The
Life of General William Booth
Vol.
2 ~ Chapter 23 ~ 1903-1904
Contents
WHICH TELLS HOW THE GENERAL
LOST HIS “LEFT HAND”
AFTER his return from the American Campaign, in March, 1903, he writes of his pleasure in being home:
.
. . right glad I was to get home once more, which I managed to do somewhere
about midnight.
It had been planned for us to go to Bognor for a few days’ quiet,
but the delay in the arrival of the Steamer rendered this impossible.
Three days later he “agreed upon programme for this year, concluding with India, and if possible Japan.”
I suggested India in September, then Japan, coming home by the States. Thought very desirable if possible. Information as to Steamers, etc., to be inquired about.
In a few weeks the old campaigner was at work again. After meetings in England, he visited Belgium, Germany, and Switzerland, calling at Copenhagen and Paris during the tour. The journal contains the usual accounts of successful meetings both in England and abroad, with a few characteristic exclamations and personal remarks, which help to keep us acquainted with the man himself. For example, what could be better than this?
Applications
for autographs, and messages, and favourite texts for Albums reach me
from all parts of the world in such numbers as become quite a tax on
time and patience, feeling, as one is compelled to do, that nothing
more lies behind them than the merest gratification of curiosity. Still
it is a measure, or it may be one, of that preaching which is the great
business of one’s life. To-day I wrote in response to a request
from Rutlandshire, as follows:
“My chief business in this life, as in the next, must necessarily
be the promotion of the glory of my Sovereign Lord, and the welfare
of the Creatures by whom I am surrounded, specially those who are least
able to help themselves. What is yours?”
That
abrupt and startling demand at the end is a biography in miniature.
In April of this year he celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday:
My 75th Birthday. . . . Seventy-five years. . . . Three-quarters of a century — the people around me, specially the younger portion, think it a long time. For myself I have only a few simple thoughts.
1. How soon it seems to have passed.
2. What a little enduring work has been done.
3. How brief an affair 75 years is alongside of Eternal Ages.
4. How much is Crying out to be done, and how soon the last fragment of my earthly existence will have vanished away. Oh Lord help me.
A few days later he was worn out and tired:
I am afraid that I shall have to get away for a little complete rest. I shrink from every duty of any kind that comes to hand. I felt this morning before rising as though I would rather journey a thousand miles than face the audience I have to meet to-day. But I am not sure whether or no I can find that rest of Spirit I need on any spot this side the Celestial City, and I am not quite sure whether I should when there, unless I can carry the conviction with me that I have finished the work here that my Master has given me to do, and finished it with credit.
Then he is heartened by a letter of unexpected commendation:
Just had enclosed sent for me to look at. It is encouraging.
INVERNESS, April 24.
DEAR CAPTAIN STEADMAN — Some years ago Cardinal Manning wrote
—“The work of the Salvation Army is too real to be disregarded”;
and he noted two characteristics of it, “Self-sacrifice, and the
love of Souls.”
Such have been the characteristic features of the work of the Army here
in Inverness; and, strange though its methods are to us in the Highlands,
we can appreciate the good work you are doing, and are stirred up by
your good example.
I have known personally several who ultimately became hard-working Priests
of the Anglican Church, and who owed their first Conversion to the Salvation
Army; one of these was a brilliant Oxford Scholar who came under the
great Spiritual influence of the late Mrs. Booth.
I regret that I find myself unable to meet the General, as you kindly
asked me.
You are welcome to make any use you like of this letter.
Please give my respects to the General; for it is a pleasure, as well
as a duty, to carry out the injunctions of the Psalmist and “Make
much of them that fear the Lord.” (Psalm xv. 4.) — Believe
me, Yours sincerely, in Christ,
ALFRED BROOK.
Canon Residentiary of the Inverness Cathedral.
He
mentions in his journal that “Wilson Barrett, the tragedian,”
was present at one of his meetings with “other rather important
personages.” He laments over the loss of some eyeglasses given
him by a stranger in San Francisco: “Sorry to part with any memento
of my visit to the Pacific Coast.” He notices that a German General
and the leading people of the City who came to hear him at Stuttgart
listened with “riveted attention . . . deeply interested. . .”
Then there comes a reference to his billets abroad and the people he
encounters:
A
new billet once more. I wonder in how many different homes I have been
and in how many different beds I have slept! Their character and the
peculiarity of their owners would make an interesting study. Here, in
a comfortable cottage, I am made most welcome. The mother of my host,
an old lady of 80 or more, has long wanted to see the General, saying
that now she could depart in peace! God bless her.
We had some interesting people at the penitent-form during the day —
one in the morning was a Russian lady, who had come on to the platform
to speak to me at Berne. She considers herself a Salvationist and wears
the silver badge with the crest on it. She has done some work among
the poor and in Prison, but has been much discouraged by the opposition
of the Police. Her heart has grown cold, but she has got a great blessing
at the morning meetings.
We leave Stuttgart for England this morning. I hate this travelling
on Sunday and avoid it as far as I can. It has been arranged for me
to do, much against my will,
While in Switzerland he is lucky to escape an accident:
Had not gone very far before F_____, who was sitting in front of me in an open Fly, sprang up and threw up his arms with some sort of an exclamation. Looking round, we found a horse which had bolted with a carriage behind him, making straight for us. Whether it was F_____ stretching his arms or something else which made him swerve I do not know, but he certainly just turned aside and went on ahead, leaving us in safety.
He is for ever coming across instances which confirm him in his faith as to the advantage of plain-speaking on all and every occasion:
Captain tells me of a young man, a German waiter, whom I met in an hotel where I was billeting somewhere in Italy. While he was serving the dinner I put the question to him if he was saved, to which he answered, No. I never thought any more about it, but this young man was taken hold of by the Holy Spirit, and though not getting saved then, yet on coming to England the first thing he did was to go to a Salvation Army meeting, and got saved there and then, and to-day he is a good Christian.
He keeps some of the curious letters which reach him from all parts of the world:
MY
DEAR GENERAL BOOTH — Of course you know me who I am. Envoy Weber
(Deaf and Dumb). You will be pleased to read this letter. God bless
you. Thank God I am still happy in Jesus Christ — and still Envoy.
I love the Salvation Army. You will be sorry to hear that I have been
very serious illness at the Hospital. Dangerous but successful operation
in my stomach. They said wonderful, Glory be to God. My heart too determent
[is determined] to fight for Jesus — to push on — to awake
them — cure them who are half-hearted, lukewarm, selfish. . .
. I will fight hard next October. My beloved wife and daughter both
very happy in heaven.
Now I have two sweet daughters. I will never to marry again, because
I love my wife in Heaven. Thank God He comforts me very much. You will
be happy to know that my heart too determent to fight till I die. God
bless you.— Yours in Him,
MALCOLM LEON WEBER.
A more interesting letter is preserved in the following appeal addressed to him by one of his earliest and most affectionate supporters, a lady living at that time in Cheltenham:
DEAR
GENERAL — God bless you! I have just been reading of your proposed
Campaign for October in the September 5th War Cry. It is the first I
have heard of it. My heart was on fire in a moment. I have been a rebel
from God and a deserter from His Army for twenty years. I have fared
very badly in the enemy’s camp, and suffered much, the bondage
of sin and Satan became intolerable to me, and by the grace of God I
capitulated at the Salvation Army penitent-form on August the 9th, when
the evil spirit that held me so long was expelled, and I received the
Spirit of Christ, and a free Pardon, and a clean Heart, and a burning
desire that other backsliders who are in the enemy’s ranks may
be rescued.
I am writing to entreat you to let the return of backsliders be a special
feature of the coming Campaign. Jesus declared He was sent to the lost
sheep of the house of Israel (the back-sliders). I am sure His sympathy
and interest is more with them than with unawakened souls who cannot
discern their right hand from the left. The fallen Angels remember Heaven,
and the bondage of sin is galling to those who have been awakened but
who have fallen back through not receiving Full Salvation.
My own experience is that sin brings sorrow: as much as my sin was,
so was my sorrow. I am much touched by the sympathy and kindness the
Soldiers showed in receiving me back. I tried very hard to repent elsewhere,
but could not; it was revealed to me in a dream I must come back to
the Salvation Army and begin again just where I had left off twenty
years ago and take up the cross I could not or would not take up then.
God has revealed many things to me concerning His purpose in raising
up a Salvation Army, but — I cannot speak of them yet. He will
bring all His purposes to pass in due time.
One thing I may say, there is about to be poured out a great “Latter
rain” of blessing on the Salvation Army, and the “Former
rain” will be as nothing compared to the blessing that is about
to fall.
“The Spirit of God like fire is burning, the latter day Glory
begins to come forth.”
I am going in the Country on business to-morrow for -a little time.
I have this Campaign very much on my heart. I shall cry to God about
it on the Hills and Fields. Again begging you to call to Arms all deserters.—
I remain, yours obediently for God and the War.
He writes to Bramwell:
——.
Yes, he is sensational. They all are! It is one of the weaknesses from
which the whole concern suffers. And the moment one tries to correct
it there springs up a crop of laissez faire which is worse.
More and more as I have wrestled with the [new] Regulations this week
has it been borne in upon me that it is the Officer upon whom all depends.
It has always been so.
If Moses had not made a priesthood there would have been no Jewish nation.
It was the priesthood of the Levites which kept them alive, saved them
from their inherent rottenness, or at any rate from many of its consequences,
and perpetuated the law which made them. Here is where I think your
great work for the next ten years will lie. No one can begin to do it
like you.
. . .
But the people were not of the class I wanted to see, and for whom my
talk was designed. The Church and Chapel class understand the useful
art of being in time when a crowd is expected, and they fill up every
nook and corner of the place, while the outsiders from religion came
crawling up to be informed that the Hall was full. . . . I do not know
what we are to do to get at the other kind of people whom I want to
help, and who only are likely to make Salvationists and do something
for the poor world when they are reached.
He gives us in the entry for October 27th an idea of his day’s work in London at International Headquarters:
1.
Conference on the Australian Campaign.
2. Photographed, with a flash light, for a full-paged portrait in the
Sphere Illustrated Newspaper.
3. Interview with Mr. Tussaud, who wants to make an improved wax-work
model of me for their Exhibition.
4. Further conferences on promotions at home, and work abroad.
5.
Photographed from sides and back for Mr. Hampton, a Sculptor. Mr. Hampton
is engaged by Lord Ashton, who is presenting to the town of Lancaster
a large Monument including busts of the 40 principal characters in English
life at the conclusion of the reign of the late Queen Victoria.
6. Interview with W. T. Stead, who was anxious to lay before the Chief
and myself a scheme he has for a new London Daily.
7. Conferences with Lawyers, Editorial people, etc., etc.
Left for home at 6.30.
On
October 29th we find the first entry concerning the last domestic tragedy
of his life. His daughter, Emma Booth-Tucker, known as the Consul, was
killed in a railway accident in the United States:
I ought to say, perhaps, that we have, at the present time, attractive
offers from countries outside the British flag; but we feel that within
the four walls of the British Empire there ought to be room for the needy
sons and daughters of the Mother Country.
Better
night’s sleep, and feel proportionately refreshed. Hope to do something
to-day, but expect ever so many interruptions. For one thing, this Sculptor
comes at eleven a.m. and _____ in the afternoon, if not before. “Oh,
that I had in the wilderness a lodging place.” But even then, I
suppose I should feel that I must come back to the rushing world, and
render it such help as in me lies. Reflection. What time is there?
Afternoon. Quietly sitting in n-my room, and gathering my senses about
me after a refreshing little sleep. Commissioner _____ was announced.
“What has brought you here?” was my first inquiry. On this
his face straightened out, and holding a foreign Cable in his hand announced
that he had brought bad news. I seized the paper, and was staggered to
find it contained the announcement that the Consul and Colonel Holland
had been seriously injured in a Railway Accident in the far West.
I was dazed, I read it again and again. “The extent of injuries
not known” was one of the sentences with which it closed. This gave
me some ground for hope. But, alas, my hopefulness only lasted a short
season, for in a few minutes the Chief entered and I guessed the worst.
“You have further intelligence?” I queried. He assented. “Worse?”
I said. “Yes,” he replied with a face unutterably expressive
of the distress that was in his heart. “Killed,” I gasped.
He bowed his head. My most agonizing fears were realized, my darling Emma
for this world was no more.
All we know at present is that Colonel Holland was killed in the accident,
and that the precious Consul died in the relief train.
It was a terrible blow. Bramwell feels it keenly, and so will every honest
soul who has ever been privileged to have the most distant acquaintance
with her, and those who never saw her face, or heard her voice, who knew
anything of her work.
As for me — I cannot say — indeed I cannot realize my loss,
much less write about it.
While the Chief was my “right hand” in this great enterprise,
she was my “left,” and I had fondly reckoned on her being
his right hand when I had passed away. While all these years he has helped
me so manfully and skilfully in brain, she has cheered and sustained me
in heart, and yet both have excelled in the possession of each other’s
qualities, for she has had skill of the highest character and he has had
the tenderest qualities of the soul.
But she has gone, and left, so far as human eyes can see and human minds
can judge, her work half done. But the Great Father above knows, and all
I can say is to repeat the dying President’s words: “ This
is His Way. His Will be done.”
. . .
Letters and telegrams are pouring in that reveal the length and breadth
and height and depth of the Sea of Sympathy flowing around me.
He writes next day:
She has toiled for America for 8 long years. She has laid down her life — at least it has been taken from her — while toiling for America, and it seems to me that she should be laid down in the last long sleep on American soil.
Of his son-in-law, Commissioner Booth-Tucker, he writes:
Dear
fellow, what he must have suffered is fearful to contemplate; and the
children, oh, my Lord, help them.
It is a heavy task to go over and over the sad event, and try in each
case to supply some sort of comfort, which you feel at the time to be
all but a hopeless task.
And so throughout the journal and in many of his letters of this period we find the storm-tossed spirit crying out for his dead child:
Dear
Emma! All our talking and writing and weeping will not bring you back
to us. I have had strange feelings stealing involuntarily over me to-day.
At one hour I feel as though we had been ignominiously defeated by some
unseen foe. A kind of shame has kindled in my heart at the thought of
such a closure of such a career. But I am, I suppose, in a condition like
unto some military general who has suddenly been deprived of some valiant
leader, not in fair fight, but by some ambush or in some midnight fray.
Had only a poor night. I ought to have gone to sleep again this morning,
but, alas, the moment I wake this sorrow rushes in on me with some new
and strange suggestion, and although I continue in a more or less stunned
condition, I am sensitive enough to the painful questions that are uppermost
at the hour to make further slumber impossible.
He writes to his son:
MY
DEAR, dear BRAMWELL — My heart is torn at the thought of your anguish.
You are overdone. Do get some extra sleep. God will undertake for us and
for you and yours.
We must hold on to God, even though we have to walk in densest darkness.
You have done wonders so far and been a strength and a stay to my soul.
You know I love you with all my heart — I cannot say more —
I can say that. So far as I am concerned, I think you should rest in that,
. . . My poor old heart with all its weaknesses and drawbacks is worth
having.
God bless you and Flo and the children — the precious children.—
Yours as ever and for ever,
W. B.
Then in his diary:
Many
things have happened since the last entry. The Funeral in New York, with
all the excitement of public interest: the Memorial Service at the Congress
Hall; tidings that Commissioner Booth-Hellberg is in danger of serious
consumption ; and a letter from Mrs. Clibborn, full of assertions of her
great love for myself and Bramwell, and her sympathy with us in the tragic
death, and her lamentation over the loss suffered by the death of Emma.
A day of all sorts of conversations and attempts at work and correspondence,
and coming together of head and heart with respect to the tragic sorrow
that so unexpectedly has burst upon us.
A further cause for anxiety is a Cable from New York to say how ill Eva
continues. Yesterday they had news to the effect that her life was in
danger. But they spared her the sad news, and now she is reported to have
had an improved night. . .
Another Doctor also confirms the fear of Hellberg’s being seriously
threatened. The clouds are many and they hang lower and lower.
Wrote Eva in reply to a letter showing how deep her distress was at the
time of the funeral.
Here is the letter mentioned in the journal:
MY
DEAR DARLING EVA — Your precious letter of the 4th is just to hand.
A few minutes before that time Bramwell gave me the Cable news that you
were not so well again, and that the Doctor had recommended your getting
back to Toronto as soon as you were able to travel. I do not know what
to say to it all. God shield and sustain you.
I am afraid you will think my letter cold and hard in view of the greatness
of the sorrow, and the terrible effect the disaster has had upon your
own heart. But I cannot write what I feel, neither can I at this hour
measure the greatness of my loss. It is beyond human measurement. I think
I am the greatest. loser of you all.
I loved Emma — You know I did. She was a great deal to me, more
than you can ever know, but still I love the dear ones that are left behind.
I love the Army, the precious Army. I love the poor Sinners, and the poor
Sufferers who are all around me, and I love God, and lay myself afresh
at His feet, and for Jesus Christ’s sake, I want to be saved from
the sin of Doubting Him.
I shall go on. Time will dull the anguish, if it does not altogether heal
the wound. Perhaps nothing will do this; anyway nothing will take away
the pain altogether until once more I embrace her blessed form on the
plains of light, in company with our darling Mamma.
So, precious Eva, we will go on — we must go on — with our
Mission, and while mourning her absence, we will not fail to thank God
that ever she was ours, and that we ever had the high privilege of following
her example, listening to her counsel, securing her encouragement and
sharing her tender, unselfish love. . .
You say you wish you could come to me. Oh, how often I have desired that.
If I do not go to Australia you must try and get here and stay a long
time — stay until you are strong once more.
Bramwell is very good, and loves you very much, and will come nearer to
you than ever, and by the blessing of God I shall live a little longer
to cheer you on.
Good-bye. Keep on communing with God, and, above all, trusting Him, and
telling Him you do.
Believe me, my dear Eva, to remain as ever and for ever,
Your affectionate and sympathetic Father — grateful beyond words
for all your care, W. B., General.
In the journal we find the following account of a public ceremony in connection with Emma’s death, characteristic of the Army’s methods:
Meeting
in Spurgeon’s Tabernacle, lent us for the occasion, to express sympathy
with the Commander and our American Comrades. Felt a good deal about it
beforehand. However, it had to be faced. The sorrow is magnified by its
having to be talked about so much in public.
Rode with Bramwell in a hansom from King’s Cross to Newington, feeling
anything but bright. When in a dark corner of Hatton Garden the legs shot
out from under the horse, and it went down with a very considerable crash.
Startled, but not hurt, we got out, found another cab and arrived safely,
five minutes before the hour for commencing the service. Beautiful Chapel.
Quite full; a good many standing. They say it seats 3,000. I should have
thought it held more. Three parts our people. Meeting stiff at commencement.
I did my best to make things free. It was a difficult task.
Tucker spoke in the most affecting manner. Simplicity itself. Motee [a
daughter of Emma Booth-Tucker] sang, “There’ll be no more
parting.”
She was as cool and natural as possible. I brought her a chair and helped
her on to it, and she stood before that imposing audience without the
slightest evidence of excitement. In fact, she told me afterwards that
she did not feel at all shy. She is a remarkable child in many ways; this
among the number.
1 made the attempt, and partially succeeded. Most of the audience thought
I did all that was possible under the circumstances.
Later Bramwell writes to his father:
I
feel greatly overstrained and tried. I must not go under if I can help
it. This has been a most trying ordeal for me — made infinitely
more so by seeing you and others suffer, and ‘by the consciousness
of our loss in the poor struggle for Jesus Christ.
But we must go on. Enduring and remaining Grace is my great need. . .
I only wish I had some way of cheering you in this time of sorrow and
loss. “Words are useless. I can do nothing but go on loving you.
This you know that I do, and will do.
This
letter, so simple and pathetic, is worthy of the man to whom it was addressed.
William Booth himself might have said, for he was the most honest of men,
“Enduring and remaining Grace is my great need,” and he could
certainly have cried to his son, for he was a great lover, “I can
do nothing but go on loving you.”
In a lecture given during this year at the Royal Colonial Institute, General
Booth said:
The
Emigration I am contemplating will be on a scale in some measure proportionate
to the present need. The mere sending forth of isolated groups of twenties,
thirties, or even hundreds, appears to me to be little more than trifling
with the evil we seek to remedy.
What I think is required, and what I should like to see realized, would
be a bridge, as it were, leading across the seas to some land of plenty,
over which there should be continuously passing, under conditions as favourable
as the circumstances would allow, our surplus population, instead of being
compelled to witness its melancholy gravitation down to the filthy slums,
the hated workhouses, the cruel casual wards, the hopeless prisons, and
other semi-hells upon earth, as is, alas! too often the case to-day. .
.
In making our bargain for the transfer of the people from the Old Country
to the New, I might truly say as respects them, and on their behalf:--
“You colonial gentlemen have the millions of acres, I might say
the thousands of square miles, of fertile, life-preserving country unoccupied,
or comparatively so, awaiting cultivation.
“We over here have the thousands, the tens of thousands of men,
women, and children who are dying for want of that support which your
unoccupied country will, when cultivated, readily produce.
“Your land means life and happiness, I might say Heaven, to our
people. Our people mean power and satisfaction and prosperity, and I might
say Heaven, to yours.”
Here, then, we have, as I think I have already indicated, a good occasion
for a “deal,” as they say in the City.
We have the people. What do you offer in return?
We, I say, have the people. For instance, we sent out to Canada last year
4,000 souls. This year we shall send out at least 10,000, possibly more.
. .