AFTER a residence of nine months at Barnstaple, I saw clearly it was the Lord’s will that I should go to High Bickington. There was, however, one great difficulty, as no convenient house could be obtained. The health of my beloved wife was fast declining: but her heart was so much set on going there, and as we fondly hoped she might derive benefit from the change, we were content to reside for a time in very incommodious lodgings.
I was prepared to enter on this new field of service as a pilgrim, and was soon made to feel myself one to an extent I had not anticipated. Leaving many dear friends behind, I was cast among strangers, of whom the majority were scorners, immoral, and profane; with only three or four individuals who knew the Lord.
My last evening previous to removal was spent with some dear Christians, who met with me for prayer at the cottage of S—, at Loveacot, At parting. one of them said to me, “I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it;” and it was a word of strength and encouragement to me, as from the Lord Himself. It was much in my thought while journeying the next day to my future home, where my dear wife had preceded me; and it was the text of my first sermon there. It was also prophetically true, as I afterward proved to my great joy.
The Lord, who knew how much I needed encouragement and comfort, was graciously pleased soon to cheer my spirit. I had only arrived a few hours when I was informed of the great change in the conduct of a poor man who had been accustomed to attend the ministry. I called on him immediately, and found him deeply convinced of sin, and anxious to find peace with God, which was ere long granted. He said he had very seldom gone to any place of worship, till he was led from curiosity to go to the. cottage; his usual practice on Lord’s day being to retain his working dress, and seldom even to shave till the evening: much of the afternoon was spent in his pig’s house, where he would sit on a stool and worship his unclean idol, frequently combing it! We need not contemplate a more disgusting picture of moral depravity in this so-called Christian land, yet are there many equally debased.
This man was the first fruit of my labor in the gospel at High Bickington. My beloved wife, during her brief sojourn there, was also used by the Lord in the awakening of a dear girl, who came with some others to a meeting for reading the Scriptures, which she held soon after her arrival.
It was also at this time, when surrounded with outward trials, that the Lord began to teach me somewhat more fully the evils of my own heart. It will appear strange to some, that after having known the Lord nearly twenty years, and having been used by Him as an instrument of blessing to many souls, I should have known but little comparatively of myself. I could not yet understand how the most honored of the apostles could call himself “the chief of sinners,” and “less than the least of all saints.” But the Lord was now opening to me the secret “chambers of imagery,” and causing me to say with Job, in a manner I never did before, “I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear; but now mine eye seeth thee: wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” The Lord knew how greatly I needed this increase of self-knowledge; and while the discipline was deeply painful, I could heartily praise Him for it all, being enabled thereby to minister with greater liberty and clearness the truth of His own word.
The great trial so long anticipated soon came upon me. Within two months after our removal to High Bickington, the Lord was pleased to take my dear wife to Himself. She had previously been carried to her father’s house for the benefit of the kind attentions of her dear sisters, who watched over her with great tenderness. I was now a pilgrim indeed! But great as was my sorrow, it was not permitted to overwhelm me. My six children were scattered, and thus all my domestic joys taken away, just when I was more than ever in a land of strangers. My beloved and very aged mother was also taken hence a few weeks before. I should not notice these family trials, did it not seem necessary, in order to show the peculiar circumstances in which I was placed after entering on a new path of service, with no source of help or dependence, save the living God.
Through the kindness of friends, my dear children were in various ways cared for, by being sent to school, &c.; so that my deep and painful bereavement left me at liberty to give my whole time to the Lord’s work, in pursuing which I found my chief comfort and joy. I had much to be thankful for in this respect. I had taken a large cellar, and fitted it up for preaching the gospel. It accommodated about a hundred persons, though many more crowded within its walls every Lord’s day evening; some of whom from the very commencement evinced their attachment to the gospel.
When I retrace this sorrowful period of my life, I seem to wonder that I was sustained through it; but our poor hearts are very prone to mistrust the power and grace of Him who has promised strength equal to our day. Through His abounding mercy, I was never permitted for one moment to murmur or repine, or to doubt that all was sent in love by Him who is able to do for us “exceeding abundantly above all we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.”
My coming to High Bickington appeared to excite, in no common degree, the enmity of the servants of sin. Many hearts which had hitherto been under the dominion of “the strong man armed” were about to own the sway of Him who is stronger than he, and great efforts were made to retain, them. Vain amusements abounded more during the summer of this year than at any previous period. The village band was often engaged; wrestling and cock-fighting, together with their favorite amusement of bell-ringing, were frequent; and at the annual fair, some low comedians were hired from a distance to take part in a masquerade, which was kept up several successive nights. One of them personifying Satan (who was himself much nearer than they were aware of) and suddenly appearing in the company, one of the party was greatly frightened, and became seriously ill. There seemed to be no bounds to their sin and folly at this season, during which the Lord was working in the hearts of many, the seed of the word having taken root.
I had been there but a few weeks, when it occurred to me, that a service on the morning of the Lord’s day might be useful. I was strongly dissuaded from this, and told that, as the cellar in which we met was close to the gate of the church yard, no one would attend. But feeling assured that it would eventually work for good, it was commenced. At first it was attended by only four or five persons, beside the children of the Sunday school, who were instructed by two young persons, who were the only believers I then knew in the village, except the poor man whose conversion has been related. But the number gradually increased, until, at the end of the summer, we had from twenty to thirty adult hearers, some of whom were hopeful enquirers. On the whole, I had much cause for thankfulness in the prospect before me.
While thus rejoicing in the progress of the Lord’s work, and the sure hope of future blessing on my labors, I was subjected to much scorn and contempt from the openly wicked; one instance of which may be noticed. When once on my way to the evening prayer meeting, I was accosted by the overseer of the parish, who requested me to go before a magistrate; and on my inquiring for what purpose, he said I was but recently come into the parish, where I might perhaps gain a settlement, and eventually be a burden to them by requiring support. He therefore wished me to go and state my circumstances. I expressed my readiness, and asked for his summons. He said he had no summons, but thought I ought to go without requiring one!
This poor man was made drunk for the purpose, and chose a time when the village band was near enough to be within hearing. He was a farmer, and his habits of intemperance had undermined his health. He died not long afterward of consumption. I once called at his house, and endeavored to set the truth of the gospel before him; but my offer to pray was rejected, saying, that he should give offense to his friends by permitting it. How truly was it thus made manifest, that “the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the knowledge of the gospel of Christ should shine unto them.”