The
Life of General William Booth
Vol.
2 ~ Chapter 20 ~ 1902
Contents
IN WHICH PERSONAL SORROWS
CLASH WITH PUBLIC ESTEEM
THERE
was now an unmistakable “demand” for Booth blood. In his
seventy-third year the preacher of the changed heart found himself called
to come and help the sad and the sorrowful in every quarter of the world.
No man of his time had anything like so great an influence, no man was
more intimately known to the nations of the world.
Arrangements were made for him this year to visit France, Germany, Holland,
Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, Italy, the United States, and
Canada. In each of these countries he was visiting his own people, his
purpose being to review his own battalions, and to inspire these faithful
followers with fresh enthusiasm for the war against sin; but in each
of these countries he would be received by those who were not Salvationists,
and vast crowds would follow him who had no intention of becoming Salvationists.
This remarkable popularity was a tribute to his courage, his picturesqueness,
and his humanity. Even those who never realized how immensely important
to the salvation of their material fortunes, as well as to the salvation
of their spiritual well-being, was this message of the old Englishman
with his head of tousled white hair and his heard of snow, recognised
that he had fought a brave fight, that he had introduced a touch of
colour into the drab life of an industrial civilization, and that he
had cared for the sorrowful and had helped the bottom dog to get up
again.
It would have been well for them, in that age of logical “Darwinism,”
when the forces of Armageddon were ringing with the hammers of death,
if they had seen more deeply into the significance of his spiritual
message.
It was in this year of his life that those domestic troubles of which
we have spoken in an earlier chapter came to a head. The old man, who
was a General as well as a father, had to bear the pain of seeing two
or three of his middle-aged children leave the Flag which he had planted,
with blood and tears in the face of the whole world’s scorn, during
their infancy. His journal refers to these events with a pathos which
he hid not only from the world but from his children. Nevertheless,
there is in all these entries the stubborn spirit of his courage, witnessing
to his determination to press on with the battle at all and every cost.
He cries out at one point:
I shall not attempt to describe my feelings at this utterly bewildering blow. Altogether unexpected, and delivered in such a manner. It must be imagined.
And at another:
I got thro’ the night’s meeting as well as I was able. . .
And again:
I am struggling hard to practise the life of faith I am always impressing on others.
And again:
I suppose I am not to be trusted! . . . A Melancholy Day.
But
with these momentary cries from the heart of the old warrior there are
references to great meetings crowded with men and women, and statements
of the number seeking mercy at the penitent-form, and accounts of the
words he had uttered on these occasions.
He was supported through his domestic sorrows by his daughter Emma,
to whom he was devoted in a particular manner. But his journal has the
record that the world’s battle is of more account than the peace
of his own heart. He must go on with his meetings and she must return
to her work in the United States.
. . . bade the Consul (his daughter Emma) a very reluctant good-bye. Over the Atlantic for a few days, just snatched from the jaws of death, so closely bound up with the darkest phases of my life; it seems rather hard to have to rush away from her for three days at a time.
These meetings of his are the best anaesthetics for the pain at his heart:
I
had unusual power. I made them laugh and shout and wince and weep by
turns. At least God did by me. I take none of the credit, for my poor
heart was flat and sore enough.
I feel like beginning life afresh this morning; my heart is stirred
with earnest desires to realize more of the indwelling presence of God.
What an opportunity for usefulness is mine. “Who is sufficient
for these things?” Oh, my Lord, my sufficiency is of Thee.
Again and again he finds relief from his sorrows in the love and enthusiasm of his followers:
Here is Ipswich . . . and such a glad welcome at the Station, where the Soldiers almost danced for joy at the meeting as I took my place on the platform. How Salvationists do love one another, and how pleasant it is that they are not afraid to show their affection.
But in the midst of these joyful manifestations of affection he comes upon places where the coldness or indifference of the people strikes a blow at his heart. For instance, on Good Friday of this year he writes in his journal:
All days are very much alike to me, differing mainly as they offer me the opportunity for greater or less usefulness. Today was supposed to represent a mighty chance in these Welsh Valleys. But it did not prove to be the case. There were games, concerts, football matches, fine weather in profusion, while everywhere there was that indescribable holiday feeling which seems to get all around the people like an atmosphere, and makes it difficult to get the unsaved into the buildings or to produce any definite or effective conviction in them when they are there.
He moralizes, too, over lost opportunities:
Cecil Rhodes is dead. He has been ill, and dangerously ill for some time. Now he is gone to his account. The S.A. has lost a real friend, so far as this world’s good and influence are concerned. I cannot help feeling very sad. I wonder whether in our several interviews I did what I could for his soul. Oh, what a snare hoping for a more convenient season is, not only for the sinner saving himself but for the saint saving other people. I certainly had not the most distant idea of him passing away like this. He was only 49, and had the appearance of being a hearty man. Heart disease was his root malady, and dropsy the immediate cause of his death.
Then we come across an entry which carries us back to the days when he was followed through the streets of Nottingham by a bevy of adoring young women, and when his hair was raven and his pale face was without beard or moustache:
My
sister is reported to be dying. Florrie has been with her and writes
—“If the General wants to make sure of seeing her again
alive he should come on to-night.”
Discussed the affairs that just now are pressing with Bramwell on the
journey up. . . . Wrote a hasty letter to Herbert, and by 6.5 was in
the train en route for Nottingham.
Found my sister very ill, pulse galloping 140 beats a minute. She was
very pleased to see me. Was quite cheerful, and said she was in great
pain, but chattered away in broken sentences about herself, just as
was her usual custom.
She described how she was taken ill . . . sent for the Doctor when the
suffering became too great to bear. She said: “He came, and I
said to him —‘Doctor, I am very ill.’ ‘Yes,’
he said, ‘you are, and I am sorry for you.’ ‘Can you
do anything for me?‘ I said. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I
can give you a little chloroform.’
‘Doctor,’ I said, ‘that means an operation.’
And he said, ‘Yes, it does, and you must have it at once. It must
be performed within an hour and a half.’ In half an hour he came
back and brought a man with him to give the chloroform, and they laid
me on that dressing-table,” pointing to a table standing under
the window, “and did their work,”
I said, “Well, you have had a long life of hard work and a large
amount of trouble.” “Yes,” she said, “I have.
But oh,” she interposed quite cheerily, “the Lord has been
very good to me. Oh,” she said, “He has been very good.”
I said, “Well, there is a rest for you.”
“Yes, yes,” she responded, taking the words out of my mouth
and quoting the text, “There remaineth a rest for the people of
God.” “And I am one of them, I am,” she said, “and
I shall claim my rest.” I said a little further on in the conversation,
“You trust Him?” “Of course I do, and I am going to
trust Him right on, right on to the end.”
She appeared then to get a little exhausted, and I prayed and left,
promising to come back the next morning. I had proposed to leave by
the 10.15 train, but on reflection resolved to remain and see what turn
things took. The Doctor had said that he could give no idea as to any
immediate danger, and the nurse was equally unable to form a judgment.
She seemed so strong, that for my own part I felt sure she would last
some time, if she did not even recover.
But on reaching the house Emily, my niece, met me weeping, and exclaimed,
“Oh, I am so glad you’ve come, Uncle; I was afraid you would
have been too late.”
Oh, what a change had taken place. It was only too evident that my sister
was now dying. I took her hand, called her name, and asked if she knew
me; to this she signified assent. But that was all. There were a few
minutes’ heavy breathing, and then, without a struggle or groan,
she ceased to live. As she gave her closing gasp, the words involuntarily
came to my heart as though spoken to me by an invisible spirit, “Mary
Newell, enter into Heaven, washed in the Blood of the Lamb.” It
was probably no more than a fancy or an utterance of faith and hope,
but however interpreted it was a pleasant feeling; it greatly comforted
me.
An admirable example of Salvation Army piety, and a very eloquent witness at once to the humility of William Booth’s spiritual life and the stubborn character of his theology, is presented in the following quotation of his journal:
Some
years ago I met the mother of Major von Wattenwyl, one of my oldest
and most trusted Swiss Officers at Berne, at the lady’s house
where I was billeted. I was struck with her appearance, her spirit and
her general demeanour. She was then, I think, 84 years of age, but wonderfully
well preserved, with hair white as snow. She was converted when somewhere
about 21 years of age.
Deeply convicted of sin, and of the possibility of Salvation, she sought
the blessing night and day. Doing little eating, drinking, or anything
else, beside weeping and reading her Bible, and calling on God to save
her. In the house and in the wood, by night and by day, she persevered
in her search for the Pearl of Great Price, and at last found it to
her great joy. When she commenced the struggle her hair was as black
as a sloe; when she finished it was white as I saw it on that day.
When at Basle, a month ago, her daughter, the Major, was one of my best
helpers, but she disappeared on the Sabbath after the morning meeting,
leaving me the message that she had received a telegram to say that
her Mother had fractured her hip, and that she was away home to help
her.
I have just received the following letter from the Major. . . :
DEAR
GENERAL — I have never thanked you otherwise than by wire for
your loving words of comfort from Basle.
And now that I do so, I have to tell you that my beloved Mother is,
so to say, at the Gate of Heaven, waiting for its opening. After much
suffering now the pain has given way. Her room is like a fore-room of
Heaven. The whole family is round her, and for all she has a word of
Salvation and heavenly joy.
Once more I thank you, dear General, for your kind sympathy. How beautiful
it is to see a Christian’s death, even though the heart bursts
with pain.
Dear General, I feel you are going through deep waters. But He will
bring you wonderfully through, and in the midst of all the storms God
is carrying on His work, unhindered. May He sustain you. — Yours,
under the dear old Flag,
A. VON WATTENWYL
Dear
Mamma sends you the following message: “Oh yes, send the dear
General my love, and say that he, who has worked a great deal, will
have eternal Salvation by grace, and that I, who have worked little,
will also have it by grace.”
On reading this, after inwardly thanking God for His goodness to my
friend at this her closing hour on earth, I could not help also commenting
on it. Yes, true, oh gloriously true, we shall be saved by Grace, but
our overlasting destiny will be shaped by our actions. Then the passage
occurred to me, “And they were judged every man,” which
must mean rewarded, “according to their works.”
He
was humble, he believed implicitly in salvation by grace, but he stuck
to his dogmatic guns on the subject of works. Nothing could shake his
faith in the common sense and shining justice of that doctrine. As a
man sows, so shall he reap. Above everything Booth was for action. “When
a man talks to us like that”—the reader will remember —
“we tell him to go and do something.”
One of the most interesting of his letters at this period is addressed
to Bramwell Booth on the subject of W. T. Stead:
I
have been much exercised during the night with thoughts about our interview
with W.T.S. After seeing him I am always more or less tormented with
the feeling that I have not dealt faithfully with him.
We must be radically different in our views; why don’t we say
so? Why don’t we say to him as we should say to his servant girl
if she came to the P.F., “Come out from amongst them,” etc.?
He reckons that he was divinely guided in his connexion with John Morley
on The Pall Mall, and that therein he has a “tip” as he
calls it as to his proposed union with Hearst. But was it so? Has he
not got mixed up and entangled with a crowd of godless worldlings who
are simply seeking their own honour and wealth?
I don’t understand him nor his position — and yet what a
charm there is about his talk, about his open face, and kindly heart,
and above all about his writing.
But what has he done with it all? He had The Pall Mall —he threw
it away.
He had the love of the Salvation Army — they admired him as they
have no man since outside its borders — he threw that away.
He had the esteem of nearly every generous Christian and philanthropic
man and woman in the whole world after the “Eliza episode,”
and he threw that away with his “Julia” fantastic notions.
Then he had an unparalleled standing with Royalty, Courts, Politicians,
etc., by his peace advocacy and association with the Russian Emperor’s
effort in that direction, and now he seems to have thrown that away
by his random and infatuated Boer partisanship.
And yet here he is forced up into the notice of the whole world high
and low by the Rhodes episode, and before we know where we are he may
have the most widely circulated Daily Paper in the country under his
control.
A campaign in Holland takes his attention from other matters:
A
message is to hand from a University Professor with whom I was to have
billeted. Advises strongly the postponement of my visit to Holland on
account of the bad feeling there as the result of the South African
War.
This warning is too late. Halls are taken, announcements made, and I
must go through with it, trusting in God, who has taken care of me hitherto,
and who will not desert me now.
So far this has certainly been the most blessed campaign for audiences
and spirit and results I have ever held in this City (Amsterdam).
While Memory holds her seat I can never forget the enthusiastic reception
at the Soldiers’ meeting on Saturday night. There was no mistaking
the love and loyalty of the dear people, so far as they could reveal
it by their looks and their voices, by the clapping of hands, waving
of handkerchiefs, and every other plan by which the welcome of the heart
can be expressed. So deep, so real, so whole-souled was the greeting
that I hardly knew how to acknowledge it. I do pray that God will bless
and keep every Soldier who joined in it to meet me again in Heaven.
Billeted with the _____’s, two of whom “went for me”
after the meeting about the cruel, unjust Englishmen in the South African
War, their treatment of the women and children by the British soldiery,
and I know not what.
At Leyden he writes:
I cannot understand the poor audiences, except on the supposition that it is “The Anti-English feeling,” although no sign of it appeared in the attitude of the people to me in the meetings nor out of them.
In a letter to Bramwell from Holland he says:
My
heart is my difficulty. I cannot help these intermittent spells of anguish
over the strange actions of K— and H— . . . I know all you
say . . . and all my own common sense and experience and observation
says . . . and all the Bible says about being careful for nothing, and
ever so many things, and yet when the swirling waves come over me I
cannot help the powerlessness for head work getting the mastery.
Dr. van Dyck told that he was sure if there was a public reception the
crowd would receive me with stones, whereas there must have been 5,000
or 6,000 people, mostly men, and they were as friendly as any crowd
anywhere, indeed a long way more so than many crowds in England.
I wrote _____ a longish letter. It was a distressing business, and curious
as well. He leaves me after all his pledges: first, on account of his
health; and, secondly, because the government of the Army is not to
his satisfaction: and now is talking as though he had been called to
suffer wrong in some direction! Oh dear!
Troubles of another nature assail him in Berlin:
After
tossing to and fro the first part of the night, I dropped into a slumber
this morning, but alas! at six I was woke up by a rattling sausage-machine,
which I found on inquiry was worked by a butcher on the ground-floor
of the building, which happened to be just in a line with my chamber.
Another bad night. I had hoped that the sausage-machine would have had
some respect for the Sabbath, but I was mistaken. It was as active as
ever, if not more so.
One
is tempted to welcome this humble sausage-machine into history, if only
as a diversion from the more distressing anxieties which preyed upon
his mind. But William Booth was so constituted that little ills, while
they lasted, but only while they lasted, would occasionally cause him
great annoyance. He knew it, and mentions it again and again in his
letters.
He hears in Berlin of the sudden illness of Edward VII.:
The
whole city has been startled, and no one more so than myself, with the
news that the King is ill, has had an operation, and the Coronation
is indefinitely postponed.
What my feelings are it is impossible to describe. The German Nation
has been feeling very strongly against Great Britain on account of the
South African War, and has been at no pains to conceal her bitterness.
Any deep sympathy is not to be expected now.
I have wired I.H.Q. to call for prayer for His Majesty the world over.
I have no doubt about the response.
[At the beginning of the meeting] I asked for prayer from my own people,
and all who feared God, and then led the audience to the Mercy-Seat,
a great hush seemed to come down on all present.
. . .
I tried to do too much. First, we had the sensation of praying for the
King of England. Second, half an hour’s sketch of the Army, which
I had promised before leaving for England. Then a sermon, and a desperate
attempt to deal with an ungodly, curious audience about their own Salvation.
. . . 33 came out notwithstanding the multitude of curious eyes that
were gazing on.
The order was perfect, indeed we have not had anything approaching misbehaviour
or mocking from the start to the finish.
When leaving, an American journalist, representing a Chicago paper and
a host of others in the U.S. besides, wanted to interview me. I gave
him a few words. He impressed me as a very nice fellow indeed. Oh, why
cannot we get such men saved and roped in for this work? I must make
a new start at the task of saving the better sort of mankind.
He mentions in this last sentence not a passing idea, but a desire which had already taken root in his mind and which was destined to grow in the years ahead. For the present, however, his attention is held by the anxiety in England:
Everybody
full of the King. Oh, with every waking thought the King, the King has
come to my mind. “Oh God, spare and save him.”
Yesterday I wired the Queen, assuring Her Majesty of the sympathy and
prayers of the Army for the King’s restoration and that she might
be comforted and strengthened for the hour.
An answer came promptly back thanking me. God help her.
He holds his religious meetings throughout these dark hours and uses the illness of King Edward to arouse the souls of the sleepers:
The night was a crowning time, and we parted full of love for each other and for Germany, and with increased desire and determination to live and die in the interest and for the glory of our Blessed Lord.
He wrote to Bramwell from Berlin on hearing that the sick King was to undergo an operation:
The
King! What a disastrous matter this is; it nearly upset me altogether;
how I got through as I did is another wonder added to the many in my
history gone by.
I did not receive your first telegram sent off at mid-day till 11.30
last night, so that the second came on me at 6 o’clock with a
crash; but what it must have been to you all in London I cannot imagine.
I sent a message to the Queen, and did what was considered a difficult,
daring, nay, what was thought to be an almost impossible task, viz.,
stood before a huge congregation of Germans and asked them to sympathize
with Her Majesty the Queen, and to pray for the restoration of the King.
They advised me against saying anything about my telegram owing to the
bitter feeling against the British, but I felt led to do it and then
prayed that God would interfere; there was a great hush over all the
crowd, and my people responded to the request.
I told them that if it was their Emperor, etc., the British Nation would
pray for him, and thus everybody was brought in a measure into sympathy.
Difficulties concerning the representation of the Salvation Army at the coronation of Edward VII. are mentioned in subsequent letters to Bramwell:
The
Coronation and your Uniform. That’s right, push the thing. I should
be glad of its going to the King if I thought the matter would be presented
to him in the right way. I am quite sure he would not shut us out because
of our Uniform.
I have nothing more to say about the Coronation, except I think it will
be very awkward if, when I am asked all over the world by people great
and small (especially great), “Were you represented at the Abbey?”
I shall have to say “They wouldn’t have us in uniform, and
we wouldn’t go without.” However, that will all be the same
a hundred years hence.
These
difficulties, the future historian will be interested to know, were
finally surmounted, and the present General, Bramwell Booth, represented
the Salvation Army at King Edward’s coronation in Westminster
Abbey, in the uniform of the Army and by direct command of His Majesty.
In the autumn of this eventful year the General set out on a tour of
the United States and Canada, one of the most successful campaigns of
his long life. He was not suffered to depart without a Farewell Speech,
and in that speech he spoke with no little pathos, and with all his
usual frankness, of the difficulties which beset his path.
After describing the lengthy programme made out for him while in the
States — travelling, speaking, interviewing, and soul-saving —
he gave a list of the countries it was suggested he should visit on
his return; it was “a staggering one,” and sounded as though
“his advisers expected him to live for ever!”
I go somewhere else, and somewhere else (he says), then I go away to shake hands with Peter at the gates of Paradise, in the Heavenly Country where the wicked cease from troubling, and where my weary soul will have a chance of getting a furlough. and rest for a season. . .
As I have looked forward to the voyaging by sea and the journeying by
land, I confess that my heart has gone back to Moses, whose position I
cannot but feel mine, in a shadow sort of way, resembles. I look at him
on that mountain top, see him stretched out before his Maker, with his
chest heaving, and tears streaming.
I hear his cry as he looks across the wilderness, and, by the eye of faith,
sees his people battle with the Philistines, and cross the Jordan to the
Promised Land: and I hear him cry out, “O my God, unless Thou go
with me, send me not hence: unless Thou be my Guide and Counsellor, my
Friend and my God, let me die on the mountain here: let me pass out of
sight of men for ever.” But I also hear the answer come. I have
cried to my Father after the same fashion, and I believe I have His answer.
God is going with me. . .
My Lord, what am I and what is my father’s house that Thou shouldst
have raised up round the world such a host of brave, self-sacrificing,
capable men and women to assist me to carry out my wishes, to obey my
commands, to run at my bidding, and be willing to suffer and die for the
sake of the Flag — the Flag that I have hoisted over their hearts?
Who am I that I should have the privilege of commanding such a brave,
heroic, and mighty host?
You who are here: you who are around me on this platform — you have
helped me to make the Salvation Army. You are my children, my Soldiers,
and you have helped me to make the Army what it is. My darling wife who,
I believe, looks down from Heaven, and blesses me, and counts the days,
if she knows, when I shall come to her side, as I am also beginning to
calculate upon the time when I shall have the high privilege of embracing
her in holy and everlasting love once more — she helped me!
She was the soul of honour and love, and believed that the lad she fell
in love with forty years ago and more was the soul of honour, or she never
would have allowed my lips to press her cheek. Down to the last moments
of her life my beautiful, noble wife helped me.
My precious, blessed children have helped me. It is true that one or two
have fallen from my side; but I love them, and they have fallen to come
back again sooner or later. I say my children have helped me; but the
Salvation Army does not belong to the Booth family. It belongs to the
Salvation Army. So long as the Booth family are good Salvationists, and
worthy of commands, they shall have them, but only if they are. I am not
the General of the family. I am the General of the Salvation Army. And
when the Flag falls from my grasp I will do the best I can to ensure another
taking it up who shall be beyond the old General, as the new and young
are believed to be better than the old.
So he departed, amidst enthusiastic acclamations and most loving farewells, for his conquest of America. The first wireless telegram ever received by the Army was despatched from the s.s. Philadelphia by the General on his way to the conquest of America in October, 1902. He telegraphed:
Borne on the wings of prayer, I go to my American Campaign. From Atlantic Ocean I again call upon my people everywhere for renewed desperate fighting. God is with me: He cannot fail. I shall stand by the old Flag to the end. — THE GENERAL.
His welcome in America was of an extraordinary character. The travelling correspondent of The War Cry makes a vigorous effort to describe it:
We
arrived at Sandy Hook soon after midnight on Friday, anchoring at the
Quarantine Station at about 2 A.M. By seven o’clock, before the
ship’s Bill of Health had been passed, the sound of bombs was heard.
The passengers rushed on deck eager to know what was happening, and noticed
in the distance a fleet of steamers, decorated with flags of welcome from
end to end, and loaded with shouting, cheering, enthusiastic Salvationists,
who, after being up a good part of the night, had made an early start
to give their General a loyal, hearty welcome to their country, and accompany
his steamer in royal fashion from the Quarantine Station to the American
Company’s Landing-Stage.
The sights and sounds connected with this reception are altogether beyond
my power to describe. Every conceivable device in the direction of sound-producing
instruments, and that hearty enthusiasm peculiar to Salvationists, were
brought into full play. Imagine the syrens or hooters of a dozen steamers
(not all in the same key) going full blast all at one time. Add to this
the explosions of bombs, rockets, and daylight fireworks.
Add again the music of Salvation Army bands, and the shouts of welcome
of Officers and Soldiery from the various departments of the National
Headquarters, the Social Work, the Central, Western, New York, New England,
and Ohio and German provinces — and a distant imagination of what
took place is just possible.
I have been present at many notable events in Army history, but I have
never seen anything after this kind before It is not too much to say that
it was unique. One of our rich passengers, a New York banker, remarked
to me that he had never seen “so many good people together before”
Another said it reminded him of the reception accorded to Admiral Dewey
upon his return from the Spanish War. A third remarked that, in his judgment,
“it beat the Coronation hollow.” There was not an unkind word,
notwithstanding the fact that some of the passengers had to walk about
with their hands to their ears owing to the great noise, although they
were smiling with pleasure all the time.
The General himself corroborates this description in a letter to his son:
Sometime
in the middle of the night we came to anchor in what is termed the Quarantine
ground. Here we waited till daylight for the inspection of the Officer
of Health. No vessel being allowed to go further up the Bay, much less
to come alongside the Wharf of the City, without this gentleman’s
certificate as to there being no contagious disease on board.
We were up and about pretty early. Breakfast was announced for six, but
was not ready till 7.30. Everybody was more or less excited at the prospect
of being so much nearer Home Sweet Home, as the bulk of the 1st and 2nd
Saloon and many of the Steerage Passengers were returning from pleasure
or family trips to Europe.
While dealing with the good things before us suddenly a burst of shouting
and singing and other sounds of enthusiasm came through the Saloon windows
and fetched everybody to their feet. What could it be? . . . The question
was soon answered — it is the Salvation Army come to greet their
General.
I have had welcomes almost innumerable and of the most varied character
in many parts of the world, but never anything which for enthusiasm and
gladness surpassed that given me by the excited Salvationists that crowded
the 11 steamers who came down the New York water on that Saturday morning.
I cannot find tin-me to describe it. . .
I cannot tell how many Press men I spoke to, or how many times I was photographed,
or how many greetings I received and returned, or how my heart leapt within
me when dear Fritz (Commissioner Booth-Tucker) came on board in the Revenue
Cutter, or when my dear precious Emma stepped on the steamer as we came
alongside the wharf.
By 10 I had reached headquarters, and in a few minutes was meeting a group
of reporters. Before I was through with them, the banging of the drums
and the explosion of the bombs, which with deafening bangs followed one
another in repeated succession, proclaimed the approach of the procession
of the Officers and Soldiers who had followed through the City from the
steamers on which they had been down the Bay.
It was a really impressive march — headed and accompanied by the
police, as drum after drum and Department after Department filed under
the balcony on which I stood, my whole soul was drawn out in response
to the loving looks and greetings they sent up to me there.
That through, I finished my interview with the Press, which the arrival
of the procession had interrupted, and after dealing with their catechizing,
I sat down to luncheon with several leading Press gentlemen of higher
importance. . . . It was a day of days, one of the most remarkable of
my life.
In another letter, written a few days later, he says:
You
can have no idea of the riot of these last few days! It has passed everything
in my history, and I have had some whirling times as you well know. But
oh it has been little short of the terrific.
Of course the whole reception and the wonderful Sabbath meetings were
all such a surprise, and the interest has seemed so genuine ever since,
that I have deeply felt the importance of making the most of the opportunity
and have toiled night and day for it.
. . .
We have had perfect unanimity and every sign of the most devoted loyalty
to the Flag. I did the paper on Vows this afternoon, and so far as I could
see it was received without a dissentient voice. It was delightful.
Just off to Boston. What a whirling, blessed time we have had!
What love and joy and confidence and resolution has come into the hearts
of these Officers!
They are gone away mad to pull the Devil to pieces and do something that
shall please their General.
I have surrendered myself to the Press people and picture people and anybody
for the good of the cause. .
In other letters he says of this tour:
Who am I that such remarkable results should follow my poor work? I feel humbled before God and man, and more than ever anxious to make the most of my opportunities.
During this extraordinary popular campaign hundreds, of course, were unable to get into the halls where he spoke. As in the States, so in Canada. At Toronto, for example, on the occasion of a great meeting at least fifteen hundred people were turned away. The following stories are told by a Salvationist of the efforts to get admission to this particular hall:
Among
those turned away were two gentlemen who had travelled a long distance
to hear the General. Fortunately some friendly Officer managed to find
a vacant step between the seats on the platform for them, much to their
joy, which they expressed in profuse thanks.
“I am going to get in,” repeated a young man who had been
refused admittance by the police.
“No, sir; not another person can be admitted,”
“Well, I’ll bet I’ll get in,” he emphatically
asserted, and he walked a few steps to a telephone pole, climbed up like
lightning, and from its arm swung himself on to a window-sill, and so
entered the gallery.
“I told you I would get in,” he called down to the policeman,
as he made his way in.
“Well, you deserve to get in,” was the hearty reply from the
guardian of the law.
Two young women came when the meeting had started, and were refused admission.
“Would you keep us from going to the penitent-form?” was the
startling question retorted. “Oh no,” answered the innocent
Officer. “Very well, then, let us go to the penitent-form,”
they said, were admitted, and at once walked to the front.
A rap on the side-door is answered with “Sorry, no more room.”
“But I am a Press Reporter, and must come in.” He was admitted.
A few seconds afterwards another man presented himself, saying he was
from the same paper. He was told his journal was already represented,
but upon his earnest assurance that he had come straight from the office,
he also was admitted.
A few minutes after that a third man presents himself as the representative
of the same newspaper. Alas! who could tell which was the authorized one?
To avoid ill-feeling he was squeezed in also; but he was the last person
allowed to enter!
From Winnipeg the General wrote to his son in London announcing a fresh idea in his method of daily journalism:
I
propose to make another slight diversion in the matter of my correspondence.
That is, I propose to say a great deal in journal form that I now say
in my letters to you direct. Matters of general interest I will put into
the journal, and matters which are of a personal or business character
into my letters.
If I ran get into the habit of doing the journal more freely it will be
of more interest to you now and to others in the years to come: but in
making extracts for the Press, should you do so, it will require some
little care, because there will be some matters concerning individuals
and concerning myself even that will not be wise to publish.
I cannot make any particular promise as to how far I shall go on this
line, seeing so much depends upon my surroundings and state of feeling.
But six days later he sits down in Kansas City to write a long and affectionate letter to Bramwell Booth’s daughter, Miss Catherine Booth, one of his grandchildren. That a man so old, so busied, and so beset should find time to write letters of this kind proves to us, if such proof is necessary, how true and how tender was his heart in its human relationships:
MY
DEAR CATHERINE — I want to send you my wishes for a Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year. I would like all of you to have a really happy time
as the holidays go by, and to have a blessed and useful New Year. This
is the Lord’s will concerning you, and therefore it is mine.
You must think of me when you are having your gifts and amusements and
doing your Christmas carols and all your other holiday business. God bless
you.
I shall be pulling away at the work which our Heavenly Father has given
me to do, although I suppose over 6,000 miles away from you. This is a
very busy campaign. I never was more occupied—perhaps never so much
in any undertaking before. Morning, noon, and night I am either writing,
dictating, or interviewing, or doing business, or talking, or something
else of the same kind.
You will have read in The War Cry of the blessed meetings we are having,
what wonderful crowds come to listen, and what favour God has given me
with the people generally. It is very wonderful, and my heart is full
of gratitude, because I believe it is going to greatly help the Salvation
Army in this wonderful country, and in helping the Salvation Army is going
to glorify our dear Saviour and advance His Kingdom on earth.
In writing to you, dear Catherine, I write also to Mary and to Miriam,
to Bernard and to Olive, to Dora and to Wycliffe, and I hope you are all
doing something every day to get ready for helping dear Papa and Mamma
in their work and to make useful Officers in this great Army.
I tell the people in my lecture every time that three of the eldest of
my twenty-eight grandchildren have begun to preach, and that I intend
the remaining twenty-three shall, if I can rule. God bless you both and
the dear boys and girls, and help you amidst all the difficulties and
trials of life to hold fast to God and Salvation and make you a blessing
to thousands and thousands of the redeemed sons and daughters of men.—
Believe me, your affectionate GENERAL.
And a few days later he writes from San Francisco a long letter to Bramwell, in which he shows how his heart yearned after backsliders, and how eagerly he sought in the meshes of essential discipline some way of re-entry into the Salvation net for those lost fishes of his life’s trawling:
The
number of ex-Officers who come to my meetings, and sob and lament that
they are outside and wanting to come back, is pitiable in the extreme.
They are not prepared always to go to the penitent-form in the presence
of the Officers with whom they have quarrelled, or the Corps in which
they lost their position by their tempers or something else. Perhaps they
think they are right — perhaps they know they are wrong, but the
penitent-form is not the way for them to come round, and after they have
been to the penitent-form they are still speckled birds. There is nothing
definite about their position.
Now something ought to be done for them. There are hundreds of them all
around the world, and as the Consul said the other night — as many
of them are as good outside as are in.
Of course, when you look over this country and see the number of real
valuable men in leading positions who, at one time or another, have been
outside, you cannot help wondering whether there may not be a great many
more of the same kind outside still, and when we want men and women so
badly we ought to make a way for them to return.
In many cases the taking of men away from the country where their offence
has been known, and putting them down in some other country, would be
very good.
He
repeats with much relish a story told by Mr. Seth Low, the Mayor of New
York, in introducing the General to a meeting. A certain dignified minister
of religion was asked what he thought of the Salvation Army, and the reply
was, “Well, to tell the truth, I don’t like it at all but,
to be candid with you, I believe God Almighty does.”
He used to tell this story to the last days of his life. Another American
mayor, who acted as chairman at one of the General’s meetings, made
the following remarks, containing a characteristic reflection of William
Booth, and showing the affectionate admiration in which he was held throughout
America:
A
moment ago, in the ante-room, when I had the honour of being presented
to the General, I said to him that in ‘65, when the Civil War closed,
we had only about three thousand people in Chattanooga, but that we have
grown since that time as he could well see. He passed his hand over his
forehead and replied, “‘65 — ‘65, that was when
your war ceased, and that was the very year that my war began.”
And so it was, that when our battle here — the battle which we have
commemorated in so many years — was just ending, the battle which
this famous General of peace took up, was just beginning.
And through these years he has fought marvellously. It is said, you know,
in a very good Book, “The Lord loveth a cheerful giver.” And
all the world loves a cheerful giver, and all the world loves a man who,
above all things, gives himself. And so it happens that we come out gladly
to-night and welcome a man who has given himself for suffering, weeping,
struggling, starving humanity: the General of the Salvation Army, an Army
which not only saves men from the storms and sorrows of life, but prepares
them for the hereafter.
To Mr. John Cory, a loyal friend since 1862 and a generous supporter of the Army, William Booth often sent from time to time on these tours of vigorous campaigning an account of his meetings. The following letter was written from America in December of this year:
I
had reason to believe that a great change had taken place in public feeling
towards the Army and towards the General in particular, and the foolish
prejudice, aroused by those who had faltered some six years ago on account
of the English origin of the Army, having very altered, but I was not
prepared for the welcome which met me. It was not merely the people who
came in crowds to the meetings in spite of the most unfavourable weather
—it was not the kindly hand that was outstretched to me by the leaders
of public opinion that so very much surprised me — but it was the
friendliness of the Press, so universally expressed in every form.
When I say Press, I mean not so much the religious as the secular portion
of it. All this has continued throughout the country. No buildings, that
we have been able to secure, have been large enough for the Sunday and
evening attendances. In some places the fights outside for admission have
been really dangerous, limbs having been fractured and lives having been
endangered by the eagerness of the people to get in.
Then the blessed influences that have rested on the meetings, the remarkable
conversions that have taken place, and the assurances that have been showered
down upon me by Governors of States, Premiers, and other leading dignitaries,
together with leaders of Colleges and Ministers of all denominations,
have shown what an impetus has been given in a direction to most glorify
God and bless mankind.
I have been here now nine weeks, during which time I have conducted ninety-three
heavy meetings, travelled some 7,500 miles, seen 1,150 souls at the penitent-form,
written articles for the Press, done a large amount of correspondence,
transacted a great deal of business, and held almost constant communion
with my people.
For all the good that has been done and for the Grace and Strength that
has been imparted I praise God.— I give God the glory, I want all
my friends to join me in praising Him.
I was no little surprised, as you will readily imagine, to hear of the
death of Hugh Price Hughes. How sudden it seems. What a great loss he
will be to the Methodist Church, and now I hear that Doctor Parker has
gone. What a call for us all to be ready. . .
I hope you are keeping well and walking in the light. I am trying to fill
up every moment myself and thanking God for the opportunity He gives me.—
Believe me as ever, your affectionate GENERAL.
Once again “Booth blood” rebels against the inadequate descriptive writing of The War Cry journalist. He writes vigorously to Bramwell from Chicago:
I
am vexed about the reports in The War Cry. But it’s no use expecting
what people can’t do.
But when you have a cable such as Lawley sent about Toronto, I do think
_____ might have put my name at the top, and put it in bigger instead
of lesser type than the twopenny speeches of the Mayors, Cabinet Ministers,
etc., that are on the same page. But for the readers I felt like saying,
Send them no more.
It is the type and the position nowadays that ensures a reading . . .
I am sure of it. The papers of this country live by their Head-lines.
However, I don’t mind . . . I am written up enough just now, not
a line of which I see. But I am thinking of the effect on Australia and
the Continent, Africa and elsewhere where the English Cry comes.
From Colorado Springs he writes hopefully to his son of golden prospects:
Everything
here seems to be gradually shaping in the direction of a possibility of
our creating a great impression on the minds of these American millionaires.
. . . Pierpont Morgan has had an interview with Tucker at his own request.
With respect to it we have got some telegrams, but they are of such a
nature that we can neither make head nor tail of them.
When I have been in the grave a little while, you will set to work and
spend some money and time on a code that can be understood.
Perhaps you will ask “What am I driving at?” I want to say
that our great need at the present moment is a more organized method of
getting money, that shall radiate from I.H.Q. to the furthermost parts
of the Army.
And he cries out in another letter:
I am still clinging to the hope, and shall be till I am in my coffin, that I shall come across a millionaire who will help me out of the straitness of the hour.
He
says of Canada, where he was always extremely happy, that it is “a
country with golden summers, almost heavenly autumn, and generous, loyal,
loving, and hospitable people.”
Something of the character of William Booth’s public utterances
at this period of his life may be gathered from the following passages
from an address which he entitled, “Walking with God.”
My
comrades, you and I can walk as closely, and I may say as everlastingly,
with our Maker as did any of the saints who have ever lived. . . . It
means something more than walking with His Word. You may go through the
world with the Bible under your arm, and yet finish up in the Bottomless
Abyss, spending your eternity in Hell in reading over and over again the
words that might have got you to the Heart of Jehovah on earth and to
the Home of Jehovah in the Skies.
It means something more than walking with God’s people. You may
walk with holy mothers and fathers and comrades; sing with them; read
their Bibles and go to meetings, marches, and open-airs with them; travel
with them right away down through life till they come to the dark cold
River, and, crossing that River, bid them farewell — never to see
them again until, far away, you discern them at the right hand of the
Great White Throne, to be parted from them for ever.
It means something more than walking with the forms and ceremonies of
religion. Forms and ceremonies there must be: but alas! alas! men and
women come to rest in them . . . and rest in them to their doom. If you
are to be damned, my friend, you had better walk thither in the livery
of the world and the Devil than in that of God Almighty’s people.
You had better go there in the convict’s garb, or a drunkard’s
rags, or in heathen darkness than attired after the fashion of the children
of Jehovah.
It is possible that this may be the last time I shall have an opportunity
of speaking to you of the future, and of Heaven, and Hell, and Calvary.
And the last time probably a number of you who are here will listen to
such words from the lips of any human being. I am going to preach the
funeral sermon of some men and women who are here to-night. I demand,
demand that you stop and look at your Lord bleeding upon the cross for
your salvation.
If
one bears in mind his appearance: the tall, attenuated figure, the intensely
pale face with its flashing eyes, tousled hair, and flowing heard —
if one recalls, too, the passionate gestures and the harsh, far-carrying
voice — one may understand something of the power of such utterances,
something of the spell he cast upon eager, anxious, desperate, and in
many cases self-accusing, souls.
The honesty of the man rang out clear and authentic in every rough, unpolished
sentence that sprang to his lips, and it was for all who heard him the
honesty of deep affection, boundless compassion, and infinite yearning,
whatever may have been their views concerning his theology. Nor was this
honesty a trick of the platform. It is the man. It is manifest in his
letters and diaries; everybody who encountered him was made aware of it
in one form or another.
He never met man or woman of whatever degree but he longed to give them
the happiness of conscious salvation. One of his Commissioners tells a
story which illustrates how this yearning after the souls of men manifested
itself not only “in the great congregations,” but also in
the most casual conversations with individuals. The Commissioner related
this story at a meeting, addressing himself to the General:
I shall never forget one instance that came under my observation which goes to show that you are on this business of saving souls not only in the great congregations, but also with single individuals. While going down the streets of one of the cities of Australia riding with the then foremost Minister of the Crown in that State, he was telling you of some individual who numbered among his possessions so many thousands of cattle and so many hundreds of thousands of sheep, and I remember, sir, you looking straight at him and saying to him, “It takes a good many sheep to satisfy a soul.” And he dropped his head and said, “Yes, a good many sheep to satisfy a soul.”
The older he grew and the more deep became his knowledge of mankind, the more did this sorrowful man yearn to convert humanity from the folly of a transitory world to the eternal satisfaction of the world to come. And at this time the idea flamed in his soul of converting not hundreds here and thousands there, but all the world.