The Life of General William Booth

Vol. 2 ~ Chapter 29 ~ 1909
Contents

AFFORDING FURTHER EVIDENCE OF ROYAL FAVOUR AND CONCLUDING
WITH ANOTHER STAGE ON THE ROAD TO BLINDNESS

In the journal for 1909 we find a Royal beginning to which an amusing story is appended:

Florence (Mrs. Bramwell Booth) had a long interview with H.R.H. Princess Louise, who was very much interested in what she saw and heard At the same time, she was utterly astounded to find we had any financial difficulty — she supposed we were rolling in money. She thinks she can influence Lord Strathcona in our Emigration Work . . . and secure some further practical co-operation. She told Flo a good story of a friend of hers in discussing the question of the unemployed.

She said her manservant asked for a day’s holiday, which was willingly granted. During the morning she had to go to her Club on business, and while conversing with a friend a procession of unemployed was announced as coming along the street. She out of curiosity went to the window to have a look at the unfortunate throng, and who should she find at the head of it, and directing its course and cheering its progress, but her servant.

He has now become so interesting to mankind that he cannot take a walk without suffering the inconvenience of what he calls his “public position.” He writes on January I5:

I see that they have got rather a grotesque portrait of me in the papers, copied from a picture that a Pressman took while I walked out for a little exercise yesterday. It is rather awkward that I cannot move without either being caricatured or made to say things that you either don’t want to say or never have thought of saying; but I suppose it is part of the price one has to pay for the public position occupied.

An admirable example of his “begging letters”— outspoken, honest, and yet unmistakably adroit — may be found in the following effort to raid the coffers of Mr. (now Sir) Abe Bailey even when on the departure platform of Waterloo Station. This letter was written in January:

MY DEAR MR. BAILEY — Colonel Kitching brought me late last night the purport of his interview with you, and I must say that it was a considerable disappointment. I would have liked very much to have seen you again before leaving, but I could not for a moment expect you to come here, suffering, as I am informed you are, from a heavy cold, or, apart from that, involved as you must be in an unavoidable rush of business arrangements consequent upon your departure. But I did hope that you might before leaving have seen your way to giving me a little practical encouragement in the heavy fight I am waging with the miseries and vices and misfortunes of men.

Rhodesia is evidently gone; anyway, it has nearly faded out of sight.

I have heard such promises as Mr. Asquith seems to have hinted at to you yesterday, until their repetition only makes me sick at heart. They have ceased to have any influence upon my hopes or activities. The time extracted from my busy life, and the money drawn from our limited exchequer, and expended on Rhodesia during the last few years, I now regard as all but wasted. If the scheme ever comes back, it must be dealt with on its merits at the time.

I have not changed my views for a moment as to the conviction that Colonization must be the natural outlet for the overplus population of this country, or that Rhodesia is the most likely, if not the only possible country for such a Scheme to be tried with the possibility of success; but, as I have said, the door at present is closed.

Meanwhile, here are these world-wide necessities, you might say agonies, with which God and humanity call me to grapple, and I had entertained the hope that you were going to assist me in the struggle, but you find difficulties in the way of doing so.

For instance, you won’t help these poor wretches that are down, these poor wretches who from misfortune have fallen on the highway of life; you regard them as beyond hope.

But if a drunken stoker had been half scalded to death on board your steamer, would you for the sake of a sovereign or two leave him to be thrown overboard or left to die in agony in the hold of the ship? You know you would not.

At the present moment there are 1,800 able-bodied men in my Industrial Homes, who are stranded and wounded and cannot get up again. They cost me something like £2,000 per annum, and but for rent and taxes they would cost the public charity nothing. On the contrary, I could even make it better for them or make a profit out of them to do good to somebody else.

But, never mind. Elevators, Shelters, Hospitals, Slums, Emigration, or other Schemes, don’t appeal to you; but there are the boys.

Good! Let us help the boys, and here is an illustration, the particulars of which were brought to my notice after our interview, of what the vitality, skill, and religion of the Salvation Army can do for the boys.

During the last year 486 boys came creeping in with the men in the shelters, or brought to us by the Police, or appealed to us themselves for help, were taken out of the streets in London, and dealt with after the following fashion. There were 486, I say, in the whole, and here is what became of them:

Ran away, sent back to parents or guardians 156

Sent to trades, industries, such as mining, farming, and the like 186

Sent to institutions belonging to other societies 74

Emigrated 8

Sent to the navy 6

Feeble-minded 56

total: 486

That scheme is, in deed and truth, the by-product of the Salvation Army. Worked without any proper building or without any direction from the General or the Chief of the Staff.

Well, let us do something on a large scale for the boys. I have held off the ordinary systems because they are so costly. A boy taken into such institutions costs from first to last from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds; whereas here is a plan of dealing with them effectively, but upon a much more economic fashion. But it must be improved upon.
I am better: my sight is gradually coming back again, and it is possible that I may continue to occupy my place in the front of the battle for some years to come.

At present, finance is my difficulty. It does seem rather strange that where a movement has developed such immense capacities in not only doing good, but for using money with such effect and economy, that we should be left to the straitened condition as we find ourselves [in] at the present moment.

I had thought it possible, as I hinted in my last letter, that on this visit you would have said to me, “General, I have looked at you, I have inspected a little of your work, I see its beneficial character, I admire your system of action, and the business-like way in which you go about matters, and I gladly hail the privilege of helping you.” But this is evidently not your feeling at the present moment.
And now, my dear friend, you are going away. In six months’ time you send me word you will come back again, and do something to help me with this heavy burden.

Before six months we may both have gone beyond the power of doing anything to either please God or help man, so far as this world goes.

However, I must persevere with my work, and that I certainly shall do, and look to Him whom I serve to supply my need.
Good-bye; you know that from the bottom of my heart I wish you a pleasant voyage and all prosperity that will be for your highest and everlasting profit.

I hope you will find the boy and girl well. I should have liked to have known them. It may be that I shall at some future time.— Believe me, Your sincere, and I think I can say, Your affectionate friend, WILLIAM BOOTH.

William Booth, it must be remembered, was constantly harassed for want of money, an irksome and distressing destiny which he has passed on to his successor. He was never once in all his long and indefatigable life free from money worries. It was his bitterest complaint against the world that it would not let him save the lost and the sorrowful.
Perhaps it was the eternal want of pence, which vexes philanthropists as well as literary men, that made him write in February of this year to Bramwell announcing his intention to abandon some literary undertaking which was then occupying his attention:

Don’t bother to come over here! I shan’t be able to look at you for very mortification with my failure . . .
I live and move and have my being in you more than ever.

A visit to the then Prince and Princess of Wales on February 17 inspired only this formal entry in the journal, and no useful rough notes are to be discovered:

Marlborough House at 11.30 for interview with Prince and Princess of Wales. Colonel _____ accompanied me.

The Private Secretaries to the Prince and Princess were most agreeable, and so was Sir William Carrington, the Comptroller of the Household.
Marlborough House is a fine, spacious and imposing building. More imposing entrance halls I have seldom seen.

The Prince and Princess were interested in the extreme. I stayed with them an hour and twenty minutes, and then their Royal Highnesses seemed reluctant to let me leave.

On the following day he writes

It appears that John Burns made a bitter attack on us in the House the other night. Will Crooks, a leading Labour Member, answered. But still it is awkward that a leading member of the Cabinet should attack private individuals . . . when the same individuals have no opportunity of answering.
The Chief sent _____ off to ask Churchill what this means.

The Report of the Poor Law Commission is out and appears to be a weighty and sensible document. All the recommendations made by me are embodied in it.

In the train to Hamburg, on February 24, he writes to Bramwell, referring to an attack on one of the Social Scheme institutions by Socialists:

The Socialistic raving — I can’t help but think that by putting our heads together we might produce a paper that would show how utterly mistaken and undeserved and unjust they are, without attacking them. Something on this line might do:--

Things objected to; and then enumerate a number, with illustrations of our efforts with respect to them, and ask the question, What objection can there be to this?

I am not supposing for a moment that we shall make any impression on the genuine Socialist, although I am not sure, but we shall make an impression on the average working man.
Stead, on Monday night, gave expression to a principle on which I have acted, although very imperfectly from my boyhood—of never letting the opportunity pass of explaining what we are doing, and why we do it.

I felt quite vexed with myself for being unwilling to put myself out of the way a little . . . to let that photographer have a shot at me as I left the house. . .
Only think what a position I have reached, or rather to what a position I have been raised by the providence of God, that my features or a sentence of my speech should speak to the minds and hearts of men everywhere and be considered by them. God help me to make the most of the privilege!

In Copenhagen the General was billeted with the Count and Countess Moltke:

The Countess accompanied me (to his Meeting). She is a great light in the Plymouth Brethren fashion; she expressed her bewilderment at what I said about Backsliders, saying that if a man, as she put it, had Eternal Life given him how was it possible for him ever to be lost. I did not argue with the lady but turned the conversation on to some practical aspect of the remarkable meeting we had just left.

The Countess was present at all the meetings, went with me down to the boat on the following morning. She got lost in the crowd as I went on board the boat, but wrote to me a beautiful letter, which shows that some effect had been produced in her heart.

The Count was present at the night meeting, and much affected.

He writes to Bramwell from Christiania, in March:

My reception here is truly marvellous. The people really love me and love the S.A. You ought to make the most you can of me, only don’t kill me right off.
I hear this morning that the leader of the “Young Socialists’ Party “— that is, the party of force, and the party from whom the most is feared here — telegraphed to the leader of the same party at Gothenburg yesterday, saying: “I heard General Booth last night; go and hear him to-night. He has got something to say worth hearing.”

At Stockholm, on March 16 he writes in his journal:

One of my first duties was to meet the Minister of the Interior, who came to see me to express the kind sentiments entertained by the King, and his wishes for the success of my visit to Stockholm. He was exceedingly nice, evidently a shrewd politician, a man of the world, possessed of some considerable knowledge, and, with it all, is in sympathy with the S.A.

In the course of the conversation I mentioned some of my suggestions for dealing with the poor and outcast classes, and I discovered that he was familiar with what I had been saying up and down the country, and in a large measure approved of the same.

The General who introduced me to the meeting was a General Rappe, Ex-Minister of War, and a few years ago a prominent General in the Army. Fine appearance. Made a few remarks . . . very friendly, but rather stiff and cold. Closed with reading a passage of Scripture, announcing beforehand that if he read the passage in question there would at least be something in his speech worth listening to.

A copy of General Rappe’s speech is appended to this entry:

The great men of this world have added to our knowledge in different directions; but you, General, have tried to meet the deepest needs of humanity — their cravings with regard to the matters of eternity.
The brilliant successes of the Salvation Army are due to the fact that its leader has led the way to what is the kernel and essence of Christianity. And by that I mean our Saviour’s farewell command to His Disciples, to spread all over the world the glorious message of salvation by grace. That Gospel is God’s power.

But the Salvation Army has not been content only to proclaim the Gospel. It has added to this duty a marvellous work of benevolence, a network of agencies which stands alone in its extent, scope, and success.

On March 16 he writes:

Difficulties have sprung up during the last two or three days in Russia as to my visit to St. Petersburg, which are likely to extend even to Finland, and when Count Hamilton informed me that the King, having a Political crisis on hand, was afraid he would not be able to see me, I intimated that a friendly interview, if it only lasted five minutes, might be of some service. I thought I could see that he understood the position, and went to arrange it if possible.

My next business was an interview with the British Minister, Sir Cecil Spring Rice. He came with a letter from the Russian Ambassador here, who had heard from St. Petersburg that I could only be allowed to enter Russia on condition that I held no meetings, and that this also applied to Finland. This was appalling, as we were to leave the following night. Sir Cecil was most sympathetic. He had already been to a great deal of trouble, and was willing to do anything that could be done.

The difficulties appeared insurmountable. To disappoint Finland, now that all the Officers are in Helsingfors or on the way there, whilst meetings are announced and expectations are at the highest point, appears to be a calamity of no small importance.

However, it was arranged that Commr. Higgins, who reached Stockholm yesterday noon, should join the British Minister in an interview with the Russian Ambassador at 3.0 this afternoon, and hear what could be done. Meanwhile we have telegraphed London, Finland, etc., so that if it can be it will be: if it can’t be we must go hack to London, and bear the disappointment as best we can It is not our disappointment, but the disappointment of the Finns, I am concerned about. We shall see.

And later:

. . . news came to hand from St. Petersburg to the effect that the objection with respect to visiting Finland had been withdrawn. Thus, after endless telegrams, interviews with British Representatives, Russian Representatives, and all sorts of conferences and wonderments, we are informed that the way is clear, and we are not only allowed to carry out our programme in Finland, but, on the condition named — “No meetings or speeches” — to pass through St. Petersburg on our way to London.

All this is puzzling, remembering that Stolypin, the Russian Prime Minister, had consented to our commencing public operations in the country and approved the publication of the fact in the English Times some eight or nine weeks ago.

The following account of his doings in Stockholm is composed of extracts from the journal and reports written by the General himself:

One of the first pieces of information I get this morning, after I had finished my correspondence with London, is a message that the King desired my attendance at the Palace at 12 o’clock. . . . The officials received me with more than friendliness, really sympathy. I went in to see His Majesty alone.
The apartment in which my interview with the King took place was sumptuously luxurious beyond my power of description.

Every wall and niche and corner was crowded with pictures, statuary, porcelain, and art curios. The carpets and tapestries were exquisite, the gold and silver treasures without number, and, on the whole, this accumulation of artistic tastes for beauty made a palace of delight.

In this apartment the recently crowned King was seated. He rose on my entrance, at once took my hand in his, and in kindly tones delivered a little speech, in which he assured me of his sympathy with me personally, and offered his congratulations on the great work for humanity that had been accomplished through the agency of the Army.
Then, sitting down, he motioned me to a seat, and conversed freely on the Army, the present aspect of Society, the different difficult social problems that Governments have to grapple with, and other matters that showed his genuine interest in the welfare of his people.

I congratulated His Majesty on the great opportunity for benefiting his people that lay before him. He demurred to my somewhat roseate description of these opportunities, remarking that, difficult as my position must be, his task was more difficult still.
Here it was my turn to demur, and in a half-serious manner I indicated that I had been imagining, during the wakeful hours of the past night, what I would do were I a king, and a king in such circumstances as was His Majesty. He at once, with a genuine smile, asked me to tell him.
I did so, but I have not time to tell you. . .

His Majesty could not have been more genial. He is tall, slender, and apparently anything but vigorous. We conversed for half an hour or more in the most familiar manner. I don’t know that I have ever met any Royalty with whom I have felt as free, and I hope that what passed between us may be of some little interest and profit to His Majesty.

An interesting speech by Prince Bernadotte, brother of King Gustav, was delivered at “a select meeting” conducted by William Booth. From this speech we gather some idea of the General’s position in Sweden:

Before we hear anything as to that which constitutes the reason of our presence here this afternoon, I beg to present to our honoured guest, General Booth, our sincere thanks that he, in the midst of a rigorous winter, regardless of the inconveniences of such a journey, and notwithstanding his advanced age, has not hesitated to pay a visit to our Northern clime.

We thank him, however, not only for this, but also that his great love for the fallen, embraces the lost ones even among our own people, and for the splendid work which he and his devoted followers have performed.

I have solicited permission, before I close, to render the General the greatest service that can be rendered to a warrior of the Cross, namely, to present him and his work in prayer before God, from whom all power comes.

The wickedness of these days is great; sin comes to the front in a more undiguised form and in a more dreadful manner than before. The contrast between different classes and different positions of Society make the fight more and more acute. He who sets out upon this struggle must despair if he doesn’t realize that when he fights the Lord’s battles He Himself is with you.

That a great deal of the suffering that falls on men and women is a consequence of sin, I firmly believe. On the other hand, I am sure that this suffering constitutes God’s most glorious opportunity to prepare the way for His Kingdom. If such were not the case, we would become depressed and hopeless at sight of all the sorrow round about us. God has put us in the school here, in order to prepare us for our place in Heaven.

The Salvation Army and its beloved General have kept this view of matters ever before them. They have never forgotten that their first and greatest task is to help those who are heart-broken by sin and suffering, and to endeavour to direct their look upwards, towards Him who is able to help.

I believe that the success of the Salvation Army is, in the first place, due to the fact that, in all its duties in the years that are past, it has never forgotten to walk in the footsteps of John the Baptist, and point to the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world. That is the object. All other things are only so many different means by which the attention of men and women is drawn to God’s gift in Jesus Christ.

The Archbishop of Upsala stepped on the platform after a speech by the General, and, grasping his hand, thanked him most warmly for his address.
Delighted by his reception, William Booth wrote in his journal at Helsingfors:

The Press has been unanimous in proclaiming the great good the Army has brought to their much-loved land. The most influential afternoon paper published in the country printed the following:
“There are many kings and princes in this world, many great men, ecclesiastical or worldly, civilians and military, and if you want to refer to any of them you are compelled to add the name to the attribute, but when you speak of ‘The General,’ then it is not needed, for all the world knows that it is a question of General Booth. The other great men are many, but he is a unique one, like the Pope.”

The visit to Petersburg, as it was then called, proved to be a success. William Booth was received in a most friendly fashion by Grand Dukes and Duchesses, by Princes and by Cabinet Ministers. He held a drawing-room meeting during this two days’ stay in the Russian Capital, occupied a seat in the Diplomatic circle at a meeting of the Duma, and was entertained at the British Embassy.

He returned to England, and after a business-like interview with Sir Edward Henry, First Commissioner of Metropolitan Police, in which he asked that a good character might be given to the Russian Police if they inquired about the Salvation Army, on April 6 he paid his second visit to Buckingharn Palace, this time to see Queen Alexandra:

I left Headquarters at 2.45 . . . for Buckingham Palace. After waiting a short time — during which I amused myself by gazing at the stiff angular portraits on the walls, and looking through the window at the Memorial of the late Queen — the Queen and Dowager Empress entered. After the usual assurances of welcome and expressions of the pleasure my visit gave them the Queen seized a chair, turned it round, asked me to sit down opposite one of the lounges, and with the Empress seated herself in front of me, and the conversation at once began.

We had not been talking long before a lady entered, and was introduced by the Queen as her daughter. This individual I found was the Princess Victoria. She was a little serious and dignified, but nevertheless she had a calm, self-composed, and interesting manner. She stayed with us throughout the interview and occasionally took part in the conversation.

The Queen appeared to me even younger than when I saw her before, and being more closely seated I had the opportunity of more carefully observing her. I readily perceived how she must have been a really beautiful woman, and I can readily understand the raptures into which the community was thrown by her appearance when she first landed in this country to be the bride of His Majesty.

The Dowager Empress is shorter in stature, and with as dark complexion as the Queen is light. I should certainly not have taken them for sisters, but the friendly manner of both soon made me forget outward appearances.

Top

The Queen led the way in the conversation. I tried to state as well as I could the reason for my desire to see the Empress, referred to my recent visit to St. Petersburg, to the individuals whom I supposed were known to Her Majesty, whom I had had the privilege to meet there. We talked about what would happen if the Salvation Army commenced operations.

The only difficulty expressed by the Empress was that she was afraid that it would be thought that we should be likely to clash with the Church. She remarked that the Russian was naturally religious, deeply attached to his Church, and she thought it would be expected that the Army would take them away from the Church and lead to the formation of another Sect, which was very objectionable to the Russian Authorities. I remarked that there were multitudes of people who never entered the Church, to which statement she objected. I said, well perhaps they go once a year; she said, many of them once a day.

It was neither time nor place for me to controvert the Empress’s statement, but certainly it was capable of modification. At the same time, great masses of the Russian people are slavishly attached to the Church and its forms and ceremonies, although, practically speaking, uninfluenced by its teaching or its example.

To instance the necessity for the Army, I mentioned the prevalence of drunkenness. Here it was admitted at once that the Church Festivals were often seasons of frightful intemperance.

I spoke of our work in Cologne in this respect, and in many other parts of the world.

At this time, or soon afterwards, the Queen asked Princess Victoria if she would fetch her Album, as she wanted the General to subscribe his name. It was brought, and my Birthday was found. With my fountain-pen I wrote my name across the page. In doing so the Queen observed that I had inked my fingers, and she at once led me to the table, where there was a sponge by which I could cleanse them, tearing a sheet of blotting-paper to clean the pen.

The Empress then produced her Album and Princess Victoria introduced hers. When I got to Princess Victoria’s I got a little bolder, and I wrote over my name “Saved to save.” This pleased her. They all three read it, whereupon I wrote over my name in the Dowager Empress’s Book “Seeking and saving the lost.” This also gave pleasure, and I was vexed that I had not written something striking over the Queen’s. However, it was too late.

They were busy talking round me. I really felt a little confused as to what should come next. I could not very well say, “Queens and Empresses,” so I said, “Ladies, shall we be seated?” The Queen assented. As I turned away I remarked to the Princess Victoria, “I am afraid I am spoiling my manners.”

“Oh no,” said the Princess, “this is just how we like to have it.” Whereupon I took the Queen upon my arm and escorted her to the sofa, and we resumed the position at [in]which we had sat before.

The Queen said, “Tell us something more about the work.” It is very awkward that the proper things do not always come at the moment; it was so with me. However, I wanted to show the necessity for divine operation in the hearts of those men whom we wanted to benefit, an illustration of which had been given me by Treen the night before, that happened at New Barnet.

The Testimony of a man — who, holding the handle of the door of a public-house, was about to enter, when he heard the Army singing —

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down,
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

He stopped to listen; and he said a strange feeling came over him. “Ah,” said the Queen, turning to the Empress. repeating the words. And a voice said to him, “Play the man; put your foot down; now’s your time.” He turned away from the Public-House, and he followed the Salvationists to the Hall, went to the Mercy-Seat, and was saved with the Salvation of God.

Here the Queen, with a wondering look on her face, said “Saved! that’s what we all want.” “Did he stand firm?” or some question to the same effect, was proposed by the Empress, whereupon I remarked that I believed he did. As did much of the blossom of the spring fall away, and many of the infants born into the world die, so it was with the spiritual blossoms and the religious babyhood, to which the Queen heartily assented.

And so the conversation drifted on, the Queen apologizing again and again for occupying so much of my valuable time. Asking me carefully as to the improvement in my sight, and wishing me safe through the operation which was to follow during the week, and reiterating her expressions of sympathy and good-will. I withdrew — all shaking me by the hand in the most friendly manner, the Queen doing this over and over again. The interview, so remarkable, so unlike anything I could possibly have expected, indicating not only high respect and deep interest, but real affection, came to a termination.

Before I could get my coat on at the entrance hall a representative of the Associated Press wanted to know what he might be allowed to say to the public respecting the interview.

After this interesting episode the General wrote to the three Royal ladies. In his journal for April 13th we read:

Had the agreeable surprise of receiving an acknowledgment by Sir Sidney Greville of my letters to the Queen and Dowager Empress, expressing the pleasure the interview had given them, and requesting me to send an autographed photograph similar to the one I had forwarded to Princess Victoria. Accompanying Sir Sidney’s letter was a photograph of the three ladies.

A newspaper interviewer gave the following account of his conversation with the General in The Standard of the day following:

. . . “Sit down, please,” he said, holding out a firm hand. “Yes, I’ve just come back from Buckingham Palace, where I have had a most pleasant afternoon with their Majesties. . .”

“A curious contrast,” agrees the General musingly, “when I think of those tiny bands parading the streets, scoffed at by the foolish, and regarded by some of the organized Churches as outrageous and indecorous, and to-day, with the Army established, recognized, and respected by magistrates, amid police, and public bodies. . .

“Looking back over the history of the Army, General, is there anything in its organization you regret? Suppose you had to start again, would you have worked in the same direction?”

The General thought some time before he replied. “No,” he said slowly; “there are very few regrets in my life, and I cannot think of any especial alteration I would make if I had to begin all over again. I have made mistakes, of course, though very often, when I have acknowledged in my mind an error of judgment, a voice has said, ‘How do you know that you are wrong? — wait and see.’ If I had to start afresh, I should do very much as I have done, employing the same methods, making for the same end.”

“What is the Army’s future?”

“That depends upon the Army. If she is energetic and faithful and steadfast, she will go branching out, this way and that way, going from great to greater things. If she is slothful and slackens her zeal, she will perish” — he nodded his head gravely —“yes, 1 hope she will perish and be swept away, for dead things should not encumber the ground, but should make place for the living.”

“General, they say of the Army that it has no enemies nowadays; is not that a bad sign? that you are all becoming respectable —“

“Respected,” interposed the General, swiftly, “but I hope not respectable in the sense you mean, if by respectable you mean smug and tame. But you are mistaken when you think that the Army has no enemies — there are many.”

The interview, which began abruptly, ended as abruptly, for at the conclusion of his sentence the firm hand was outstretched and “Good-bye” spoken. This was at five o’clock in the evening, and there were still visitors to be seen.

I asked one of the Officers if the General was very well. He smiled tolerantly, as at an absurd question. “He’s wonderfully so,” he said drily. “When I tell you that he has been at Headquarters since morning, metaphorically turning everything and everybody upside down, you may gather that there is little wrong with the General.”

A cutting from The War Cry gives one some idea of the way in which his 8oth birthday was greeted:
From the Castle, their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales graciously telegraphed:

The Princess and I wish to offer you our hearty congratulations on your Eightieth Birthday.
GEORGE.

His Majesty King Frederick, of Denmark, sent the following cordial message from Copenhagen:

May I offer you my heartiest and sincerest congratulations? God bless you and give you the best success in your Army’s labours and its continued prosperity.

Earl Grey, the Governor-General of Canada, wrote:

May continued health and happiness bless your Eightieth Birthday and enable you to increase your great record of good work accomplished. There are many in Canada better and happier for your life’s work, and who have good reason to join me in the hope that you may long be blessed with sufficient strength to put new heart into thousands.

A grateful tribute from London’s chief magistrate ran:

Accept my hearty felicitations and good wishes on this interesting anniversary.

GEORGE WYATT TRUSCOTT,
Lord Mayor.

Sir Hubert von Herkomer — the famous painter — wired from Bushey:

Heartiest congratulations on this day. May you live for ever.

One of his chief desires at this time was to get the Salvation Army into Russia, a country he had long coveted, but where Orthodoxy had no welcome for the militancy of so successful a Heterodoxy. He writes in his journal on April 15:

. . . by seven I was at the Russian Embassy, Chesham Place, in consultation with Count Beckendorf. I asked him if he could give us any suggestions that would be advantageous to us in our Russian enterprise. I found the Count most free and friendly, and so far as I could judge quite anxious for the Army to commence its work in his country, and really and truly desirous that the effort should be a success.

I understood him to say that he had just seen Stolypin, the Prime Minister. If he had not seen him recently he had heard from him within the last few days, and that Stolypin had assured him that he saw no reason why the Army should not have perfect freedom for its proposed operations. In conjunction with the Dowager Empress, he saw the difficulty presented by the Ecclesiastical Authorities, and could not refrain from pointing out that the reactionary party might be induced to suppress the Movement — that is, if they saw it was likely to become a real power in the country.

At the close of the interview he asked if I would be willing to speak with the Countess, to which of course I acceded, and the lady entered the room. She was a very intelligent and interesting person; most genial and friendly in her manner, and I should think full of sympathy with all that the Army is trying to do.

But emigration, even if Rhodesia remained in the moon, was still a great interest:

Called by appointment on Earl Grey, Governor of Canada, at Lady Wantage’s, Canton Gardens. Beautiful mansion. Superbly furnished. Had a few words with Lady W. at the Earl’s request. Beautiful face and figure and deportment —but very lame. Gout I guessed. She seemed interested in what the Army had done in the way of Emigration and Social amelioration generally.

Spent a little time with the Earl afterwards. He could not have been more genial, and was apparently pleased to see me.

He is anxious to help us so far as he is able.
He says that the Canadian Governmental people, from Sir Wilfrid Laurier downwards, are most favourable to our Emigration Work, the difficulty lying in the way of non-practical assistance consisting of the possibility of them doing for us what they cannot do for other religious philanthropies.

He promised that his vote and interest at every turn and all time should be at our service.

He meets Lords Strathcona and Mountstephen before lie sails on Friday, and says he will speak for us to them. They have both amassed fortunes out of Canada, and ought, 1 dare to think, to help in our efforts to benefit the Dominion by relieving this country of some of its superfluous population —thereby preventing suffering, and building up the British Empire, which they all desire.

In his motor tour of this year he had a very touching interview with the venerable Bishop of Hereford (Dr. Perceval), of which he left, unfortunately, no account. The following description was written by a member of his Staff, and we must be grateful for this second-hand chronicle of a moment in William Booth’s life which was perhaps among its simplest and most beautiful:

It was drawing dark when the motor-Fleet entered Hereford; the day had been packed with hard work and long journeys, and though very weary, it was with keen anticipation that the General entered the city, for the Bishop was to preside, and this was an epoch in Army history here.

It was a great meeting. Never, never was the General greater and grander than at that meeting in the Drill Hall.

Driving from the Hall to the Palace — the first Ecclesiastical Palace at which the General had stayed in this country — the General entered into a hearty and happy conversation with his Lordship.
Already he was experiencing some trifling inconvenience from his eye, which the following day was to necessitate the close of the campaign and his return to London for the operation which resulted in the loss of the sight of that eye.
I left him eating his frugal meal of milk, roast apple, and dry toast, and discussing in the antique dining-hall with the Bishop matters which were very dear to his heart.

Having prepared his room, and feeling that he should be reminded of the late hour and the fact that he had a heavy day before him on the morrow, I re-entered the room, and as I did so. I found these two old veterans praying.

I shall never forget the earnestness depicted on both their faces as they pleaded with God for the salvation of the people, and for His blessing on their respective labours.

I stood with bowed head, fearing lest I should disturb them by leaving the apartment.
Presently the General lifted his head, and looking into the Bishop’s face with an intensity of purpose, said, “ My Lord, give me your benediction.” Immediately the Bishop placed his hand upon the head of our beloved General and gave him the blessing. “And now,” said his Lordship, “Give me your blessing, General,” and in response the General placed his hand upon the Bishop’s head and called down upon him the blessings of Almighty God.

I do not think I shall ever forget the sacred solemnity of that moment.

We must follow the patriarch through another approach to the dark house of physical blindness:

Meeting in the Drill Hall — a big place — talked for an hour and a half with ease, freedom, point, and power, and I think with effect. I noticed, however, that my eye failed me when trying to read a few statistics. I put it down to the bad light. However, my eye got worse, paining me more as the night went on.

On August 17 he writes, after leaving Hereford, “in a very dilapidated condition”:

Got to Pontypool at 11. Very enthusiastic meeting, spoke for an hour with my usual freedom.

However, I felt as though something serious was coming on with my eye . . . the gentleman with whom I was billeted was a doctor, and . . . he knew something of oculism.

I asked for his candid opinion as soon as I could sit down in my room. He at once announced my eye to be in a serious condition. He said the scar had given way. The iris was involved, and that I must see my oculist at once.

After the meeting at Newport, on the same day, he determined to consult another doctor:

I thought I should never get to the billet. It was a long climb up a hill. While I was having my cup of tea the Doctor was announced. He at once pronounced the eye to be in a dangerous condition. Forbade my continuing with the Motor Campaign, and said that I must at once go to London. I resolved to do so, and without further delay I gave the campaign up. The people were waiting by the wayside in thousands as well as at mass-meetings arranged for Risca and Abertillery.

I suggested that I should see the other doctor . . . and while they were looking and talking I discovered that I was practically blind in the new eye. That settled me to go to London forthwith that night. Got the 11.5 sleeper, as they call it, in a storm. Wretched accommodation — dirty old carriage. Dark, rainy, dismal night.

He dragged himself to his oculist, who sent him into a nursing-home till the inflammation subsided. On August 18 he writes:

Mr. Higgens came to see me again and again, and brought Mr. Eason with him, and they said they were making some examinations of matter that had come out of the eye.
The pain continued very bad; in fact, the Doctor announced to me that I had got an abscess in my eye, caused by some virulently poisonous microbe that had got into it by some means or other.

August 19.—The Doctor announced that they had been cultivating these bacilli, and had got five millions at Guy’s Bacteriological Department. They had boiled them down, made them into a salve, and then proposed to inject it hypodermically.
I consented. I didn’t know where I was or what I was doing hardly. Like the drowning man and the straws, I caught at anything.

August 20.— In the evening the doctor suggested to the Chief that he had given up any hope of saving the eye or any part of it; at least he perhaps didn’t say so much, but left him to infer that.

August 21.— The Doctor communicated his fears to me that the operation would have to be performed. I said, “Very well, when?” He said, “To-day.” I said, “What hour?” He replied, “One o’clock.” I said, “I will be ready.”

At 1.15 Higgens, Eason, Dr. Harry Campbell, who was watching the thing from the Chief’s standpoint, and the anaesthetic administrator were all ready.
The Chief saw them transfer me to the board, unbandage the eye, and then Higgens signalled to him that he had better retire.

The sensations were a little strange as I received the chloroform. Nothing remarkable.

My next sense of consciousness was the struggle I seemed to be making with some opposing forces that were dragging me, I do not know where. All sense of what had happened had passed away from me. All I could do was to cry out: “Where am I? Where am I? What has happened?”

Then I recognized the voice of the Nurse saying, “ You are in your own bed.” Gradually I calmed down, and was informed that the thing was all over, and I found that after the struggle of nine months, with all its waiting and hoping for the preservation of the eye, it was gone irrevocably.

However. my heart was comforted by the fact that, however imperfect it might be, I still had the power of discerning objects round about me; that the one was left, and so thanked God and took courage.

August 22.— Mr. Higgens has just called and unbandaged the eye and finds that the thing is progressing as satisfactorily as can be expected, with the exception of some little woollen stuff with which he had closed the aperture he had made in the eye to prevent any extraneous poisonous matter entering, and which had become cemented with blood.

The agony caused by his efforts to get it out was beyond words to describe. After working at it for some time he gave it up for the day, thinking that nature might soften the thing. . .

August 23. . . . At ten Dr. Higgens came in to finish his attempts to extract the stopping. I had to submit. He tried cocaine, any quantity of it—pulled with all his might— it was no use — he could not get the thing out.

However, I told him I would bear it as long as I could; if I told him to stop he was to stop. I did. I had to cry out, “I can bear this no longer; you must stop,” which he did; and directly after I said, “Go on.” This last pull was frightful, frightful beyond the concentrated agony I had endured for years together—then he announced it was done.

My scalp was so sore I could scarcely bear the ends of the hair touching. The doctors said it was the result of the cutting of the nerve. The pains were neuralgic in character, and hard to be borne.

After reaching home once more he writes:

September 1
I am still struggling on. I am sleeping very poorly; little or no appetite; the pain, although less severe, still continues.

They stick to it that I am doing well, and Adjutant Treen, my housekeeper, quotes her favourite text for my consolation whenever she has the opportunity — that “All things work together for good.”

On September 2 he wrote to Bramwell:

MY DEAR CHIEF — By accident, as it were, I have stumbled into my old chair at the table where I have spent so many hundreds of hours writing for my Master; the pen and paper are within reach and the desire to again use them irresistibly springs up in my heart. I make the experiment, and to my joy find that I can make strokes and signs that I think will not be illegible to those for whom they may be intended, and the first sentence my hearts prompts is to ask you again to join with me in grateful praise to my Heavenly Father for His loving care of me – body and soul, during this affliction, giving me another assurance for the future – Yours, in love for all, hope for the years to come, and faith for greater triumphs than hitherto experienced, Father and General, WILLIAM BOOTH

And again on the 9th:

I feel in myself as though I were some old vessel that had run on to some rock and was being dashed to pieces by the storming waves, while the crew were considering the propriety of her abandonment, and the proprietors were arguing in their own minds as to the value of the salvage.

Later:

Perhaps it is not so bad as that. Hope has not quite fled – and although I failed to get my little afternoon sleep I think I feel much more virile in spirit and more comfortable in my eye and my head to-night than I have done before.

In October he makes an entry which brings the great lines of Victor Hugo into the mind:

Je sais . . .
Que la creation est une grande roue
Qui ne peut se mouvoir sans ecraser quelqu’un.

He writes:

A fair night – some real solid refreshing sleep, with an hour or two’s interval of musings on some of the difficult parts of the present condition of things.
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof is severely true of my experience – nay, you might say of the S.A. generally.

Every revolution of the wheel of time brings with it some new trouble or the resurrection of an old one, something perplexing or something painful. With so many things on hand in so many places, I suppose it must be so.

Then he reflects:

The mother with a numerous family is bound ever to have one or more laid up with some malady or other.

He was soon up and about, working almost as hard as ever. In November he paid a visit to Horfield Prison, near Bristol, and in his account of the meeting there he deplores a mistake on the part of Commissioner Railton:

My Taxi took me inside the Court of the Prison, where I was received by the Governor and some other Officials and preceded by a couple of Curates (?) . . . The Chaplain being absent, we proceeded into the Prison Chapel.
The Audience – men and women – formed, as is usual in such gatherings, a wretched spectacle; specially was it so with the women – poor things; they appeared to my imperfect vision a desolation of desolations.

I must confess that I felt more than a little constrained and awkward as I faced my audience, and this was somewhat increased as I went on.
I gave out the first two verses of the old song, “There is a Fountain,” and instead of praying myself, as I intended and ought to have done, I asked Commissioner Railton.

He, instead of asking God for the help of His Holy Spirit and, in general terms, his blessing on the meeting, went off into a dissertation on the incident referred to in the song, affirming that as the thief on the Cross was pardoned and taken into Paradise so had he and his party been taken into Paradise, where we lived and enjoyed ourselves all the time there, informing all present that the same desirable experience was possible to them all – winding up by a burst of tears, such a manifestation as I never saw on his part before during all the 40 years of our acquaintance. . .

Well, Lawley sang, with delightful influence, his song, “Give them a welcome,” and I talked my talk.
After a time I got hold of my strange hearers’ attention and I think their hearts.

At the close I announced that if any would like to be spoken to about their souls, that I was leaving Officers behind me who would gladly see them for that purpose in their cells.

Thirty-one expressed such a wish, and of this number 29 professed repentance and promised to serve God and by His help live a better life.

An evening newspaper telegraphed to him on November 27:

Would you kindly say what you think of Sir Luke White’s suggestion that, with regard to Social Legislation, you should be made a peer?

He replied:

I have not heard of the suggestion referred to, but would certainly be willing to go to the House of Lords, or any other lawful place, if only I could thereby assist the Suffering Classes for whose betterment I have devoted my life.

The simplicity of this answer — the very fact, we mean, that he did not see anything ridiculous in his promotion to the House of Lords, “or any other lawful place”— is characteristic of the man and endears him to the mind. When one reflects, too, on the men who did go to the Lords during William Booth’s lifetime, we may be pardoned for wondering if history will not ask why he remained outside.

Chapter 30

Contents