Chapter 5: Visit of Richard Knil to Stambourne

Chapter 5.
Visit Of Richard Knill To Stambourne

Charles and James Spurgeon as Playmates—Characteristics of the Elder—The Toy Ships—The Thunderer—Richard Knill at Stambourne—His Work in Foreign Climes—Knill's Mother—An Escape from Drowning—Saturday Evening in the Spurgeons' Best Parlour—Knill's Experience in Madras—His Account of the Great Flood at St. Petersburg—His Prophecy concerning his Young Friend—Permanence of the Friendship.

When Charles and James Spurgeon were boys together they were very much like other children of their age, although in some respect the characteristics of the elder, which at a very early date began to show themselves, were sometimes such as would prove him to be a child above the ordinary standard. Charles seems to have read the Bible for himself with a comprehension beyond his years, and the facts found in Scripture relating to nature and everyday life he made his own, so that the knowledge he possessed of such things in those early days was sufficiently striking to surprise older people who listened to his knowing remarks, and at times possibly corrected their own ignorance.

Charles and James played together; they were greatly attached to each other, but, as there was a difference of three years in their ages, the first must have been almost a man, comparatively speaking, in the eyes of his brother. The younger would, in consequence, take many impressions from the elder, such as would probably have a lasting influence.

Thus, one day the two brothers were seen playing together near some water on which each was sailing his toy ship. They began to talk about the names which should be given to the vessels. Both looked admiringly on the boats, as in their eyes they bore proudly on their way in company, some rare hard service being supposed to be in store for them. Suddenly the features of Charles assumed an expression of determination, and he said with great energy, "I shall call mine The Thunderer." He then went on to explain that if one meant to fight and gain the victory, his vessel must carry a name worthy of the cause in hand. "Yes, I shall call mine The Thunderer!" Of course the younger brother looked on in admiration, and being already content to follow one who was horn to be a leader, he gave his own little man-of-war a humbler name. A memorable event, which relieved the monotony of the days of childhood—if, indeed, the daily round ever had aught of monotony in it—was the visit to Stambourne of the late Richard Knill, who appears to have come as the appointed preacher of the anniversary sermon on behalf of the London Missionary Society. As a traveller of varied experience and adventure, as well as a quondam missionary, and at that time as a pastor, Mr. Knill would be cordially welcomed by the Stambourne minister, who was nearly twelve years the senior of his visitor. Mr. Knill had been engaged in Christian service in India and St. Petersburg successively; and during the latter part of his life he had for a time ministered in what had been the pulpit of Rowland Hill, at Wotton-under-Edge, after which he removed to Chester. He was thus in many ways quite an interesting character to come into a country house in days when books and stories of adventure were not so plentiful as they are at present. Then, above all, the great cause of the London Missionary Society, which the visitor came to plead, was more than enough to make him welcome to such entertainment as the manse afforded.

Old James Spurgeon would naturally be charmed with the company of a man who, though younger than himself, had seen so much more of the world. Mr. Knill, having lived in the far East, as well as in distant northern regions, had much new information to give respecting little-known customs and strange peoples, and the progress of the Gospel amongst them.

However much Mr. Knill might take with his host, however, he appears to have been much more powerfully attracted by the old pastor's grandson, who then must have been passing some of his holidays at Stambourne. He saw something above the commonplace in the bright, speaking eyes of that round-faced child. Then, when the boy was spoken to, there seems to have come a response beyond his years, so that a bond of sympathy presently united the two. At the same time, Mr. Knill may have been drawn towards this engaging child partly because of his yearning love for young people, since his own children had, one by one, been borne to the grave. In the year 1848, which may have been about the date of this visit, Mr. Knill's last surviving son, who had been trained for the Christian ministry, had passed away, leaving in the fond father's heart a void never to be filled. The visit of the missionary preacher probably extended only from Saturday afternoon to Monday; but as the weather was sufficiently genial, he and the little boy passed some time together in the open air. The two knelt together in the great yew arbour at the bottom of the manse garden, when the elder prayed for his child friend in a way that was believed in after years to have drawn down the blessing of heaven. There was conversation also that related to Christ and His cause, which could not but have deeply impressed the boy's susceptible nature. But while the veteran missionary and his young friend are together in the manse garden, or while they quietly ramble along the sweet Stambourne lanes, now in their early summer dress, we shall hardly over-shoot the mark in supposing that the inquisitive child had his wholesome curiosity gratified by hearing something about his mature friend's experience and adventures in the world. Was Charles a lad who had to go to school morning by morning? That had once been the lot of Richard Knill; but in those old days of George III. England was nearly always at war, and the times were altogether harder. How interested little Charles would be in hearing of his friend's providential escape from drowning when a boy; and one may well suppose that the anecdote would be told because the circumstance pointed an obvious moral. Down in Devonshire, at the end of the last century, bridges over running streams were not always considered to be absolutely indispensable; and one such river, which had to be crossed morning and evening when going to and returning from school, had nothing better for the convenience of foot passengers than great blocks of stone, to step aside from which would be to risk drowning. On one occasion, while playing on one of these great blocks, Richard Knill fell in; but as it happened, a poor widow, who was carding wool not far away, heard the splash, and hastened to the rescue of what was then the flaxen-haired little boy. Mr. Knill could tell how the old dame—who, of course, was to him a veritable heroine—had saved him by seizing hold of his curls, so that, at times, there was genuine advantage in having long hair. "She could not read, but she saved my life," the old missionary would add. When the pastor's family and their visitor assembled on the Saturday evening in the best parlour of the Stambourne manse, old James Spurgeon, as an ardent Puritan enthusiast, would naturally be interested in hearing about what was being done in foreign lands. We have no certain record of what passed; but we know fall well that the pastor and his grandson, as well as others who may have been there, would listen spell-bound to such accounts of service and adventure as a man like Knill could give. All this, moreover, would increase their interest in the missionary sermons to be preached in the adjoining meetinghouse on the morrow.

One seems to hear the pastor of Stambourne, his grandson sitting on a hassock at his feet, ask his brother Knill to tell them something about India, as he had known it in the early days of the century, more than thirty years before. Mr. Knill knew a good deal about life in Madras as he had found it in the year 1816, when it was the fashion for nominally Christian Europeans to lead very unworthy lives. On a certain Sunday, after service, soon after he arrived in the city, the missionary dined with a number of military officers, whose habits reflected the condition of society in general. "The wine passed round merrily; they pressed me to drink. I politely declined. The captain said, 'When you are at Rome you must do as Rome does.' I said, 'Captain, if you urge me to drink I will write to your sister about it, and what will she say?' The snare was broken. 'Well,' said he, 'do as you please.' They related soldiers' stories, and I related missionary stories, and by way of application I said: 'Gentlemen, we are going to build a girls' school in Black Town, near our chapel, to correspond with the boys' school, and as this is the first visit I have paid, I should like to make it memorable by your becoming the first contributors. Give me something for a foundation stone.' They cheerfully responded, and sent me home in the captain's palanquin with £15 towards the girls' school. From that time the captain became a regular attendant at chapel, and sometimes ten or twelve officers came with him."

Mr. Knill could talk not only of India, but of Russia; for he was in St. Petersburg at the time of the memorable overflowing of the Neva in November, 1824, and also daring the terrible outbreak of cholera in 1830. Had the little boy, who was so interested in all that was taking place in this old Essex village, ever heard of the storm of fire which nearly two thousand years before had overtaken the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii? If so, his new friend, Mr. Knill, had actually lived in the Russian capital, which, as a great modern city, might possibly one day be overtaken by a flood that would allow none of the hundreds of thousands of inhabitants to escape from death, any more than those in the ancient towns were able to get away from the overwhelming fire.

What the missionary once related concerning the flood in the Russian city is a sample of the anecdotes with which he was able to entertain friends at home in England while sitting as a guest at their firesides:—"The wind was high, and the waters rose very much, so that guns were fired to warn the inhabitants of those apartments which were nearly on a level with the river. The next morning the guns fired again, as the waters had greatly increased. About ten a.m. some of the streets near the Neva were beginning to be covered; but the people would not believe that the waters could rise much higher, forty-seven years having rolled away since the city was inundated. By half-past ten it was too late to attempt the removal of any property, and all the people were thrown into confusion. Those who could run, ran; and those who could not, cried for deliverance from immediate death. In some instances assistance reached the sufferers, but in many more they were suffocated by the flood. By two p.m. the city presented a scene the most awful that can be conceived. Every place was deserted. There was nothing visible that had life, and the streets were occupied by ships, and boats, and watch-houses, and floating trees, and even coffins from the cemeteries, with property of various kinds. Several entire villages were carried away, with the exception of a cottage here and there to make known where they once stood."

Such was the man who came to the old manse at Stambourne to preach the missionary sermons between forty and fifty years ago, and such were the things he was able to relate from his own varied experience when opportunity offered. We are interested in him because he appears really to have been the first who entered the village with an eye of sufficient discernment to detect the uncommon genius of young Charles Haddon Spurgeon. Mr. Knill had never before heard a child of his little friend's years read the Scriptures at family prayer with such effect; and he had a presentiment, for which he could not account, that the little fellow before him was destined to undertake distinguished service in the Church. All have heard of the striking prophecy that his young friend would grow up to proclaim the Gospel to multitudes; and how he asked that when he preached for the first time in Surrey Chapel he would allow the people to sing Cowper's familiar hymn, "God moves in a mysterious way." All that the devoted ex-missionary had spoken of, and much more besides, at last came to pass; and no one was more delighted with Mr. Spurgeon's early successes than the friend who had met with the future great preacher at his grandfather's manse, had prayed with him, and had admired him as a child of remarkable promise. "I know him!" cried Richard Knill, when news of the vast crowds attending Mr. Spurgeon's services reached Chester; and Mr. Spurgeon still knew and loved Richard Knill. The friendship commenced at Stamboume continued until the old missionary's death in 1857, at the age of seventy. Both the missionary and his younger friend appear to have looked upon their first meeting at Stambourne as quite providential; and although the striking prophecy to the effect that the little boy would one day preach in Rowland Hill's chapel may have helped to bring about its own fulfilment, the episode, as a whole, is sufficiently remarkable to warrant particular notice.