Chapter V

THE TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF MY DEAR BROTHERS, WOODLOCK AND BARTHOLOMEW.

But in the midst of our work, true as we were to each other as brothers and to the principles of the Cross, death’s rude hand came among us and made a breach. We were all three labouring for God at Chingford, Essex. The following extract, which at the time was printed as a leaflet, will afford an explanation:—

SUDDEN DEATH OF ONE OF THE “CONVERTED GIPSY BROTHERS” SMITH.

These devoted Christian men had been holding services at Chingford, Essex, since 4th March, 1882, and on Tuesday, 7th March, at the close of their meeting, the second eldest brother, Woodlock, was detained a few minutes behind his brothers in earnest conversation with an anxious soul, and they went on ahead to take train for Stratford, leaving him to make haste after them. Woodlock in the darkness ran with great force against a wooden post in the midst of one of the lanes, and sustained such severe internal injuries that he never rallied, but died in 28 hours. Cornelius, his eldest brother, stayed by him all night, while Bartholomew, the youngest, returned to Stratford to inform their wives and families. On Wednesday morning early Woodlock’s wife went to Chingford, and during the day he was removed to his own little home, Cobbold Road, Leytonstone, where he breathed his last early on Thursday, 9th March. Though under terrible suffering he never once lost his consciousness, but to the end testified of redeeming love. He was a large-hearted Christian man, and never happier than when pressing others, in his own simple forceful way, to accept God’s gift of salvation, and faithfully to serve the Master he loved so well. He has left a widow, a grown-up son and daughter, and an idiot boy twelve years of age, to mourn his loss.

On Saturday, 11th March, 1882, this worthy Christian man and zealous worker was buried in Leytonstone churchyard. He was followed by his sorrowing relatives, and over fifty of the gipsy community, while four hundred sympathising friends lined the approaches to the church and burying-place. The parish church had a very unusual audience that day, for the gipsy people pressed in with the others, and as the vicar read the burial service hearts were deeply touched and tears freely flowed, and again when the body was committed to the dust, “in sure and certain hope of the resurrection,” the wave of hearty response told how solid was that blessed hope of Woodlock. At the grave two or three Christian men addressed the company, testifying to his sterling worth who had just been laid to rest, urging on the unsaved immediate decision for Christ, and on Christians heartier service for the Master. The two surviving brothers spoke very feelingly of the loved one they were severed from, and how much they would feel the missing link in their chain of Gospel testimony. Hymns having been sung with much emotion, prayer was offered, and the company dispersed.

Woodlock Smith was a hale man, only forty-eight years of age. More than twelve years before, his two brothers and he were converted to God, and straightway they began to testify, “Come, see a man which told me all things which ever I did. Is not this the Christ?” And lovingly and earnestly they laboured together from that date. When not called out to Gospel testimony up and down the English counties, they laboured with their own hands. In their services, Woodlock, as a rule, led off with the first address, and afterwards gave out the closing hymn.

On Tuesday evening, at Chingford, he gave out and sang with full heart and soul—

“Sing, oh, sing, of my Redeemer!

With His blood He purchased me!

On the cross He sealed my pardon,

Paid the debt, and made me free!”

About an hour afterwards he met with his accident, and when he was picked up, he said to the helpers, “I have got my death-blow. My work on earth is done, but all’s bright above, and I’m going home.” He was no ordinary man. In clear incisive Gospel testimony, the blood of Jesus Christ, His finished work on the Cross of Calvary, as alone the ground of the sinners’ acceptance with God, and a consequent life of consecration to His service, was the burden of his discourses.

Over the doorway of his cottage home stands this Scripture, “When I see the blood, I will pass over you.”

Intensely real in what he said, never did he rise to such a pitch of earnestness as when setting forth, “Ruin by the fall, redemption by the blood of Christ, and regeneration by the Holy Ghost.” Within an hour of his departure he turned to his weeping relatives and said, “I am going to heaven, through the blood of the Lamb. Do you love and serve Jesus. Tell the people wherever you go about Him. Be faithful, speak to them about the blood that cleanses.” Gathering himself up he then said, “What is this that steals upon my frame? Is it death?” and quickly added—

“If this be death, I soon shall be

From every sin and sorrow free.

I shall the King of Glory see.

All is well.”

Who made the difference in this man’s life and death from that of an ordinary unconverted gipsy? The Lord Jesus Christ.

Thus was our beloved brother taken from us. We had knelt with him at the Cross, laboured together in the cause of Christ, and we shall live together around His resplendent throne.

Two years after the death of Woodlock, when I had scarcely rallied from that heavy blow, my dear brother Bartholomew died. I was quite overcome with the death of Woodlock, and now this terrible blow for the time seemed to unfit me for work, but the precious last hours of Bartholomew will live in memory.

His last few days on earth were spent in Mildmay Cottage Hospital, where he was lovingly tended, and all that human skill could devise under the Divine blessing was done for him, but gradually growing weaker, he pleaded to be carried to his own little cottage home at Leytonstone, to die beside his dear wife and children, and the wish was granted. He only survived the removal about ten hours, but to the last he glorified God in the fires of affliction. A few hours before he passed away he called his family to his bedside and implored each of them to meet him in heaven. His dear wife naturally felt it extremely hard to part with him. He rallied somewhat in his last moments, and said, “There! I was almost gone then. They had come for me.” When asked who had come, he replied, “My Saviour.” Turning to his wife he said, “You are clinging to me; you will not let me go; and I am sure you do not want me to stay here in all this pain. I must go home, I cannot stay here. I have made it all right for you and the children. God will look after you. I know your difficulty, but He will bring you through.” Trying to comfort her I said, “Tell the Lord, Thy will be done.” She looked at me, and said, “Oh, it is so hard.” I said, “Yes, but the Lord is going to take him to Himself, and it will make it easier for you.” We then knelt down. He sat up in the bed with his hands clasped, looking at her, whilst she poured out her soul before the Lord, and told Him her difficulty. God gave her the victory. She said, “I can now say, Thy will be done.” She then kissed him once more on earth, and then he clapped his hands and said, “Now I can go, can’t I? I am ready to be offered up. The time of my departure is at hand. Lord, let Thy servant depart in peace. Receive my spirit, for Jesus’ sake.” Bartholomew’s soul had fled from its tenement of clay. The bed-chamber was filled with a halo of glory. He was interred in Leytonstone parish churchyard, in the same grave with our dear brother Woodlock, there to await the resurrection morn.

Six months after Bartholomew had passed away God gave to his widow another life, and true to His own promise He has sustained her and her nine children.

A very singular thing happened just before Bartholomew died. He said, “There is another going on a long journey,” and he also mentioned the name of one of his married daughters, and twelvemonths to the very day she was laid in her grave, and we trust she has gone to be with Jesus.

Two years before my brother Bartholomew’s death God gave me another helper in my dear wife. He knew when He took away my dear brothers that I should feel their loss, and feel unfit to go to meetings alone, so my wife was given me. She had been in the mission work for years, and had been made very useful both in connection with the Christian Missions, in whose meetings she was converted, and also in the Salvation Army. And now, while we write, the Lord is making us a great blessing. Our time is fully spent in the Lord’s work, and wherever we go souls are saved and saints are blessed. Jesus Christ found me a poor wandering, neglected, simple gipsy, and brought me into the light, the eternal light of God, and I want to preach Him to my fellow-men as long as I live,

“Happy if with my latest breath

I may but gasp His name;

Preach Him to all, and cry in death,

‘Behold, behold the Lamb’”

THE END.

John Heywood, Excelsior Printing and Bookbinding Works, Manchester.

Transcriber’s Notes: A small number of obvious typographical errors in the original have been corrected where leaving them unaltered would likely be an unwelcome distraction for the reader. These were:

Page 11: “nothin” has been corrected to “nothing”.

Page 12: “was a a very” has been corrected to “was a very”.

Page 25: “godlylives” has been corrected to “godly lives”.

Page 25: “ost” has been corrected to “lost”.

Page 29: “it wa gone” has been corrected to “it was gone”.

Page 46: “riends” has been corrected to “friends”.

Page 51: “they came for ward” has been corrected to “they came forward”.

Pages 53-54: “The The work was” has been corrected to “The work was”.

Page 63: “im prisonment” has been corrected to “imprisonment”.

Page 74: “my dear bro-brother” has been corrected to “my dear brother”.

September 2026