From Death into Life by William Haslam

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Every week we took some subject from the Prayer-book, noticing the
special seasons in their order, such as Advent, Christmas, Epiphany,
Lent, Easter, Ascension, and Whitsuntide, each with their respective
teaching.

I was now happy in my work; but it did not, of course, go on as sweetly
as the theory sets it forth. We made, however, as straight a course as
we could, under contending winds and currents. The intelligent part of
my congregation, however interested they were in the work outside the
church and the worship within, nevertheless, had their misgivings and
doubts which they did not hide. They said, "This teaching seems all true
and scriptural; but what will become of us if you go away, and another
man comes who thinks otherwise? We have no security as in the chapels,
that conversion work will go on, and living souls be fed and encouraged.
Very few churches have such a work as the Lord is doing here!"

This, indeed, was the sad part of working in the Church of England then.
Even still, there is much discouragement on this head; and too many
living souls, who would not willingly go, are driven away from their own
Church, to seek teaching in other communions; but they cannot take their
children and servants to witness priestly ceremonials, or to hear
sacramental, as opposed to spiritual teaching; neither can they
conscientiously give countenance to these things, by going themselves.

However, I endeavoured to pacify the people by begging them to be
thankful for present privileges, and to trust God to lead them for the
future.

It is an awful thing to see and know that people come for bread, and get
a stone; for fish, and they get a serpent; and for an egg, they are
offered a scorpion (Luke 11:11, 12). Exceedingly trying it is to be
frowned upon by clerical brethren in the presence of Dissenters, who, to
say the least, do know the difference between life and death. In one
church we have the service elaborately rendered, and the sermon is
nothing; in another the sermon is everything, and the service most
slovenly; and, too often, souls remain unawakened, and perishing on all
sides.

CHAPTER 33

The Work Continued, 1859.

While I was at Hayle, I had so much to do among the people, and so many
meetings, that I seldom had leisure to go out for preaching elsewhere;
nor do I remember that I had many invitations to do so. Occasionally I
went to preach at Penzance, where a good work was steadily progressing
at St. Paul's Church; but otherwise. I seldom left my pulpit.

Everything was now going on in a way which satisfied me, after all my
tossings to and fro. I was surrounded with a happy people, who were
living and working for the Lord. All the week they were busy, and also
on the watch for souls. On Sunday they came regularly to church, with an
intelligent idea of worship, and joined heartily in the services of the
day. At eight o'clock in the morning they assembled in large numbers for
the Holy Communion; then we had the usual morning and evening services
in the church, concluding with a prayer meeting. In the afternoon we had
something else. There was the Sunday school for some of our workers;
tract distribution for others: many went out to preach in the villages;
and others went with me either to the sands, the common, or on board
some ship, for an evangelistic service. The day of rest was not one of
inactivity, but of useful and happy occupation for the Lord. Many a
former Sabbath-breaker, now changed and rejoicing in God, was amongst
us, delighting in the Christian privilege of working for the Master. It
was a day that many of them looked forward to and spent with intense
delight; and on Monday evening we met to tell what we had seen and heard
of the Lord's goodness to ourselves and others.

Whenever the good ship "Cornwall" was in harbour, it was expected there
would be a preaching on "board of her," under the well-known Bethel
flag. The mate of this vessel had been a terribly wicked man, and a most
daring blasphemer. It pleased God to convert his soul in a remarkable
manner; and now nothing would do but he must work for God.

One Sunday, when he was at Cardiff, he heard that a vessel which had
left that port on the previous Friday morning had gone down with all
hands. He was greatly grieved about this; for one of the seamen of the
vessel was in former times a friend and companion of his. He had prayed
for his soul, but hitherto without any success, and this added to his
grief. To his amazement, he saw his friend standing on the quay.
"Hallo!" he said, "I am glad to see you. How is it you are here? Have
you heard that your vessel has gone down with all hands?"

"Has she, indeed!" he exclaimed, bursting out into tears; "then it is
all my fault, for I let her go short-handed. After we set sail I had
words with the captain, so he dismissed me, and I came back in the pilot
boat. It is all my fault!"

"This is the third time, then, that the Lord has given you your life,"
said Sam.

"You had better call on Him to have mercy on your soul." So saying, he
fell on his knees, and began to pray for him. His companion soon
followed, crying aloud for mercy. Though a crowd of people quickly
assembled and stood round, he took no heed, but continued his
supplication until he obtained mercy, and could praise God.

Seeing that some of the by-standers were looking anxious, Sam invited
them on board his ship and had a meeting, at which he told them how the
Lord had saved his soul. Having received much encouragement that day, he
determined, if possible, that he would get a Bethel flag, and hold
services whenever and wherever he could.

On his arrival at Hayle from Cardiff, he went at once to see the wife of
the owner of the ship, knowing that she took a great interest in the
welfare of sailors. He told her his plans, and made his request for a
Bethel flag, which this lady kindly and generously gave him permission
to get.

On obtaining it, Sam came and asked me if I would preach at the first
hoisting of it. This I consented to do, and on the following Sunday
afternoon we had a large concourse of people on board, and also on the
quay alongside. I gave out the hymn:--

"O God of Bethel, by whose hand
Thy people still are fed."

While I was giving it out, Sam ran his flag up to the masthead in the
shape of a ball. So it remained while we were singing; and during the
prayer which followed; and when I gave out my text (Gen. 28:19), "He
called the name of that place Bethel," Sam pulled the halyard, and the
flag, some eighteen or twenty feet long, 'flew out in all its grandeur.
Before the sermon was finished, some of the people began to cry for
mercy, and dear Sam was in an ecstasy of delight, and rejoiced aloud.
'Thus his flag was inaugurated with blessing from on high, and "Many is
the time since," said 3am, "when souls have been blessed under it, both
at Cardiff and at Hayle."

I have said nothing about the infidels I had to work amongst when I
first came to this place. Some of them raged and opposed themselves
against us for a time, but one by one the ringleaders of this party were
brought to God, and eventually their club dwindled away. The history
concerning some I have already published in tracts; but there is one
case I feel I must insert here, for besides being a remarkable history,
there is much teaching in it.

It is the story of a man who professed to be an infidel, and used to
speak very freely of things which he said he did not believe. For
instance, he boasted that he did not believe in God or the Bible, Christ
or devil, heaven or hell; though I must say he seemed to believe in
himself very considerably. It was very difficult to deal with a man who
took his stand upon nothing but negatives. He was well known among his
neighbours, dreaded by some and quite a mystery to others. He was
continually to be seen about with a gun, especially on Sundays, when he
was not ashamed to be thus desecrating God's holy day; on the contrary,
he rather prided himself on not "shifting" his working-day clothes, when
other people were dressed in their best.

It was sad to see a man of such intelligence and capacity defying public
respect and opinion, and trampling upon every sense of right and
propriety. There is generally a reason, if we can only discover it, why
people outrage public opinion, and break out of the stream and path of
their fellow-men.

One Sunday evening, however, after a day spent as usual, in idling about
and shooting little birds, our friend John was observed by a woman
standing outside a church, under the window nearest to the pulpit. He
stood there, listening very attentively to the sermon, till it was over;
and then, before the congregation could come out, he made off stealthily
and hastily, to escape observation. But passing near the woman who had
been watching him, she heard him say, with a look of distress on his
countenance, "It's no use--the devil's sure to have me! It doesn't
matter!"

This woman told me on Monday morning what she had seen and heard; so I
determined to go at once and see the man. It was not his dinner-time
yet; but I thought I would have a little conversation with his wife
before he came home. To my surprise, however, I found him there. "What,
not working today, John?" I said. "What's the matter?"

"I ain't very well," he answered. "I got no sleep last night; but I mean
to work in the afternoon, for all that," he continued, with an air of
determination and defiance.

"What's the matter? Have you got anything on your mind?" I inquired.

"Mind?" he repeated, as if in contempt at the thought. "There is not
much that ever troubles my mind." He then went on to give me a long
account of his bodily ailments.

"But do you never think about your soul, John?" I asked; "never think
about another world and eternity?"

"Soul and eternity! I don't believe in either the one or the other of
them!"

"Not believe you have a soul! Come, John, I am sure you know better than
that." And I went on to speak of the joys of heaven and the bitter
torments of hell; of the love of God, who willeth not the death of the
sinner, but rather that he should turn and live; and then I proceeded to
tell him of the atonement which Jesus Christ finished on the cross, and
that now there is pardon for the vilest sinner through the efficacy of
the blood which has been shed once for all.

"You know, John," I continued, "that I do not care to argue about these
things. There is mercy for you, if you will have it. We can bring water
to the horses, but we cannot make them drink. My business is to put the
way of pardon and salvation plainly before you; and after that, if you
reject it, it will be your own fault if you perish. Do you know how to
get forgiveness of sins?"

He seemed very uneasy all the time I was speaking; and at length, after
a pause, he looked me in the face with a hardened expression, and said,
"There's no pardon for me--I know it."

"That cannot be," I said; "I do not believe it."

"No," he continued, "there's no pardon for me. I have known that for
fourteen years." I inwardly resolved to get this dreadful secret from
him, which was driving him to such evident desperation. A few days
afterwards an opportunity occurred, and I pressed upon him for his own
sake to tell me, or some one else, what had happened fourteen years ago;
and what special communication he had had with another world.

"Oh," he said, "I never told anybody; but I would as soon tell you as
any one else. I had a dream once---do you ever have dreams? I have many
things told me in dreams." Then he was silent; but I was more curious
than ever now, and begged him to tell me what had happened. At last he
began, "I dreamt that I was walking along a broad smooth road, where
everything was most lovely; the weather was fine, and the scenery grand;
there were beautiful gardens, churches, chapels, theatres, houses, and
indeed everything you could think of. The people all seemed to be
delighting in it, and as though they were out for a holiday. Some were
walking, some singing, some dancing, and in one way or the other they
all appeared to be enjoying themselves beyond bounds. Seeing a workman
in a field close by, I called to him, and asked 'Where does this road
lead to?' He answered, 'To hell, straight on; you cannot miss!' 'Hell!'
I was surprised; 'Hell,' I said to myself, 'this is very different to
what I thought. Is the way to hell as pleasant as this? and are people
so unconcerned about it?' I was amazed; but though the man told me this
pleasant road led to hell, I did not stop; I went on and on, seemingly
as pleased as others were. However, it did not continue like this long,
for soon I came to a rough part, all up and down, where the atmosphere
was thick and sulphury, and it was almost dark. I did not like it, and
wished very much to get out of the place, but I could not.

"Seeing some people in the distance, I went near to ask them the way
out. They were busy with long rakes raking cinders about on the dry
ground, and would not answer my urgent inquiries. As I approached them I
saw that they did not look like 'humans,' and that every now and then
fire appeared from under ground, over which they raked cinders to keep
it out of sight. They were so absorbed in their work that they did not
heed my question, though I pleaded more and more earnestly. At last, I
observed that one of them ceased from his strange work, and looked at
me; whereupon I addressed myself to him, begging him to show me the way
out of the place." John added, "If I ever prayed in my life I prayed
then; but he shook his head as if he pitied me, and said mournfully,
'The way you came in,' I replied, 'I cannot find it'; then again he
shook his head as if to say, 'You never will.' I was obliged to rise
from my knees, for the ground was so hot, and in my despair I ran I know
not whither. As I passed along in haste, I came to cracks in the ground
full of fire; I stepped over them one after another, and ran on till I
came to such a large chasm, that I could not jump over it. I turned and
went in another direction, leaping and running, in a state of terror,
till at last I came upon a sheet of glowing fire, into which I fell.
Then I awoke. For fourteen years this has followed me; there is no hope
for me!"

By this time he became very much excited and agitated: seizing his cap
he ran out of the house, leaving his wife and myself in mute
astonishment at his strange tale.

I went home pondering over the meaning of this dream, and was struck at
the amount of truth in it. I thought--How fair are the promises of the
world to begin with, and how delusive and disappointing they are at the
end! Of course, Satan, the god of this world, will make the way to hell
as bright and pleasing as he possibly can; and if people take outward
circumstances and pleasing prospects for indications of safety, they
wilfully lay themselves open to this deadly delusion. What a number
there are who know, or might know, that they are on the road to hell;
that they cannot miss; and yet they go on! And then how many people
there are who rake cinders; that is, when thoughts of death, or
judgment, or hell, obtrude themselves, how readily they cover them over
with hopes of escape, or some good intentions to be better, before it is
too late! How often parents do the same for their children, for they
cannot bear to think of their being lost forever; so they hope that
somehow they will be changed before they die! How often preachers rake
cinders also, by addressing their hearers as if they were all safe, and
only wanted a little teaching now and then; and it may be a little
warning occasionally! They cannot bear to tell them plainly that they
are lost now, and may be lost for ever, if they do not repent and
believe the Gospel; they would rather "be persuaded better things of
them, and things which accompany salvation," though they know for
certain that there are many unsaved ones in their congregation. They
entertain them with good hearty services and pleasing sermons, and then
let them go on their way to the solemn end, perfectly unconscious of any
danger.

The Lord Jesus had no such false charity as this. He has told us plainly
that we are all perishing creatures, and that there is no hope for any
one of us while we are still on the broad road to ruin and in an
unchanged state; that we must be born again or we cannot see the kingdom
of God; that we must believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, who died in our
stead on the cross, or perish for ever. Preachers therefore ought to be
more faithful, because life is so uncertain, and the warnings of God so
sure.

Well did John dream that they did not look like human beings, who were
raking cinders to keep the fire out of sight.

After some days I got light on the subject of this awful dream, and
hastened to tell John that I had found the way out of that fearful place
for him. He would not hear me for some time; but I told him, that the
prodigal son said, "I will arise and go to my Father, and say unto Him,
I have sinned." "You see, John," I continued, "he came back the way he
went, and he found pardon; that is the way for you."

I then knelt down and prayed, and he knelt with me at his table. There
he remained for four hours, without speaking a word, until I was
thoroughly exhausted and obliged to go. No sooner had I gone, than
John's heart failed him, and he burst out crying aloud, and said to his
wife, "Oh, Mary, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

"Take the book and read," she said, pushing the Bible along the table to
him. It was open at the fifteenth chapter of St. Luke, where he read the
words aloud, "I will arise and go to my Father and will say unto him,
Father, I have sinned." The spell was broken and the string of his
tongue loosed, so that he cried aloud for mercy.

This was no unusual thing in one house or another; but in this
particular dwelling it was wonderful. His next-door neighbour, who had
often heard the sound of cursing and swearing there, but never the voice
of prayer, was so astonished, that he rose and came to the door to
assure himself of the astonishing fact. It was quite true; surely it was
John's own voice praying. So, lifting the latch, he went in and shouted,
"Glory to God!" The louder William shouted, the louder John cried for
mercy. When listening to his friend, who pointed him to "the Lamb of
God, who taketh away the sin of the world," he found that "There is life
for a look at the Crucified One;" and then they shouted and praised God
together.

It was a joyful meeting when I saw him again, and thanked God with him
for the marvellous change which had been wrought in his soul. His very
face was altered; and instead of the restless and defiant glare there
used to be in his countenance, there was rest and cheerfulness.

I pointed out to him, from that same portion of the Word of God which
had been blessed to his soul, that there was something more to be had
than the pardon that he had already received; that there was also the
best robe, the ring, the shoes, and the feast of rejoicing. The Father's
arms round the neck of the prodigal son is a token of forgiveness---the
robe, of righteousness divine which is imputed to us; the ring, of our
union with Christ; the shoes, of strength, even grace, with which we
walk; and the feast of rejoicing, the believer's privilege of joy and
thanksgiving.

John's conversion was a remarkable event, and caused a great sensation;
crowds of his fellow-work-mates used to stand round him while he told
his wonderful story. "Oh," he said, "I used to say there was no hell,
when all the time I had it burning in my heart; but, glory be to God, I
am saved from hell to heaven!"

He seldom prayed in public after this, without begging the Lord to loose
the string of the tongue; for, as he said (speaking from experience),
"so many are held captive by that dumb devil." He became a true
missionary for souls, and was very zealous in his testimony, especially
amongst his old companions, who worked in the same factory: he had the
joy of seeing many of them brought to the Lord.

John seemed to realize unseen things in an unusually striking way. He
was a man who in his sleep had vivid dreams, and who in his waking hours
pondered much upon eternal realities, so that he spoke as one who lived
in sight of another world.

CHAPTER 34

The Dismissal, 1860-61

Of this work at Hayle was not "a success," in every sense of the word, I
do not yet know what success in parochial ministry is. If large
congregations may be counted; many communicants taken into reckoning;
with frequent services, and schools full of children--we certainly had
these. But above all, we had a continual ingathering of souls, who will
testify throughout eternity of the blessedness and reality of the work
of God during the time I was there.

It so happened that as we approached the term of three years, of which I
had been premonished when I first came, that my dear friend, Mr. Aitken,
came to pay us a visit. He preached with more amazing power than ever.
His appeals were altogether overwhelming, and I do not wonder that the
people fell on their knees, as they did then and there, and cried aloud
for mercy.

A newspaper reporter who came to hear this "great man" preach, was at
first observed to be writing very diligently; then he paused, and his
hand fell; then his pencil and book went from his grasp; presently he
himself fell on his knees, and began to cry for mercy. We were curious
afterwards to read his report.

In it the grateful man acknowledged his indebtedness, and the blessing
he had received. As to the sermon, he likened it to one of the storms of
the great Atlantic. He said. "At such a time it is interesting to stand
on the shore and watch the sea, and to note the power of wind and waves
while the storm is raging. Even then it is sometimes terrific enough;
but how much more so when the wind veers and the mighty waves come
rolling in one after another, and breaking with tremendous force upon
the rocks on which we stand! So it was with this preacher. All eyes were
fixed on him when he gave out his text, and proceeded with his usual
introduction. Now and then he alarmed and roused us with the power of
his oratory; but when he turned to apply his subject to the consciences
of the people, he became irresistible. Immediately, there was heard on
all sides a cry for mercy. The stentorian voice of the preacher was
audible above all others as he went on to apply the Word with
unrelenting force, till very few hearts, however hard, remained
unbroken."

This was a memorable day with us. Twice was the church filled and
emptied; and again a third time, in the evening, the people crowded in
and filled the place. Far into the night we wrought amongst the anxious
and broken-hearted, bidding them to look at the Crucified One and live.

Mr. Aitken was not a man who raked cinders over the fire, but rather
raked them off and that in true kindness and love; but with terrible and
awful plainness he showed the danger of trifling with the Gospel, and
presuming upon God's love and forbearance.

On Monday evening we invited the people to assemble in the large
schoolroom, which was filled to excess. Here I thought that the
schoolmaster's desk would have been demolished under the tremendous
energy and force, both mental and physical, of this preacher. At the
first sign of a breakdown among the people, the great, tall man, in his
long coat or cassock, came majestically striding out from behind the
desk. That was enough. A hard rough-looking sailor, who was sitting by,
with his eyes fixed on Mr. Aitken for a long time, fell on his knees and
began to roar aloud for mercy, and very many others followed his
example.

I asked this man afterwards what it was that had had such an effect upon
him? "Oh," he replied, drawing his breath, as if he had scarcely yet
recovered from the shock, "that big man was bad enough the other side of
the desk, but when he came forth to the front, I didn't know what would
happen to me. I was obliged to cry out for mercy; I couldn't help it."

The "big man," like the "Stormy Petrel," was just in his element in such
a scene. In the gladness and joy of his heart he rejoiced and shouted,
"Glory--glory be to God!" in a way which no one else could imitate or
follow.

In the midst of this scene of confusion (as it must have appeared to an
outside observer, if such an one was there), sat a woman, looking on at
the people praying and praising God, when all at once Mr. Aitken turned
suddenly upon her and said, "And you, my sister!" Immediately she gave a
scream, and was down on her knees in a moment, crying for mercy as loud
as the loudest.

If Cornish people like a noise, they certainly had it that evening to
their hearts' content. As I have said before, when there is a real power
of the Spirit present, the outpouring of the heart with noisy
demonstration is joyous to those who go with the stream, and are in
sympathy with it; but if those present stop to doubt the propriety of
such an outcry, and begin to rebuke those who make it, then I think the
answer that the Lord gave the Pharisees would still be applicable: "I
tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would
immediately cry out" (Luke 19:40).

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