Читать книгу Lives of Illustrious Shoemakers - W. E. Winks - Страница 10

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In the winter of 1740 the press-gang men were busy at their abominable work in most of the maritime and inland towns of England, and, among other places, Chester seems to have sent certain unwilling recruits to make up the rank and file of the army, and replenish the navy of His Majesty King George II. Many are the tales of cruelty which belong to this miserable period in the history of our army and navy. Thousands of able-bodied men were carried away by main force from their peaceful occupations, from home and friends, and everything that was dear to them, and compelled to do duty for their country in foreign climes. Sons, husbands, fathers of families, steady, honest, industrious, law-abiding citizens, or worthless waifs and strays, it mattered not—all who might be of service, and could be easily caught, were seized and hurried off to the nearest military or naval depot, and were soon lost sight of by their distressed relations, and were, perhaps, never heard of again until their names were reported in the list of killed and wounded in battle. Now and then the life of enforced military or naval service was tolerable and even pleasant from a soldier’s or sailor’s point of view and ended happily enough with an honorable discharge and pension. A wretched beginning had not always a wretched course and a miserable ending, for the Briton of those days was a much-enduring creature, and had strong notions about “serving his country,” and soon learned to tolerate and even enjoy a condition of things which, to say the least, was unjustifiable and tyrannical.

An incident connected with the life-story of the subject of this sketch will illustrate some of the worst features of the system referred to, and show the sort of hardship and injustice to which “the free and noble sons” of Britain were exposed up to a time almost within the memory of men still living. Two men sat drinking and chatting in a friendly manner in an ale-house in Chester one night early in the year 1740. It does not seem that either of them was the worse for liquor, or that anything unpleasant had passed between them to spoil the pleasure of their intercourse. In fact, the two men had known each other years before, and both seemed glad to renew their acquaintance. The younger of the two was only twenty-one years of age, and had been married but a few days previously to a young woman of nineteen summers, to whom he was deeply attached. After staying as long as he deemed expedient he rose to go home, when to his amazement the pretended “friend” and old acquaintance turned upon him with the words, “You shall not leave this room to-night; you have now no master but the king, and you must serve him, as you have taken his money.” Guessing what was meant, the poor fellow felt in his pocket and found that his companion had secretly slipped three guineas into it as king’s bounty. It was vain for the enraged and distracted young man to throw the money on the floor, and declare he would none of it nor the king’s service, that he was but just married, and had no wish to be a soldier, for armed men stood round the door and prevented escape. It was vain also to appeal to the magistrates of that day, for though they must have been perfectly well acquainted with the nefarious tricks of pressmen and recruiting officers, they accepted the evidence of the officer against the recruit, and adjudged him a legal soldier, because, forsooth, he had received the king’s bounty and so enlisted. Such was the experience of Samuel Bradburn’s father, and in two days after the event just narrated he was hurried off to his regiment, without a chance of saying good-by to his friends or making any further efforts for his own release. Their grief, and the agony of mind endured by the young bride, may be imagined. She had no choice but to part from him, perhaps forever; or to get permission to attach herself to the regiment, and follow her husband’s fortunes as a soldier. No true woman and worthy wife would hesitate long, and the noble-hearted Welsh girl[8] soon resolved not to leave her husband. The regiment was ordered to Flanders, and took part in several battles, in one of which Bradburn was severely wounded, and on the conclusion of the war in 1748 ordered to Gibraltar, where Samuel was born, 5th October, 1751, and where he spent the first twelve years of his life.

The soldier’s family numbered thirteen children, and as his pay was but scanty, it may be supposed that the education of each of its members could not have been a very important or costly affair. In short, we have another story to add to those already told of a life of singular devotedness and usefulness which had no fair foundation of sound and thorough education. Bradburn himself declares that he went to school for only a fortnight during his twelve years’ life at Gibraltar. The fee was a penny a week, and on its being raised to three halfpence the boy was removed, for the father’s poor pittance would not allow of the extra strain upon it of a halfpenny per week. And so, says the biographer, almost with an air of triumph, “the education of one of the greatest modern pulpit orators cost only twopence!”

Bradburn’s father appears to have been a remarkably thoughtful and exemplary sort of man for a soldier, in those days. Though he never united with the Methodists, he was much attached to them, and had derived great profit from their preaching at the camp in Flanders. His children were brought up in a strictly religious manner, always going to service on Sunday, and being compelled to read a daily portion of Scripture, and repeat a Scripture lesson from week to week. According to his light, he did his best to bring his children up well; and one of them, at all events, profited by his training, for Samuel became very thoughtful and serious, and was accounted, by his neighbors, one of the best boys in the town.

On his discharge from the army Bradburn went to live in the old city from which he had been so cruelly carried away about twenty-three years before. Samuel was then nearly thirteen years of age, and a situation was soon found for him as an out-door apprentice to a shoemaker, to whom he was bound for eight years. Brought up under the influences of Methodism, and accustomed to listen to a class of preachers who had done more than any others to awaken and keep alive the flames of religious revival and zeal, young Bradburn’s mind was always more or less under the influence of deep religious conviction. His history, as a youth, presents the most astonishing contrasts of religious fervor and sinful excess. Yet his worst moods did not last long, and, however far he went in the way of transgression, his consciousness of the evil of sin never left him, and he had always sufficient moral sensibility left to make him profoundly miserable when he dared to reflect. Acts of daring wickedness, and defiant or profane language, only served as a cover to a troubled heart and a restless conscience. The story of his early life, with its alternate seriousness and folly, anxiety about his soul’s welfare and mad recklessness, reads wonderfully like that of John Bunyan. How like the records of the life of the Bedford tinker are these entries in the diary of the Chester shoemaker: “One evening, being exceedingly cast down, and finding an uncommon weight upon my spirits, I went to preaching, and while Mr. Guilford was describing the happiness of the righteous in glory, my heart melted like wax before the fire. In a moment all that heaviness was removed, and the love of God was so abundantly shed abroad in my heart, that I could scarcely refrain from crying out in the preaching-house.“ ... ”When preaching was over, I went into a place near St. Martin’s Churchyard, which adjoined the preaching-house, and there I poured out my soul before the Lord in prayer and praise, and continued rejoicing in God my Saviour most of the night.” He was then less than fourteen years of age; his companions at the work-room were of a godless sort, and after a few months’ enjoyment of mental peace and joy, their injurious influence began to tell upon him. By degrees he abandoned his prayerful habits, and surrendered himself to the power of evil, until at length he “became acquainted with the vilest of the vile,” and imbibed their spirit and followed their example. To what depths he sank the following sentences from his diary will show: “It is impossible to express the feelings of my mind, on some occasions during this apostasy from God; especially once, when one of the greatest reprobates I ever knew was constrained to own that he was shocked to hear me swear such oaths as I often did.[9] ... For a moment I felt a degree of compunction, but gave away to despair and drowned the conviction.” The reproof which Bunyan received under similar circumstances led him to drop the practice of swearing; but Bradburn went on in his evil ways as resolutely as ever. For several years he seems to have led a reckless life, joining in vicious company, indulging a passion for “gaming,” or gambling, to such an extent that he would even go to bed and rise and dress again when the rest of the household were asleep, in order to go out through the window and join his gambling and betting companions. At last he became so enamoured of sinful follies that he snatched the opportunity, which a few words of complaint from his father afforded, to take offence and leave home, “in order to go and lodge with some abandoned young men, in order to have his full swing without being curbed by any one.” His wages were but small, and as he took half of them home he had but a small pittance to live upon: yet such was his craze at this time for bad company and “gaming,” that he lived often for two days on a penny loaf, and went in rags rather than confess his error to his parents and ask their aid. One good quality kept him from utter ruin at this time, and it seems to have been the only one that remained in a lively state. He speaks of “the affection he had for his mother, whom he still loved as his own soul.” He could not endure her tears and tender reproofs, and left his home in order that he might not have to suffer the constant reproach of her good character and loving entreaties. To such lengths will a passion for sinful amusements drive even a youth of sensitive nature and generous disposition. Nothing can be more deplorable than the account he gives of his sinful infatuation at this the worst period of his youthful career. “I spent almost a twelvemonth in this truly pitiable way of life, and during that time do not remember enjoying one satisfactory moment. My clothes were now almost worn out, and my wages were not sufficient to supply me with more; yet, such was my folly, I still persisted in the same way, glorying even in my shame, till my life seemed nearly finished, and the measure of my iniquity almost full; and, to all appearance, there was but a step betwixt me and everlasting death.”

At eighteen years of age this miserable course of sin came to an end. Bradburn was led “by the hand of Providence to work in the house of a Methodist.” He had about this time, also, become so weak and ailing in health, as the result of his pernicious habits, that he was compelled to yield to his parents’ entreaties to go and live at home. Good example, kind words, and wise counsel, combined with the beneficial effects of separation from his old companions, soon began to tell upon his conscience. As might be expected, the sense of sin, when once it was awakened in him, was most intense. It was no wonder that such a youth as Samuel Bradburn should have “experiences” which men of a milder temperament are strangers to, and cannot perhaps appreciate. After he had mused for a time, and thought upon his ways, he became suddenly, and, as it seemed then, most unaccountably convinced of sin, and led to cherish the most anxious concern to find peace with God. “One evening,” he writes in his diary, “at the close of the year 1769, while I was making a few cursory remarks on the season, and looking at some decayed flowers in a garden adjoining the house I worked in, I was suddenly carried, as it were, out of myself with the thought of death and eternity.... My sins were set as in battle array before me, particularly that of ingratitude to a good and gracious God. This caused my very bones to tremble, and my soul to be horribly afraid. Hell from beneath seemed moved to meet me.... The effects of those convictions were such that I could scarcely reach home, though but a little way off. I went to bed, but found no rest. I sunk under the weight of my distress, gave myself up to despair, and for some time lost the use of my reason.” For several days the poor sin-stricken youth lay as if in a high fever, and raved of judgment and perdition. It was three months ere he entered into a state of quiet, firm, intelligent, Christian faith, bringing peace and rest to his mind. His excellent and godly master helped him somewhat during this long and terrible struggle in the “slough of despond.” Several “evangelists,” in the character of gospel ministers, pointed out the way of life to him, but they were not of so much service as might have been expected. A “roll which he carried in his hand,” on which was written, “The Door of Salvation Opened by the Key of Regeneration,” was of great value in showing the way to the blessedness he sought. In fact, it was during the reading of this little treatise on the life of faith that his spirit first seemed to hear the divine words, “Peace, be still.” There could be no mistake about the young shoemaker’s conversion. Account for it as men might, the change was marvellous, and infinitely beneficial, as we shall see, no less to his neighbors than to himself; for Samuel Bradburn was intensely social, and bound to influence his friends in one way or another, as well as to be influenced by them. It was impossible for him to remain inactive when a great impulse moved within him. The desire to go out and speak of the joy he had found, and the means by which he had found it, soon became a ruling passion. It is the desire which makes the philanthropist, the preacher, the missionary. The language in which he attempts to describe that indescribable joy of the renewed heart is but another reading of the old gospel truth: “If any man be in Christ he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”[10] Alluding to the reading of the little book above mentioned, he says: “Such an unspeakable power accompanied the words to my soul, that, being unable to control myself, I rose from my seat and went into the garden, where I had spent many a melancholy hour; but, oh, how changed now! Instead of terror and despair I felt my heart overflowing with joy, and my eyes with grateful tears. My soul was in such an ecstasy that my poor emaciated body was as strong and active as I ever remember it, and not at that time only, for the strength and activity remained. I had now no fear of death, but rather longed to die, knowing that the blessed Jesus was my Saviour; that God was reconciled to me through Him; that nothing but the thread of life kept me from His glorious presence. Now the whole creation wore a different aspect. The stars which shone exceeding bright appeared more glorious than before. Such was my happy frame that I imagined myself in the company of the holy angels, who, I believed, were made more happy on my account, and doubtless those ministering spirits did feel new degrees of joy on seeing so vile a sinner, so wretched a prodigal, come home to the arms of his heavenly Father.[11] O Thou eternal God!“ he exclaims, ”Thou transporting delight of my soul! preserve and support, me through life, that I may at last enjoy the heaven of love which I then felt overpowering my spirit.”

Bradburn at once joined the Methodist Society at Chester. His master’s son, a boy of twelve, and many other young people, began to attend the “class-meetings” about the same time. Among his work-fellows, also, there were some who rejoiced in the light which now filled young Bradburn’s soul, and their conversation and hymn-singing while at work, and their union in prayer before quitting the workroom at the close of the day, made the new time a perpetual Sabbath, and the shoemaker’s room “a perfect paradise.” In March, 1770, after the usual period of probation, he was admitted to full membership, and received what the Methodists call “his first ticket.” He was not long in discovering, as every one else has done in similar circumstances, that the change, though genuine, was not complete. An outburst of passion, and a growing desire after disputation on theological matters, in which he found himself contending for mastery rather than truth, gave him to see that a sound and secure religious character is a matter of growth and culture and can only be maintained by watchfulness and prayer, and the careful formation of habits of piety. And as Thomas à Kempis finely says, “Custom is overcome by custom,” so Bradburn found it, and in order to put a bar between his spirit and possible temptations, changed his way of living, his companions, and his books. One day, when John Wesley was administering the Lord’s Supper in the little chapel at Chester, Bradburn was seized with the idea that he must become a preacher. For a long time he strove hard to drive it from his mind. But the more he did so the more it seemed to possess him. His sense of unfitness for so great an office as that of the preacher, his exalted notions of the sacredness and responsibility attaching to the office, and his own deepening conviction, which nothing could resist, that it was his duty before God to devote himself to the work, made him for a time positively wretched. He tried the effect of change of residence upon his feelings in the matter. He was now twenty years of age, and out of his time. But on visiting his relations at Wrexham, he found that they and their friends of the Wesleyan Society, to whom he was introduced, had a common feeling that such a young man ought surely to exercise his gifts as a speaker. In answer to their entreaties he spoke several times in their meetings, and thus made his first start in public speaking. Still the question of preaching was left unsettled, and disturbed his mind night and day. It became a positive burden to him—“the burden of the Lord,” indeed, and no power of his own could remove it. Six months after this brief visit to Wrexham, he obtained a situation, and went to reside in Liverpool, where he fell in with people much to his mind, who were exceedingly kind to him. They, however, no sooner came to know him than their opinion was strongly expressed to the same purport as that of his friends in Chester and Wrexham. In four months he left Liverpool and returned home, the great life-question still upon his mind. He dare not settle it, in one way or the other; all he could do was to resolve to live as near to God as possible, commit his way unto Him, and submissively wait for the direction of Divine providence. In this condition of mind he passed the rest of the year 1772. At the beginning of the following year he found employment at Wrexham, and there took up his abode in the congenial society of his relations and religious friends. Soon after this the event occurred which decided the severe and agonizing mental struggle to which he had been subjected for the last twelve months, and determined the whole course of his life, and the employment of his rare gifts as a preacher of the Gospel. On Sunday, February 7th, 1773, the preacher for the day failed to appear. Young Bradburn was invited by the leaders of the congregation to take the service. Trembling from head to foot, almost blind with fear and excitement, and casting himself on divine aid, he mounts the pulpit stairs. The opening part of the service gives him confidence, and when the time for preaching comes, he is able to speak with much freedom and fervor to an appreciative and thankful audience. In the evening he is once more asked to occupy the pulpit, and this time he delivers a discourse which is not too long for the hearers, though it lasts for more than two hours. The next week he preaches to the same people three times; and now the question is settled, and settled, as he and his friends are fain to believe, in a providential way: Samuel Bradburn is called to be a preacher, and a preacher of no ordinary power. He has not waited all these long months for nothing. He has not run before he was sent. He has not tarried in the desert like Moses, like Elijah, like Saul of Tarsus, to learn the truth and will of God, with no beneficial results. He has been called of the Holy Spirit to the work, and to the work of preaching he must now give himself and his very best powers, or a woe will rest upon him. He and his Methodist friends would not trouble themselves for one moment about the question of his being a shoemaker, or remaining a shoemaker, if he is to become a preacher. One apostolic precedent was as good as twelve to them in a matter of this kind, and Paul did not cease to be a tent-maker when the Holy Ghost said to the church at Antioch, “Separate me Barnabas and Saul to the work whereunto I have called them.”[12]

Soon after the events just referred to, Bradburn resolved to go and see the Rev. John Fletcher, Vicar of Madeley in Shropshire, the friend of Lady Huntingdon, and Benson, and John Wesley. Fletcher had a reputation for piety and usefulness which few men in his day could equal and none surpass. He was a great favorite with the followers of John Wesley, not alone because of his friendship with their leader, but on account of his saintly life, his evangelistic zeal, and his rare catholicity of spirit. None worked more faithfully and diligently than he at the College of Trevecca in Wales, of which he was for several years the president. Yet he received no emolument for his labors. “Fletcher was no pluralist, for he did his work at Trevecca without fee or reward, from the sole motive of being useful.”[13] It is said of his apostolic work at Madeley, that “the parish, containing a degraded, ignorant, and vicious population employed in mines and iron works, became, under his diligent Christian culture, a thoroughly different place. His public discourses, his pastoral conversations, his catechising of the young, his reproofs to the wicked, his encouragements to the penitent, his accessibility at all hours, his readiness to go out in the coldest night and the deepest snow to see the sick or the sorrowing, his establishment of schools, and his personal efforts in promoting their prosperity—in short, his almost unrivalled efforts in all kinds of ministerial activity, have thrown around Madeley beautiful associations not to be matched by the hills and hanging woods which adorn that hive of industry.”[14] Bradburn was lovingly received at the Madeley vicarage, stayed for several days with the family, and preached in one of the rooms of the house to a congregation of villagers. If Fletcher could not ask his shoemaker friend to officiate in the church, seeing that he had taken no holy orders, the good vicar had no difficulty or scruple in regard to his guest’s preaching the Gospel in the house. On leaving, young Bradburn carried away, as a precious treasure of the heart, a deep sense of Fletcher’s holy character, and never forgot the good man’s characteristic remark, “If you should live to preach the gospel forty years, and be the instrument of saving only one soul, it will be worth all your labor.” Returning home, he went on with his work as a shoemaker, preaching on Sundays in the chapels at Flint, Mold, Wrexham, etc., until the beginning of the following year, when he went to reside with friends at Liverpool. Here his preaching was so much enjoyed by the congregations of the “circuit” that he was pressed to stay and minister to them till July, when it was hoped that some arrangement might be made by the Conference in London by which he would be permanently and officially appointed to labor among them. Although he had become somewhat popular by this time, and was warmly welcomed wherever he went on account of his earnestness and rough eloquence, he was sometimes regarded with distrust because of his youthful and unclerical appearance and manner. One good man, who generally entertained the preacher on his visits, was so annoyed at the sight of “a mere lad” “travelling the circuit, that he sent young Bradburn to take his meals and sleep in the garret with the apprentices.” After the morning sermon, however, which surprised and delighted all who heard it, “he was judged worthy to sit in the preacher’s chair” at the table of his host, and at night was allowed to sleep in the “prophet’s chamber.” In September of that year he was not a little surprised to find himself appointed by the Conference as a regular “travelling preacher on the Liverpool circuit.” It was about this time he had his first interview with John Wesley. The veteran evangelist’s simple and kindly manner affected the young preacher deeply, and his advice was wonderfully like him: “Beware,” said Wesley, holding young Bradburn by the hand, “beware of the fear of man; and be sure you speak flat and plain in preaching.”

In these early days of Methodism, when the denomination was undergoing the process of rapid growth, it was impossible to wait for men, to meet the urgent need of the churches, who had gone through a regular process of ministerial education and training. Such as had the requisite character and the gift of speech were “called out” and placed over churches in a manner that would not have been tolerated in later times, when colleges had come to be established. Yet the work done by men of Bradburn’s stamp was genuinely apostolic, and served, under the divine blessing, to lay broad and deep the foundations of that Wesleyan denomination which, in the present day, yields to none of the so-called “sects” in the culture and moral power of its ministry. It is not to be supposed that the fluent young shoemaker was insensible to his need of education. The first year’s work in Lancashire taxed his mental resources severely, and set him wondering many times whether he should be able to go on preparing new sermons in order to preach repeatedly to the same congregation. It was consequently an immense relief to him when the year came to an end, and he found that the Conference at Leeds had set him down for an entirely new field of labor, at Pembroke, in South Wales.[15]

Bradburn felt his poverty in more ways than one. Wesleyan ministers were then but poorly paid, and men of his generous character, who found it easier to give to the needy than to economize and save, were often in great straits for funds. On his way down to Pembroke he was reduced to his last shilling, and, but for this meeting with Wesley at Brecon, might have found it an awkward matter to reach his destination. “Apply to me when you want help,” said Wesley to his friend, and very soon proved his sincerity by prompt assistance when the young pastor made known his straitened circumstances. The following story is too good to be omitted. In reply to Bradburn’s appeal Wesley sent the following short letter, inclosing several five-pound notes:

“Dear Sammy: Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.—Yours affectionately, John Wesley.”