THE AUTHOR RENOUNCES POPERY—OBTAINS A SITUATION IN THE CHELSEA
MILITARY ASYLUM—ATTENDS SLOANE-TERRACE CHAPEL—THE SERVICE
DESCRIBED—SIMPLICITY OF PROTESTANT WORSHIP.
No one, I apprehend, will wonder, that at the close of the preceding
view, my mind was at rest as to the course most advisable. A voice
seemed to sound in my ears, ‘Come out of her, my people, that ye be not
partaker in her sins.’ With gratitude unfeigned, I thank God, who has
delivered me from such antichristian articles of faith. I entirely
reject them, persuaded that they are the mere invention of crafty men,
who, under the pretence of superior sanctity, are among the most
consummate hypocrites on earth; and heartily rejoice that though such
articles were once the terror, they are now the sport of enlightened
society.
An affecting question is asked by the prophet Zechariah, ‘Is not this a
brand plucked out of the fire?’ and it is with no small propriety that
the inquiry is made concerning myself. I have wandered over sea and
land; have been in perils both of flood and field; in ‘hair-breadth
‘scapes’ I have rivalled Othello’s self; for several years I was
dangerously familiar with the bayonet-point and whistling bullet; and
have followed a profession whose element is strife and bloodshed. While
thousands have fallen, I am preserved in the land and light of the
living; and, what is perhaps an equal mercy, am placed in a situation in
which I have become conscious of these obligations, and where the
privileges of church-fellowship exist in rich abundance. It would be
ungrateful, also, were I not to acknowledge the uncommon kindness with
which several of the officers under whom I served furnished me, on
application, with testimonials relative to my previous conduct in the
army. It would be mere affectation were I to profess myself indifferent
to opinions so generously expressed; and as military reputation, founded
on faithful services, is frequently the only riches of which an old
soldier can boast, I shall be pardoned for introducing some extracts
from letters received about this time from several gentlemen well known
in superior military circles.
I ought to premise that I had applied to Lieut.-Col Williamson,
Commandant at the Royal Military Asylum, Chelsea, for admission into
that institution as one of the superintendents of the children; to
secure which, I found it necessary to obtain respectable references as
to previous character. Colonel (now General) Pearson observed concerning
me: ‘I have much pleasure in stating, that his conduct on every occasion
merited my most perfect approbation, and that I consider him highly
qualified for any situation which requires activity, sobriety, and
integrity; and as such I beg leave to recommend him.’ Major Page, under
whose notice I had acted at Tynemouth, certified that he had known me
for several years, during which period he was pleased to say, that my
conduct as a soldier gave great satisfaction; and, with reference to an
event in my life already alluded to, adds ‘he particularly distinguished
himself, and was the means of rescuing from a watery grave three or four
sailors. I recollect his plunging through the surf and bringing a sailor
on shore, at the time no boat would quit the beach. I cannot say too
much in this soldier’s praise; and nothing gives me greater pleasure
than to recommend him.’ To make assurance doubly sure, Colonel Napier
added, that I had ‘served in the 43rd regiment nearly eleven years; had
been at the reduction of Copenhagen in 1807; at General Moore’s retreat
to Corunna in 1808, and the following year; and at the battles of
Almeida, Busaco, Pombal, Condeixa, Subagal, Fuentes d’Onoro, Ciudad
Rodrigo, and Badajos, at which latter place he was severely wounded in
the head and thigh.’ These nails, driven so forcibly, to fasten my
respectability, were clenched by Lieutenant-Colonel Duffy, who also
spoke of me in very handsome and obliging terms. Captain Patteson then
advanced, by stating concerning me: ‘I had every reason to be satisfied
with his steady, sober, honest, and soldier-like conduct, and had
frequent opportunities of observing his brave and valiant behaviour in
the field.’ Besides these, which told heavily on the board, I had a
letter of similar import from Lieutenant-Colonel Booth, who was
condescending enough to bring up the reserve, and inclose his
recommendatory note in another written and directed to myself, in which
he remarks: ‘I have great pleasure in stating what I remember of your
character in the 43rd regiment, for I have a perfect remembrance of you;
and it is gratifying to myself that you remember your old corps with so
great affection. You are entitled to our best wishes, as one of those
good and gallant soldiers who contributed to support the reputation of
the regiment during the Peninsular war.’
I have been induced to quote these flattering notices, not for the
purpose of self-esteem, and finding food for vanity; but I am anxious to
show, that alertness and vigilance are neither unnoticed nor unrewarded
in the British army; and that the superior officers are not unwilling to
recollect an old and wounded soldier, when the recognition can assist
him. Supported by such respectable rank and influence, my efforts to
gain admission into the asylum were successful, and in the month of
December, 1823, I was received as a company sergeant. After having been
in this situation about four years, I became acquainted with several
members of the congregation assembling at Sloane-terrace chapel,
Chelsea; and my views of human depravity, of moral obligation, and ‘the
exceeding sinfulness of sin,’ together with the necessity of a change of
heart and life, were rendered much clearer than formerly. I perceived
that in religion there is not only something to be professed, but a
great deal to be experienced. The more I inquired and reflected upon
myself, so much the more I was dissatisfied. At first I resolved to mend
my morals, and live more scrupulously. But a brief trial showed me that
my theory was good for nothing, nor would hang together. There was no
relish of salvation in it; and in escaping from one evil, I ran headlong
into a greater. My mind was afterwards led, by degrees almost
imperceptible, to reflect deeply upon that infinite goodness by which I
had thus far been brought through the great and terrible wilderness of
this world. I began more clearly to perceive, that religion consisted in
a divine change; and desires to share in its blessings, till then
unknown, created, no doubt, by the Spirit’s influence, were continually
present with me. But how to escape from the trammels of sin was the
great and apparently unconquerable difficulty: my condition is described
in holy writ with infinite accuracy;—‘For the good that I would, I do
not: but the evil that I would not, that I do. I find then a law, that
when I would do good, evil is present with me.’ The more I strove, the
deeper I sank; until, wearied with the vain task of conquering sin by
efforts founded on the strength merely of reason and propriety, I gave
up the contest, and endeavoured to conclude that it would be time enough
to enter on religious courses when I became old and good for little. The
illusion was incomplete. It was not sufficiently specious to deceive
even my own mind. Perhaps I ought rather to conclude, that the mercy of
God would not permit me thus to wander into the congregation of the
dead. I had no rest. My sins became increasingly alarming; and I felt
afraid of going to sleep, lest I should awake in perdition.
Among several other places of public resort in the vicinity of my
residence, and much frequented by military men, was ‘The Snow-shoes,’ a
public house of entertainment, of great convivial celebrity, where many
pounds of my money had unfortunately gone astray. In spite of some vivid
convictions to the contrary, I made an engagement to meet an old brother
sergeant, and ‘spend the evening,’ which, in gay language, generally
includes the luxury of cigars, and libations of strong liquor. It
happened, providentially, that my friend was not ready by the appointed
time, so that on my arrival I was seated alone, and had time for
reflection. A few minutes before I entered the house, a prayer rose in
my mind, that the Almighty would preserve me from the pending excesses,
the ruinous effects of which, I knew, must fall both on myself and
family. The check was so powerful that I halted at the threshold of the
passage. In that instant Satan suggested, ‘Take a little, and get home
in time,’ I accordingly went into the house and called for some liquor,
but had not remained long before I felt myself suddenly struck by some
powerful though unseen hand. My whole frame trembled, so that I was fain
to lean against the table for support. Meantime I thought a voice
repeated in my ear, ‘Go home!’ My agitation was so great as to excite
the attention of several persons in the room, who asked me what was the
matter. Unable to reply, and determined to obey my invisible but
friendly monitor, whom I considered as a gracious signal of Almighty
direction, I hurried out of the place, went home immediately, and
related the occurrence to my wondering family. This was only the
beginning of miracles; and from that time I can trace the operations of
the Spirit as they were graciously afforded, every link of which, as
part of a golden chain, let down from on high, contributed to draw me
from the miry clay of nature’s dismal dungeon, to the light and liberty
of Gospel day.
It so happened, or rather, was so ordered, that my daughter was placed
in a school conducted by a worthy member of the Wesleyan society. One
day the governess made some inquiries relative to the state of religion
in our family. How she was answered by her pupil I know not; but most
likely the good instructress had reason to conclude that our devotions
were not of the most exalted kind. Be that as it may, she kindly
selected a tract, entitled ‘James Covey,’ and gave it to the child, with
directions to read it at home. My daughter, aware of the prejudice I had
entertained against Methodism, was afraid to show me the tract. It was
at length so contrived that the ‘Covey’ should attract my notice. After
a cursory glance, it struck me there was some Methodist contrivance
about the matter; I therefore threw the tract upon the fire, and desired
that my daughter might be removed from those fanatical folks. Satisfied
with the exploit, I left the house, and resumed my employment; but on
taking off my hat, for the purpose of hanging it up, I observed what
appeared to be a sheet of paper, folded up inside the crown, beneath the
lining. On taking it out, to my surprise, there was ‘James Covey’ again.
The truth is, that this tract, though thrown upon the fire by my ungodly
rashness, was taken off with equal haste and superior wisdom, and had
been placed in my hat by the hands of my excellent wife. Wondering, at
first, how it came there, and impressed with the oddness of the
circumstance, I thought, that as pains had evidently been taken by some
one to draw my attention, it would be ungrateful were I entirely
negligent; and that, at all events, a slight inspection could not poison
my mind, especially if confined to the first page or so. I accordingly
began to read, but soon passed the bounds I had assigned. As I went on,
the tale was so charming that I felt anxious to ascertain the
catastrophe; in fact, I became so riveted to the performance, and saw,
as if I had looked in a mirror, my own case so completely shown forth in
the description of the sailor, that my almost impenetrable heart was
melted, nor could I help exclaiming, ‘Lord, if I should turn to Thee,
like him, wilt Thou have mercy on me?’
I was much impressed with the similarity that, in some respects, existed
between the sailor’s life and my own. He had fought by sea, and I by
land. He, in the days of his ignorance, had profaned the mysteries of
the Cross by disbelief and vanity; I had done the same. He found mercy;
and now, through the same medium, even by the new and living way, the
desire, though late, was found in my heart to follow in the same course.
Great searchings of heart followed the inquiries arising from the above
tract. The more I looked into my own condition, the greater was the
dissatisfaction felt. I found, not only that some things were wrong, but
that little or nothing was right. I felt convinced, also, that the
change required was of a spiritual kind; that old things were to pass
away, and all things become new; and that if any man have not the Spirit
of Christ, he is none of his.
In this condition of hope, mingled with sad uncertainty, I continued a
wearisome time. One Sunday forenoon I attended the chapel already
mentioned, with the hope of receiving instruction and encouragement;
and, with respect to the former, I succeeded. I had been told that the
minister appointed to preach on that day, had been useful to others;
which begat a hope respecting myself. Prayers having been read, he
ascended the pulpit. The simplicity with which the services were so far
conducted, especially when contrasted with the multiplied ceremonies of
the Romish Church, powerfully affected my mind. It appeared to me, that
the difference between the two lay precisely here: Papists cultivate the
forms of religion, with little of the power; while here the power was
present, with as much only of the form as served to give seriousness to
the worship. In the Catholic chapel, one is apt to be taken up with
circumstantials, while spirituality of mind, so essential to true
devotion, is well-nigh destroyed. There is the gaudy attire of the
priest, who performs his part by reading certain lessons in a language
which not one in twenty understands. Then an elegant picture, or image,
is exhibited, before which the priest, as if smitten with some sudden
emotion, pretends—for it is merely a studied piece of acting previously
rehearsed—to be melted into humility. He accordingly commences a series
of genuflexions and homage, on which, from the formality observed, the
principal value of the service seems to depend. Lads dressed in white
surplices then enter, bearing large wax candles. Anon is heard the
tinkling of a small bell, while an ignited perfume of some sort,
contained in a silver chafing-dish, and suspended by a chain, is waved
by one of these juvenile clericals for general gratification.
Laying aside these extraneous matters, the use of which is above my
comprehension, the preacher in the Protestant chapel now alluded to
adopted a widely different plan. He was in person of good figure, rather
tall and slender, with marked benevolence of countenance; I think
something under forty years of age; and was dressed in a plain black
suit of clothes, which, though sufficiently neat and respectable to
denote the sacred profession of the wearer, evinced a noble carelessness
of outward show or self-consequence. In truth, he had much better ground
of dependence. The service began with singing a hymn. I should think
that religion improved the voice, as well as reformed the life; for
every one appeared able to sing, and the effect was beautiful. The
minister then proposed prayer, to which all assented by kneeling in
silence. The petitions offered were singularly appropriate, and although
evidently not a pre-composed form of words, were fluent and
comprehensive; and what rendered them remarkably seasonable and
well-timed, they were so framed, as to apply to the apparent rank,
condition, and circumstances of the assembled congregation. Another
verse or two of a hymn was sung with equal effect, immediately after
which the preacher selected a text and began the sermon. Having nothing
before him but the Bible, and as the passage selected for discussion
consisted only of a few words, I concluded the homily would be rather
brief. The result showed that I knew little, either of it, or the
preacher.
In cathedral services, one is used, when the reverend Dean ascends the
pulpit, to observe a handsome quarto manuscript, enveloped in a cover of
clerical jet, nicely squared, and paged to prevent mistake, which is
safely pressed upon the cushion, and containing in characters so legible
as to defy mistake the approaching lesson of instruction. On the
occasion to which I now refer, these preparations were dispensed with.
The good pastor began his discourse without the least hesitation; and
being a man of pleasing address, and of distinct, though not very
powerful voice, the attention of an overflowing audience was immediately
arrested. After several introductory observations, of somewhat
discursive tendency, he applied himself to the explication of the
passage chosen for the occasion; and never in my life was I more
surprised. The remarks made seemed as if directly levelled at myself,
not recollecting that, as all have sinned alike, so all are to be saved
through one Mediator. I had imagined that the workings of my mind were
necessarily secret, and was sure the preacher knew nothing either of my
life or creed. I therefore strove to elude the unexpected application of
unwelcome truth; but the thing was impossible; there was no getting away
from the searching pursuit of the speaker. He traced the half-awakened
sinner through all the lanes and by-paths of subterfuge to which the
pride of human nature is so prone, and having concentrated his energy,
at once assaulted the conscience and convicted the heart. He then
entered, with such minuteness, into my condition; gave such an account
of the causes and cure of my uneasiness; hit upon my general train of
thought and reasoning with nicety so miraculous; anticipated, and then
overthrew my doubts with such force; guarded the moral law with
penalties so terrific; and depicted the wide waste of human
transgression with a pencil so true, that all my resources vanished.
What was also wonderful, he entered into and conducted the discussion
with such earnestness, as clearly proved the deep interest he took in
the matter. No legal pleader, however magnificent the expected fee, ever
took more pains to prove his point. The observations contained in the
body of the discourse were acute, and to me original; from some of them,
native corruption naturally recoiled; but before the mind had time to
gather up itself, and put on the show of defence, he advanced some
powerful scriptural quotation, so perfectly apposite and conclusive that
all resistance was vain. Nor was I less delighted with the trouble he
took to make himself understood; not that his enunciation was defective,
or his style obscure or far-fetched, but, afraid lest the least portion
of his meaning should be misapprehended, he placed himself, as it were,
in different positions, from which he took varied and delightful views
of several cardinal points of gospel truth; so that in the collected
light, thus produced, it was next to impossible for the plainest
understanding to misconceive his meaning.
The general effect of this remarkable pulpit exercise was, to constrain,
rather than compel, men to embrace religion; and this was effected by
the presentation of motive, so judiciously selected, and so elegantly
urged, that no human being, unless his heart were adamant, could hear
without emotion and obedience. The sermon was closed by an energetic
appeal to the congregation on the necessity of personal piety, and of
taking an immediate step in order to secure it; and from the profound
silence that prevailed, the appeal was, I doubt not, effective. Who,
indeed, could sit for an hour unmoved, while an approved minister of
righteousness, not only in formal phraseology does his duty, by the cold
and formal announcement of truth, but goes almost beyond himself, and
strives, by every method which zeal and ingenuity can devise, to render
that truth attractive, and save the souls of men? Let me subjoin another
observation. Deep and vivid as was the impression produced by the
preacher alluded to, I am not sure that he was to be numbered among
those who are termed extremely popular. But an unction from the Lord, as
if at a renewal of the pentecostal season, came down upon the word. The
communings at Emmaus were revived, when Jesus Himself drew nigh, and
broke the bread of life; so that many were fain to say, ‘Did not our
hearts burn within us, while He talked by the way, and opened unto us
the Scriptures?’ To my own mind, the entire service was very beneficial;
that is, I acquired self-knowledge. The remembrance of my sins was
grievous, and the burden, but for the mercy of God, intolerable. All my
preconceived notions of bettering myself were exploded, nor could I
offer any other prayer than that of the publican, ‘God be merciful to me
a sinner.’ I dare not mention the name of the minister to whom these
remarks refer; for he yet lives, and will, I trust, be preserved many
years, a blessing to the Church. For many subsequent months the ministry
of the Rev. Philip C. Turner was rendered exceedingly serviceable to my
mind.
People may think as they please, but religion is no fable; neither is
the work of grace upon the soul of man a mere hypothesis, to be examined
with suspicion, and embraced or rejected at humour. If there be a
genuine and awful reality on this side eternity, this is one; nor would
I suppress my belief in the fact, for the applause of millions. Truth is
great, and, though it be surveyed with scorn, must finally prevail.
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