Chapter III

CONVERSION OF MYSELF, TWO BROTHERS, AND MANY OTHER GIPSIES.

I always said my prayers night and morning, and asked God to give me power over drink, and sin, and self, but failed as often as the temptation came to me. I was like the chaff driven before the wind. I often groaned before the Lord, and hated myself after every defeat, because so easily overcome; and not being able to read the Word of God, never having been to school, it was no wonder that I was ignorant of the way of life.

About this time I became so concerned about my soul that I seemed to rest nowhere. I travelled through Bedfordshire and around to London, to see my father and mother, and they helped me in my trouble with my children for a little time. Then my sister and her husband accompanied us with their van, and as they had no children of their own, she was like a mother to mine, and he was kind as a father to them. My sister could read the New Testament, and used to read to me about the sufferings of Christ, and His death upon the tree for sinful man. She told me it was the sins of the people that nailed Him there, and I often felt in my heart that I was one of them. She was deeply moved when I wept, and said, “Oh how cruel to serve Him so.” I took farewell of them, but left my youngest child with them for a time, and travelled on to High Barnett, and made tracks for Luton, Bedfordshire. All the while I was very lonely and sad at heart, and often when my children were asleep, and my horses put away for the night, I have wrestled and struggled on the ground before God with the powers of darkness, but found no relief. It was like the troubled sea casting up mire and dirt. If ever there was a soul that understood the meaning of wormwood and gall, I did.

One morning, just before we reached Luton, I had left a daughter to hawk her goods, and told her I would wait for her on the roadside with my van. While waiting, I looked up and saw two vans approaching from Luton. To my great delight it was my two brothers, Woodlock and Bartholomew; who were equally delighted and surprised to meet me. We began to talk, and I found that they were in the self-same trouble about their souls. God was dealing with them and convincing them of sin. How wonderful are the dealings of God with the children of men. As we talked, we felt how nice it would be to settle down, and go to God’s house and learn of Him—for I had got tired, of my roaming life. The more we talked about it the stronger the conviction grew, and we resolved to be different men, whatever the consequences might be. My brothers turned round and went with me to Cambridge. Upon arrival, we went to a public-house, and told the landlady how we felt. She began to weep, and said, “I have a book upstairs that will just suit you, for it makes me cry every time I read it.” She went upstairs, and brought it down, and lent it to us to read. We went out into the road to mind our horses, and a young man came out to read the book to us. As he read, our convictions grew stronger. We felt, like its author (it was “Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress”), that we wanted to get rid of our burden. My brother Bartholomew rose up and said, “If God does not save me I shall die.” All of us felt the smart of sin at that moment and wept like little children. We returned the book, and thanked the woman for lending it to us. Sad to relate, soon after this, her husband, coming home the worse for drink, was thrown out of his trap and killed on the spot. I felt it was another warning for me, and praised God, in my way, that I had been spared.

On Sunday we went to the Primitive Methodist Chapel, Fitzroy Street, Cambridge, morning, afternoon, and night. At night Mr. Guns preached. His points were very cutting to my soul; he seemed to aim directly at me. I tried to hide myself behind a pillar in the chapel, but he, looking and pointing in that direction, said, “He died for thee.” The anxious ones were asked to come forward; and in the prayer meeting the preacher came to where I was sitting, and asked me if I was saved. I cried out, “No! that is what I want.” He tried to show me that Christ had paid my debt; but the enemy of souls had blinded my eyes, and made me believe that I must first feel it and then believe it, instead of receiving Christ by faith first. Thousands make a great mistake there. I went from that house of prayer still a convicted sinner, but not a converted one.

I again travelled to London, to Epping Forest, to see my father and mother, who were there encamping in their tent. I put my horses in a piece of enclosed ground, and on Monday, when I went to fetch them out, the Spirit of God told me it was wrong. I told God that that should be the last time I would ever do such a thing, or sin against Him knowingly. I then told my father and mother, brothers and sisters, and some of the gipsy tribe, that I was done with roaming and wrong-doing, and that I meant to turn to God, by His help. How they looked at me and wept. My eldest brother, who was weeping, said, “My brother is going to heaven and I am going to hell.” My two brothers, Woodlock and Bartholomew, sold their horses to a man, but the man lent them the horses after he had bought them, that they might take their vans through London to Shepherd’s Bush, on a piece of building land close to Mr. Henry Varley’s chapel. Brother Woodlock went to take the horses back to the man who lent them, and while he was away I sold mine, being determined to have no hindrance, as I meant to settle down and find Christ, if He was to be found. Bless Him! He saw that I was in earnest; and the Spirit of God told me I should be saved that night. And so I was, with my dear brother Bartholomew. After I got my van settled I built up my tent, and then I asked God to direct me to some place where I might learn the way to heaven. I could think of nothing else but Christ. I believed His blood was shed for me—yes, for me, a poor gipsy—and not only for me, but for you, dear reader; yes, for all the world. Praise His name.

I inquired of a young man if he could direct me to a place where there was going to be a service that night. He said, “Yes.” Just then a young man stepped up and said, “Are you going to be religious?” I said, “I don’t know anything about being religious; what I want is Christ, and Christ I will have before I come back.” This man was so angry at my determination being so great that he said he would be a very devil in the midst of us. I went off to the meeting, my brother Bartholomew going with me. We found a little mission hall in Latimer Road, Shepherd’s Bush. It was a prayer meeting, and several working men were there. They were singing that good old hymn—

“There is a fountain filled with blood.”

As they were singing the power of God took hold of me. I was standing up, and my mind seemed to be taken away from everybody and fixed heavenward. It seemed as if I was bound in a chain and they were drawing me up to the ceiling. I was unconscious until I fell on the floor, and they told me afterwards that I lay there wallowing and foaming for half an hour, like the son that the father brought to Jesus (Mark ix. 17). When I came to myself, I seemed to hear the voice of Jesus saying, “Thou dumb and deaf spirit, come out of him and enter him no more,” and the spirit rent me sore, and came out that same hour. Some of my children were there, and, crying, said, “Oh, dear, our father is dead!” Blessed be His name, I had only then commenced to live! My bands fell off, my tongue was loosed, and I immediately rose and told the people that Christ had saved me. My dear brother Bartholomew was saved the same night. No human instrument pointed me the way; God began it and God finished it. I told the people that my wife had been dead three years, and that I had been under deep conviction ever since that time. The change was so great that I walked about the hall, looking at my flesh. To me it did not seem the same colour. My burden was gone, and I told the people that I felt so light that if the room had been full of eggs I could have walked through and not have broken one of them. Glory be to God for His wondrous way in dealing with me. I went forth a new creature in Him. When I arrived home my children were called, and, for the first time in that gipsy home, I knelt with them in prayer. I began at the right place—with my dear children. I shall never forget that night how I sang; and well I might, when such a sinner as I had been was delivered from my guilt. My joy was indeed great, and I told my children that “old things had passed away,” and that we must lead a new life together. I did not sleep much that night. I was talking to Jesus, and asking Him how I should go on. A voice seemed to say, “Now are ye clean.” I said, “It is enough, Lord. My soul believes it. What must I do to Keep clean?” A voice came again, “Abide in me.” I did not know at that time that it was in the Bible, but you will find it in John xv. 3, 4. Oh, how sweet it sounded to my soul! I was lost in wonder, love, and praise, and fell asleep singing,

“My Jesus, I love Thee,

I know Thou art mine.”

In the morning I went on my knees in my gipsy van and asked God to guide me by His Spirit to live as He would have me, for I was willing to obey Him. Going outside and looking round the van, I thought I never saw anything look so new and bright. My brother Woodlock came to me and asked me how I had been saved, for he had heard the news. I told him I was a new man, that I had found a peace as calm as a river, and that Jesus had cast out the evil spirit. He replied, “Yours is a real conversion.” The devil made my statement a snare for him, telling him that he must feel just exactly as I felt or he would not be converted, so he was kept in bondage till the following Sunday. After breakfast I again prayed with my children, and asked God to save them, receiving an impression while I was praying that I must go and speak to the other gipsies that were encamped on the same piece of ground, numbering about twenty families. Being quite willing to take up my cross I obeyed and went, when in their midst I began to sing, and I told them what great things the Lord had done for me. Many of them were bathed in tears. I turned round to my brother Bartholomew’s van, and saw him and his wife on their knees, and she was crying to God for mercy. God saved her there and then. My brother Bartholomew and I then commenced a prayer meeting in one of the gipsy tents, and my eldest son and daughter were brought to Christ that morning, with several others, until thirteen gipsies professed to find Christ as their Saviour. I shall never forget our first prayer meeting. We were like the woman at the well, crying, “Come, see a man that told me all things that ever I did. Is not this the Christ?” The prayer meeting ended, and there was a calm.

Now commenced a new life. My attention was first drawn to my fiddle, that I had played and loved in the dancing saloons; and so that it should form no temptation to me, I made up my mind to part with it, although it had brought me in great gain. I took it to a pawnshop in Shepherd’s Bush, and asked the broker what he would give for it, as I wished to sell it. He said, “What! sell your best friend?” I told him I had found Jesus, and He had taken away all desire for worldly things. He wept, and taking my hand said, “May God bless you,” and we parted. This was April the 6th, 1869.

Mr. Henry Varley, of Notting Hill, heard of our conversion and came to invite us to his tabernacle. We accepted his invitation and received considerable help from his preaching. He put a mission tent on the ground where we were staying, and called it the “Gipsy Tabernacle.” A lady volunteered to teach the gipsy children in the daytime, and several young men came in the evening to give us an hour’s reading, and to hold services on different nights in the week. On April 11th, 1869, my dear brother Woodlock found Christ in Mr. Varley’s vestry, and joined us in praising God. At this time the devil began to rage. Seeing he had lost three of his servants he did his best to upset us, and we were all turned off the ground where we had been staying. Some of the friends told me to hire a field. I did so, at a rent of £25 per annum. We moved our tents and vans into this field, and all the gipsies went with us. The tents were pitched all round the field, with the mission tent in the centre. Meetings were continually held, and we had every opportunity to testify to our gipsy friends what the Lord had done for us. But the enemy had not done with us. Several of the gipsies’ antagonists got drunk, fought, and made a great disturbance; and as we had paid no deposit on the land we were again expelled.

We went to God in prayer, and asked His guidance in the matter, as we three brothers were determined to work for God. I was led to a farmhouse close by. Knocking at the door, the gentleman came out and asked me what I wanted. I told him the Lord had sent me to ask him to let us come under the railway arch that was in the corner of his field. He said he was afraid to let us come in. I assured him that we were honest, and that he might use our horses—for we had bought more to enable us to go to Kent for the hop season, where we had worked for Mr. Hodge, Orphan Green, for many years. He seemed at a standstill, not knowing what to do. His wife then came out and entreated him on our behalf, and he yielded and gave me the key. We stayed there until September. He found work for us, and we had some precious times all the while we were there. We still kept going to Mr. Varley’s tabernacle until we left for Kent, proving that “godliness is profitable for all things, having the promise of this life and that which is to come.” Soon after we wrote to my father and mother, telling them we were converted, and then went to see them at Lowton Forest. They soon prepared something for us to eat. We told them that before we partook of food now we prayed. All knelt down, and my father cried for mercy, and said he ought to have set the example. Instead of that, we had come to teach him; and both father and mother rested upon the promise of God. They were then seventy years of age. They lived five years after that, trusting in the finished work of Christ.

I have already intimated that we went down to Kent during the hopping season. This time someone had already told my master that his fancy men had turned religious. He replied that he was very glad to hear it. When I met him at the farm he said, “Good morning. I have heard good news.” I told him at once that I had found Christ. He gripped my hand, and the tears stood in his eyes. He said, “You must come up to the house to-night, and then we can talk more about it.” We accordingly went, sang some hymns, and talked about our conversion, and the power of God fell upon us. His wife said we had better turn it into a prayer meeting. We were soon on our knees, and I believe from that time several of that family were savingly converted to God. They built us a tent in the cherry orchard, and we held services right through the hopping season. The work was so blessed that Mr. Varley came down to help us. The policeman who was told off on duty there was told to take his staff with him. He replied to his superintendent that he would much rather take his Bible, for the gipsy was preaching Jesus, and such had been the change produced that the staff was not required. More blessed to relate, the policeman and his daughter were converted, during the services there. Praise God!

At Michaelmas, the season being over, we made tracks once more for Cambridge, to settle down for the winter on a piece of ground near the Gas House in Barnwell. On Sunday we commenced to sing the praises of God outside near our vans, and very soon a crowd of people congregated round us. We talked to them of Jesus and His love, and invited them to the chapel. We went off singing, the people following us, and the chapel was soon full. We never lost the influence of that meeting. All glory to our risen Saviour, who hath chosen the weak things of this world to confound the mighty.