CHAP. XV. Interesting visits to Gipsy camps, including an Anecdote of his late beloved majesty, george the third.

The following account is extracted from the Home Missionary Magazine for June, 1823.

March, 1823. “Sir,

“If the following facts should afford any encouragement to the benevolent intentions of the Home Missionary Society, which has, for one of its objects, the improvement of the state of the poor Gipsies, my end in relating them will be amply answered.

“On Saturday evening, in the month of October, the narrator followed several Gipsy families. Being arrived at the place of their encampment, his first object was to gain their confidence. This was accomplished; after which, to amuse their unexpected visitant, they shewed forth their night diversions in music and dancing; likewise the means by which they obtained their livelihood, such as tinkering, fortune-telling, and conjuring. That the narrator might be satisfied whether he had obtained their confidence or not, he represented his dangerous situation, in the midst of which, they all with one voice cried, ‘Sir, we would kiss your feet, rather than hurt you!’ After manifesting a confidence in return, the master of this formidable gang, about forty in number, was challenged by the narrator for a conjuring match. The challenge was instantly accepted. The Gipsies placed themselves in the circular form, and both being in the middle, commenced with their conjuring powers to the best advantage. At last the narrator proposed the making of something out of nothing. This proposal was accepted. A stone which never existed, was to be created, and appear in a certain form in the middle of a circle made on the turf. The master of the gang commenced, and after much stamping with his foot, and the narrator warmly exhorting him to cry aloud; like the roaring of a lion, he endeavoured to call forth nonentity into existence. Asking him if he could do it? he answered, ‘I am not strong enough.’ They were all asked the same question, which received the same answer. The narrator commenced. Every eye was fixed upon him, eager to behold this unheard-of exploit; but (and not to be wondered at,) he failed!—telling them, he possessed no more power to create than themselves. Perceiving the thought of insufficiency pervading their minds, he thus spoke:—“Now, if you have not power to create a poor little stone, and if I have not power either; what must that power be, which made the whole world out of nothing?—men, women, and children! that power I call God Almighty.”

The night’s diversion having received a change, the golden moment was eagerly seized to impress on their minds the infinite power, holiness, and justice of their Creator. This being done, the origin of sin, and the immortality of the soul, were, in the second place, impressed on their minds. Then followed the awful effects of sin, and the soul’s eternal punishment in hell, because of offending this great God, whose holiness could not look on sin, and whose justice would punish it. Representing the soul’s eternal punishment by the wrath of an incensed God, never did the preacher before witness such an effect; the poor Gipsies, with tremulous voice, crying, ‘Did you ever hear the like! What ever shall we do?’ These expressions gave new energies to the preacher, and still brighter hopes of a good effect. Going on with the awful representation, and in the act of turning, as if to leave them, he bade them the long farewell. ‘Never, never more to meet till we meet in hell! Oh! what a dreadful thing it is, my fellow-sinners, that we have to part in this world with the thought of meeting in an eternal world of pains, never to see God! never to see heaven! never to see any thing to comfort our poor souls! Oh! we are lost, lost, poor souls, we are lost for ever!—farewell!’ In the act of leaving them, these poor creatures cried, ‘Not yet, Sir, not yet.’ Now was the glorious moment come, which the preacher eagerly anticipated of proclaiming the glad tidings of salvation through a crucified Saviour. Asking how long they would stand to hear the way of escape from the wrath to come, they instantly lifted up their voices, answering, ‘All night, Sir, all night.’ Then the preacher, without much persuasion, exhibited a Saviour, in all his sufferings, merits, death, and glory. They were sorry that such a good being should suffer so much; but the preacher took care to show the absolute necessity of his sufferings. Their manner bespoke an imperfect idea of a substitute. This was soon made clear to their understandings by comparisons, when the master of the gang cried, ‘I see it, I see it!’ He was asked what he saw? ‘I see Jesus Christ getting between us and God, and satisfying our great God’s justice by dying instead of us.’ This truly made the preacher’s heart glad, seeing the great plan of salvation was so clearly understood by those who declared (although in a land of light,) they never heard of Jesus Christ before.

“The preacher sang the hymn:—

“How condescending, and how kind Was God’s eternal Son, &c,”

and then ended with prayer. They solicited him to return on the sabbath morning; he did so, and, as he hopes, under the influence of the Holy Spirit. The master gratefully accepted of a bible; for though the Gipsies could not read, a little boy was among them, who was not a Gipsy, that could read remarkably well, having been taught at a Sunday school at Hastings, in Sussex. They all joyfully anticipated the pleasure of going to the Rev. J. Carter’s Chapel, of Braintree, in the afternoon, but met with a disappointment, arising from an unexpected decampment. About one month after, in the latter end of November, two Gipsy women called on the narrator, earnestly entreating him to go and preach to them, which they called conversation. Asking the reason, why they entreated this favour? their answer was, ‘We have heard much about your conversation, sir, and we should like to hear it. Come, do come, and we will be all ready to receive you.’ Asking who they were that told them of the conversation just mentioned, they said, ‘some of our people, Sir, that you were with about a month since. They told us a great deal about your conversation, and we should so much like to hear it. Oh! sir, do come to us poor creatures, for we have an invitation for you, if you would condescend to take it, to meet with the Gipsies on Christmas day.’ That night, the narrator walked a few miles to their camp, and in their smoky tent preached Jesus Christ the only way of salvation, to these poor, despised, neglected creatures. After being with them two hours and a half, he bade them farewell, and going behind a hedge, anxious to know what effect the new unheard of doctrines would produce on their minds, he listened for a short time. In the midst of conversation with each other, one of them said, ‘Well, I know this, if I could get a house near where that gentleman lives, and could live by my business, I would send all my children to that school there, and hear him as long as ever I could live.’ While they were conversing about Adam and Eve, and the evil effects of sinning against God; one of the women said, ‘However, you see, all the punishment that us women get, is sorrow and pains in child-bearing.’ ‘Stop, stop,’ says one of the men, ‘that won’t do, Ann, that won’t do. If sorrow and pains in child-bearing be all the punishment that women are to have, what punishment must those women have that do not bear children? You are quite wrong, Ann; you women are as bad as us.’ This led on to a further discovery, and the conversation among themselves was truly interesting.

“One of the children telling a lie, the mother touched it on the head, saying, ‘What are you telling lies about? Have you forgotten what the gentleman said to night? You will go to hell, if you tell any more lies. Let me never hear you tell another, you bad lad, for God will not take you to heaven.’

“These, and several remarks about Jesus Christ, afforded no small pleasure to the preacher, and he hopes that these facts will afford no small encouragement to the Home Missionary Society.

“Your very humble Servant, “J. H. C.”

Before the author relates one of the most extraordinary anecdotes with which he is acquainted, one, of which a King and a dying Gipsy are the characters, he will relate another interesting account of a visit to a Gipsy camp, which will, it is hoped, prove that such visits are not in vain, when made in dependence on the Divine blessing. A Gipsy, in great distress of mind, and with weeping eyes, came to inform him of one of their people, who was in great anguish of mind, and entreated him to visit them at the camp, which was several miles distant. The request was gladly complied with. On arriving at the tent, he found a woman sitting in a melancholy attitude on the ground; and distress and anguish were strongly marked in her countenance. She appeared quite indifferent to any thing that was said; and kept herself apparently engaged with the sticks and brands around the fire near the mouth of the tent. The man also appeared very melancholy. We learned that the cause of their distress was jealousy on the part of the man, who was called her husband. The circumstance which gave rise to those unhappy feelings had taken place several years before; yet the poor man has been so unhappy, that he has often intended to destroy both himself and his wife; and not many days before this visit to the camp, he had threatened to execute his purpose. The author talked and prayed with him, and exhorted him to look to God for strength and grace. Their repeated conversations were made useful to him, and those miserable feelings were subdued, and he now lives happily with the woman he had before hated, even to an intention of murder. This is another evidence, although a distressing one, that a want of chastity is evil in their sight.

“A king of England, of happy memory, who loved his people and his God, better than kings in general are wont to do, occasionally took the exercise of hunting. Being out one day for this purpose, the chase lay through the shrubs of the forest. The stag had been hard run; and, to escape the dogs, had crossed the river in a deep part. As the dogs could not be brought to follow, it became necessary, in order to come up with it, to make a circuitous route along the banks of the river, through some thick and troublesome underwood. The roughness of the ground, the long grass and frequent thickets, gave opportunity for the sportsmen to separate from each other; each one endeavouring to make the best and speediest route he could. Before they had reached the end of the forest, the king’s horse manifested signs of fatigue and uneasiness; so much so, that his Majesty resolved upon yielding the pleasures of the chase to those of compassion for his horse. With this view, he turned down the first avenue in the forest, and determined on riding gently to the oaks, there to wait for some of his attendants. His Majesty had only proceeded a few yards, when, instead of the cry of the hounds, he fancied he heard the cry of human distress. As he rode forward, he heard it more distinctly. ‘Oh, my mother! my mother! God pity and bless my poor mother!’ The curiosity and kindness of the king led him instantly to the spot. It was a little green plot on one side of the forest, where was spread on the grass, under a branching oak, a little pallet, half covered with a kind of tent; and a basket or two, with some packs, lay on the ground at a few paces distant from the tent. Near to the root of the tree he observed a little swarthy girl, about eight years of age, on her knees, praying, while her little black eyes ran down with tears. Distress of any kind was always relieved by his Majesty, for he had a heart which melted at ‘human woe;’ nor was it unaffected on this occasion. And now he inquired, ‘What, my child, is the cause of your weeping? For what do you pray?’ The little creature at first started, then rose from her knees, and pointing to the tent, said, ‘Oh, sir! my dying mother!’ ‘What?’ said his Majesty, dismounting, and fastening his horse up to the branches of the oak, ‘what, my child? tell me all about it.’ The little creature now led the King to the tent:—there lay, partly covered, a middle-aged female Gipsy, in the last stages of a decline, and in the last moments of life. She turned her dying eyes expressively to the royal visitor, then looked up to heaven; but not a word did she utter; the organs of speech had ceased their office; the silver cord was loosed, and the wheel broken at the cistern. The little girl then wept aloud, and, stooping down, wiped the dying sweat from her mother’s face. The King, much affected, asked the child her name, and of her family; and how long her mother had been ill. Just at that moment another Gipsy girl, much older, came, out of breath, to the spot. She had been at the town of W---, and had brought some medicine for her dying mother. Observing a stranger, she modestly courtsied, and, hastening to her mother, knelt down by her side, kissed her pallid lips, and burst into tears. ‘What, my dear child,’ said his Majesty, ‘can be done for you?’ ‘Oh, sir!’ she replied, ‘my dying mother wanted a religious person to teach her, and to pray with her, before she died. I ran all the way before it was light this morning to W---, and asked for a minister, but no one could I get to come with me to pray with my dear mother!’ The dying woman seemed sensible of what her daughter was saying, and her countenance was much agitated. The air was again rent with the cries of the distressed daughters. The King, full of kindness, instantly endeavoured to comfort them: he said, ‘I am a minister, and God has sent me to instruct and comfort your mother.’ He then sat down on a pack, by the side of the pallet, and taking the hand of the dying Gipsy, discoursed on the demerit of sin, and the nature of redemption. He then pointed her to Christ, the all sufficient Saviour. While the King was doing this, the poor creature seemed to gather consolation and hope: her eyes sparkled with brightness, and her countenance became animated. She looked up; she smiled; but it was the last smile; it was the glimmering of expiring nature. As the expression of peace, however, remained strong in her countenance, it was not till some little time had elapsed, that they perceived the struggling spirit had left mortality.

“It was at this moment that some of his Majesty’s attendants, who had missed him at the chase, and who had been riding through the forest in search of him, rode up, and found the King comforting the afflicted Gipsies. It was an affecting sight, and worthy of everlasting record in the annals of kings.

“His Majesty now rose up, put some gold into the hands of the afflicted girls, promised them his protection, and bade them look to heaven. He then wiped the tears from his eyes, and mounted his horse. His attendants, greatly affected, stood in silent admiration. Lord L--- was now going to speak, when his Majesty, turning to the Gipsies, and pointing to the breathless corpse, and to the weeping girls, said, with strong emotion, ‘Who, my lord, who, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto these?’”