the encampment, had her children every day
to his house, and taught them to read. The remembrance of him will be
precious to them for ever. She came on the day appointed, and her
children were put to the Infants' School, where they have continued ever
since, clean and respectable, and very diligent in their learning. They
often explain the Scriptures to their mother. One of them has long been
a monitor in the school. May she continue a credit to the institution in
which she has been so far educated.
Although the mother of these children is not yet decidedly pious, she is
very much improved. She is now able to read her Testament with tolerable
ease, takes great pleasure in receiving instruction, and we hope is
deeply impressed with the importance of personal religion. She attends
public worship diligently, and loves Christians, whom she once hated.
She weeps with abhorrence over past crimes, and says she would rather
have her hands cut off, than do as she has done. For more than twelve
months after living at Southampton, she continued occasionally to tell
fortunes for the gain it brought her. But a remarkable dream led her to
see the wickedness of this practice; for it so terrified her that she
rose from her bed, lighted a fire, and burnt the book in which she had
pretended to see the fortune of others. Large sums of money had been
offered her for this volume; but, though in extreme poverty, she
determined to make any sacrifice, rather than enrich herself by its sale.
She dreamed that she was at the adult school, where she regularly
attended, and, that while she was reading her Testament, it changed into
a book of divination, and she began to tell the fortune of the lady who
was teaching her; and while thus employed, she thought she heard awful
thunderings, and the sound of trumpets; after which a tremendous tempest
ensued, during which she fancied herself in an extensive plain, exposed
to all the fury of the storm. She then thought the day of judgment was
come, and that she was summoned to render up her account. She awoke in
great terror, and as soon as she had a little recovered herself, arose
and followed the example of those we read of in the Acts of the
Apostles:--_And many of them which also used curious arts_, _brought
their books together_, _and burned them before all men_; _and they
counted the price of them_, _and found fifty thousand pieces silver_.
Acts xix. 19.
When relating this dream to a lady, she was asked whether she had
formerly been in the habit of seeking by any means, the aid of the devil,
in order to know future events; it having been asserted that many of the
Gipsies had done so. She informed the lady that she never had done so,
and that she thought none of her people had any thing to do with him,
otherwise than by giving themselves up to do wickedly. The devil tempted
them to do still worse; as those who neglect to seek to God for help,
must of course be under the power of the wicked one.
CHAP. VIII. Of the plans pursued by the Southampton Committee, and the
success which has attended them, continued.
Sixteen reformed Gipsies are now living at Southampton, one of whom is
the aged Gipsy whose history has been published by a lady. {72} There
are also her brother and four of his children, her sister, who has been a
wanderer for more than fifty years, and her daughter, three orphans, and
a boy who has been given up to the Committee by his mother, a woman and
her three children, and the young woman before mentioned, who has, since
her reformation, lost her two children by the measles.
In addition to those who have retired from a wandering life, and are
pursuing habits of honest industry, three other families, whose united
number is sixteen, begged the privilege of wintering with us in the
beginning of 1831. These Gipsies regularly attended divine service twice
on a Sunday, and on the work-day evenings the adults went to school to
learn to read. The children were placed at one of the Infants' Schools.
The prospects of doing one of the families lasting good, are rather dark,
as they are grown old and hardened in crime; but the condition of the
others is more encouraging. The children, who would gladly have stayed
longer with us, were sickly; and it is apprehended, had not this been the
case, the parents would have continued longer, that they might have gone
to school. Two women, mother and daughter, in one family, are much
interested in the worship of God, and already begin to feel the value of
their souls; and both regret that they are under the necessity of
submitting to the arbitrary will of the father. One of them declared
that she could never more act as a Gipsy, and with weeping eyes she said,
that, she feared she never should be pardoned, or saved. When directed
to go to Jesus, she replied, she knew not how to go to him. In three
days they will leave us, and it will be a painful separation. It was
very gratifying to the author to see so many Gipsies attend the house of
God, and he frequently recollected with pleasure, that promise of holy
Scripture, _For as the rain cometh down_, _and the snow from heaven_,
_and returneth not thither_, _but watereth the earth_, _and maketh it
bring forth and bud_, _that it may give seed to the sower_, _and bread to
the eater_: _so shall my word be that goeth forth of my mouth_: _it shall
not return unto me void_, _but it shall accomplish that which I please_,
_and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I send it_. _For ye shall go
out with joy_, _and be led forth with peace_; _the mountains and the
hills shall break forth before you into singing_, _and all the trees of
the field shall clap their hands_. _Instead of the thorn shall come up
the __fur tree_, _and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle
tree_: _and it stall be to the Lord for a name_, _for an everlasting sign
that shall not be cut off_.
Six of the children are at an Infants' School at Southampton, and three
others attend a charity school; and another is learning to be a coach
wheelwright. This youth has behaved so well in his situation, that he
has been advanced by his master to a higher branch in the business. His
fellow-workmen, who at first disliked him for being a Gipsy, have
subscribed money to assist him in the purchase of additional tools, to
which the foreman added five shillings, and the master _one pound_. This
is a most encouraging circumstance.
The aged man who has been so many years reformed, is a basket maker. He
often visits his brethren in their tents, under the direction of the
Committee, to give advice and instruction. His sister, lately reclaimed,
takes care of the six Gipsy children, and is become very serious and
industrious; and though in the decline of life, she receives but one
shilling per week from the Committee. Two instances of the gratitude of
this woman ought not to be omitted.
The author's horse having strayed from the field, a sovereign was offered
to any one who would bring it back to him. Several persons sought for it
in vain. This old Gipsy woman was sent in quest of it, and in two days
returned with the horse. Of course she was offered the sovereign that
had been named as a reward; but she refused to take it, saying, she owed
the author more than that; yea, all that she had, for the comfort she was
then enjoying. This was the language of an honest and grateful heart.
On being compelled to take it, she bought herself some garments for the
winter.
On another occasion, when she was coming from some place which she had
visited, and was detained on the road longer than she had expected, she
became penniless; yet would she not beg, lest it might be looked on as
one step towards turning back to habits she had entirely abandoned. She
assured the author that she would rather have starved than return to her
old trade of begging; and besides, added she, "the people know that I am
one of your reformed Gipsies, and I will never bring a reproach upon my
best friends."
The young widow was taught to make shoes; but becoming depressed in
spirits after the death of her children, she has been placed in service.
And another young Gipsy woman has also obtained a situation as a servant.
But while the Committee has had to rejoice over the success that has
attended its efforts, it has also experienced great and manifold
disappointments. But its members are not discouraged, and it is hoped
they never will be.
One young woman stayed with the Committee a month, and then ran away.
She was lamentably ignorant, and could never be brought to work. {75}
Another very promising in temper and habits, stayed in a family three
months, and then left them to live again with her parents, who encouraged
her to believe that she would be married to one of her clan. It may be
hoped the knowledge she gained while in service may be useful to her at
some future time. She is not, cannot be happy, and is sorry that she
left her service and her friends. The father and mother have promised to
stay in Southampton through the next winter, which they will be
encouraged to do, with the hope of gaining instruction in the truths of
religion.
A woman, her four sons, and their grandmother, {76} joined the family of
reformed Gipsies for a short time, and we had considerable hopes of them
all, the two eldest boys excepted, who refused to work, and who grew much
more vicious than when under the hedges. Their father had formerly been
sentenced to death, but by the interest of a friend, the sentence was
changed to fourteen years' hard labour on board the hulks at Portsmouth,
nearly nine of which had expired at the time his family came under the
direction of the Committee. His wife intimating that if they were to
apply for his release, it might be granted, and that then he might govern
the boys, and make them work, his liberty was obtained. But within three
days afterwards, he declared he would not constrain any of his children
to labour; they might do it or not, as they pleased. And, in the course
of the week, he took them all away and went to Brighton.