Regent Hall, Oxford Street - Salvation Army

(From The Christian World)

At seven o'clock, Mr Booth and some of his friends took their places, and the proceedings began in tremendous earnest. A hymn was sung with a chorus consisting of some such words as:

"Here's my hand and here's my heart for Jesus."

The Salvationists held up their hands when repeating these words, and as they proceeded from verse to verse, to a ringing, galloping sort of tune, with the band playing with might and main, the excitement seemed to become more fast and furious; hundreds of handkerchiefs were waved, and some scores actually danced as they sang. I may add that these persons were well out of the range of the General's eye.

This was startling, almost shocking, perhaps to a person of sober and possibly critical and fastidious habits of mind. But a little quiet careful observation soon convinced me that this was but the surface--the rippling, flashing, perhaps babbling surface—of what was in truth, so far as man can judge, a very deep, strong current of devout feeling and religious life, and I could not help remembering that when the people of Jerusalem saw the disciples on the day of Pentecost, their first impression was that they were drunk, although they afterwards found that the power of God was upon them. And as I watched the faces of these people I could see what a transformation had taken place in many of them. Faces that had been worn and weary were now radiant with the ardour of hope and joy; religion had come to them like a great light amidst a dark, earthly lot, and they exulted in it with the rapture of a new and inestimable discovery.

It is unusual in these days, so far as my experience goes, to meet with people whose religion makes them jubilant, and the impression produced by such a sight is a curiously new sensation, to say the least. There are some old psalms, it is true, which say a good deal about being glad, and rejoicing in the Lord; but if anybody thinks it an anachronism to have such feelings or to express them in the nineteenth century, it is not my business to argue with him. I have more than enough to do to describe what I saw. A brighter, happier looking congregation I have certainly never seen than that which was formed by these Salvationists, and not a few of them - it needed no diviner's power to judge - were such as, but for The Salvation Army would in all probability have been on the high road to ruin and in the midst of misery.

Several short prayers were offered, interspersed with hymns or snatches of hymns, which the people sang upon their knees. Bonar's hymn—

"I came to Jesus as I was,"

was evidently a favourite, and was sung with much feeling and even sweetness. A hymn, with the stirring refrain, "Christ for me," was sung by all, standing and with the utmost enthusiasm. Then a passage of Scripture was read, and Mr Booth proceeded to introduce some of the

"Trophies of Salvation."

Who were announced to speak. The first was a "Converted Comic Singer," a pale, thin little man, who probably looked miserable enough when engaged in his old calling. He had very likely been one of the lesser lights of some vulgar music-hall. He began a sort of topical song of a religious character, and although much could not be said for the solo part, the chorus was led with the skill of a practised hand, and was sustained with enthusiasm. The little man sat down, having won a considerable measure of sympathy.

After more singing, a young man was introduced as "Happy Jack," a converted prize-fighter, from Chester." He was a broad-set young man, with a pleasant, honest face. He began by singing some verses of his own composition, with a chorus entreating sinners to-

"Come and sail to glory in our Hallelujah boat."

and then with a good deal of point and simplicity gave in a brief sketch of his history. His parents were good people, and lived in London. He had pursued a wild course, and had taken to prize-fighting in addition to his usual occupation, which was that of a hodman. Drink and evil companions were ruining him and his mother told him that he was breaking her heart. Four months ago he was converted through the agency of The Salvation Army, and he gave a touching account of his meeting with his parents since this change, of their incredulity and surprise, and of their discovery that a "new Jack" had come back to them.

The next "trophy" was an old woman of eighty-three, who had been in prison 240 times for drunkenness. Poor old woman, she looked really bright and happy now, and it was impossible not to believe her when she told us, in her broad Yorkshire dialect, that she had got "a new heart, new clothes, and new everything." Then there was a lad described as having been reputed "the greatest blackguard in Peckham." He did not seem to be more than about nineteen, and looked as if he might have been one of those reckless, noisy, and vulgar hobbledehoys which form a noticeable element in every London crowd. With a great deal of fervour and apparent sincerity he told us how he had been converted six months ago, and how he had "carried on" before that change took place.

Then followed a man, formerly notorious in Staffordshire as "the Tipton Devil," who looked, with his strongly-marked features and sport-cropped hair, as if he might well have been desperate character, ready for drink, burglary, or any violence. But he, too, was changed, and his face was radiant with joy, while his simple, earnest testimony, in the brogue of his county, carried with it conviction of the speaker's sincerity. It was the simple story of a rough life, cursed by drink and brutality, transformed by the power of the love of Christ.

The last speaker was "A Converted Infidel," whose voice failed to reach the people, and whose remarks were therefore taken up and repeated by Mr Booth. He was an elderly, intelligent-looking man, and had been converted through the prayers and example of his wife and daughter, who had first become connected with The Salvation Army. And so, in such engagements, the time passed very quickly, and when the exigencies of trains compelled me to leave, it was already well on for ten o'clock, and the proceedings were drawing to a close, although certainly not from flagging of interest or exhaustion of enthusiasm.

(Our visitor was not present at the Sunday morning Knee-drill, nor at the forenoon service, but came again in the afternoon to attend the)

Service by Mrs Booth.

She has considerable faculty as a speaker, and can be argumentative, impassioned, tender, and even humorous, by turns. Her voice and action are good, and her earnestness of spirit obvious, and sometimes overpowering; and as I listened to her, It seemed to me that anybody who ventured to raise the question of the propriety of preaching by women, in relation to this case, would be simply guilty of impertinence.

The lesson read was the chapter on Ezekiel's Vision of the Valley of Dry Bones, and Mrs Booth made some pointed and telling comments as she went on. When she came to the words, "There was a noise and a shaking," she said, somewhat drily, "You see, wherever a resurrection is going on, there is a noise; God Himself cannot have a resurrection without a noise."  The allusion to the Salvation Army methods was caught at once by the congregation, and evidently much appreciated. Rising, then, with the progress of the sublime chapter, Mrs Booth dwelt for a moment on the thought of the "exceeding great army," which, at length, rose up out of the valley to stand before God.

Her face kindled with enthusiasm, as she affirmed that the process of resurrection was going on, the vision was finding its spiritual fulfilment, she could already hear the tramp of the great army, catch the strains of its music, and feel the mighty pulse of its life; and anticipated the final and complete triumph, which it would win for the King of Glory, the Everlasting Lord.

Mrs Booth announced as her text the words, "The Son of Man came to save that which was lost." Upon this she preached a most impressive sermon, which occupied about forty minutes in delivery, and riveted the attention of the vast congregation from the first sentence to the last. First, she asked, Who are the lost? The lost were those who were spiritually dead, and spiritual death meant the separation of the soul from God. The signs of this condition, to be observed on every hand in daily life, were touchingly portrayed. Proceeding to ask how Jesus went about his work of saving the lost, Mrs Booth dwelt upon the thought, first, that he gave himself up for them; secondly He laid aside everything which could have impeded his task; and thirdly, that he threw himself personally into this service, and did not shrink from the last act of self-sacrifice in order to accomplish it. The points were developed, and illustrated, and enforced, and urged with passionate energy and a persuasive eloquence, which evidently deeply moved the audience, and which must have exhausted the speaker, who, although her self-command was complete, sat down at last apparently overcome by sympathy and emotion. It was altogether a remarkable service, and everybody seemed to go away thoughtful and subdued.

A Sunday Evening Meeting.

In the evening there was an immense crowd, not only in the Building but in Oxford Street. It was estimated that the crowd outside consisted of, at least, five thousand persons, and at intervals, those of us who were inside could hear what sounded like the howling, and hooting, and surging of the mob. I afterwards learned that our ears had not deceived us, and that a dangerous crowd of roughs had been disporting themselves in the streets, and only been kept from pressing into the Hall by a band of policemen. In leaving the meeting, at half-past eight, I passed through the turbulent multitude, a large proportion of which seemed to consist of those wild, lawless lads whose liberty to make our streets hideous and dangerous has lately called forth the indignant protest of Mr Justice Hawkins. The meeting was to a large extent a repetition of that of Saturday night, the audience, however, consisting in much greater proportion of the general public than on that occasion. Mr Booth conducted the proceedings in a totally unconventional manner; prayers, hymns, addresses, testimonies and the reading of scripture succeeding each other in no set order. One or two "trophies" added their testimony to those of the previous evening. One of these was a woman from Yorkshire, who told us, in her uncouth, native dialect, in most pathetic terms, how she had been rescued by The Salvation Army "out of the gutter:" another was a lady, who narrated with much impressiveness, and with the voice and manner of a person of education, how she had been saved, not " out of the gutter, but out of the easy-chair." I was compelled to leave at about twenty minutes to nine, just when Mr Booth was inviting people to come to the penitent-form.

As I hastened through the great thoroughfares of the West-end, the pathways of which were thronged with foot passengers. I could not but feel that there was abundant scope in the mighty City for such an agency as that of The Salvation Army. Like other organisations, it no doubt has its weak points and its dangers. I must say that I heard nothing on any of these three occasions which could be reasonably objected to and I heard very much which was profoundly impressive. Now and then a strong word was spoken about the danger of hell-fire to which sinners were exposed; but it cannot be said that the Salvationists appear not to believe that doctrine. They speak and act in their services, at any rate, like people who are convinced of the necessity of fleeing from the wrath to come, and, what is more, like people who believe in the love of God, and in the greatness of his redemption of the world. People may tell me that they are the victims of delusion, hypocrisy, and excitement, but for the present I don't believe it, and I am sorry for those who do.

(If the writer had been able to stay and see the seekers of Salvation at the penitent-form, he could only have been more strongly impressed with this.)

From, "The War Cry," page 1, 6th April 1882.