Early Days
If the reader, in the course of a summer excursion, have sailed along the fine southern shore of the Bristol Channel, and, passing the rocks of Lynton and Ilfracombe, have turned into the Bay of Bideford to meet the tide of the “two notable rivers” which, in the words of Risdon, the antiquary, “there, hand in hand, with mutual affection, slip into the sea,” he must have noticed two plains of considerable extent, stretching from the sea-line to the foot of the wooded hills. The one on the right hand, being guarded by the singular oceanbuilt breakwater, known as the “Pebble-Ridge,” presents a noble sheet of pasturage for the flocks of the neighbouring farms; while the one on the left hand, though not so verdant, covers the forest of a former time, in which, according to the firm testimony of tradition, a hardy preacher of the fourth century 2 (13)
proclaimed the gospel. The determined zeal and fruitful toils of this primitive evangelist have imprinted his name on the parish church of St. Braunock’s, as well as on the village or township of Braunton, which lies embosomed in orchards in a picturesque adjacent valley.
In the modern community of this place, the father of the missionary whose life is delineated in the folio u’ing pages held a somewhat prominent position. He inherited from his ancestors, who had been known for many generations in the parish, a capacity for nearly all kinds of business. His original trade was that of a carpenter, but, by the help of a small patrimony, he gradually relinquished that occupation for pursuits more agreeable to his discursive genius. While he would occasionally plan and work at the construction of a house, he would be found equally at home valuing the timber of an estate, selling a farming stock, making the draught of a lease, or drawing up the will and testament of a dying neighbour. These useful services, united with a tall person, a benevolent countenance, and a goodly wig, procured for him the familiar but respectful title of” The Counsellor.’’ He married Mary-Tucker, a woman of superior education and excellent judgment, the daughter of a substantial neighbouring farmer, distinguished for kindness to the poor and general hospitality.
Richard, named after his father, the youngest of their four children, was born at Braunton, on the 14th April, 1787. The only incident of his childhood which has come down to us was one which nearly cost him his life. On his way to school, the boy had to cross a stream spanned by a bridge of two flat stones. On attempting one day to ascertain how far he could push a stick under this structure, he overbalanced himself and fell in. The splash reached the ear of a poor widow, carding wool by her cottage door. On looking up, she spied a child’s hat on the surface of the stream, and darting to the spot, drew the little owner, by his flaxen locks, from under the bridge. Molly Robins was never forgotten by Mr. Knill.
She could not read,” he would say characteristically, “but she saved my life: feeble powers, if well employed, will do wonders.” Braunton owed little to its reliQ:ious instruc-EARLY DAYS.
tors. Its inhabitants generally lived in moral darkness, though, in addition to the parish church, it had had a community of Nonconformists from the earliest period possible after the Act of Uniformity in 1662. The parents of Richard Knill resembled their neighbours, and Tsere not prepared, at the time when he was committed to their charge, to direct him in the path of life.
“But,” says he, in the reminiscences, which shall now be largely quoted, “God remembered them in their low estate. A young man, named Joseph Evans, the son of a farmer, who had been for some years in Barnstaple, came home and opened a shop. He gave notice to a few of his friends that he should have a religious service at his house on Sunday evenings. It was much ridiculed by the people generally, but my beloved mother, who had known Mr. Evans from a child, attended his meeting. There the Holy Ghost applied the word with such power to her soul that she could not stay away. The Lord Jesus Christ became very precious. She rejoiced with joy unspeakable. My father was highly displeased at this; and I never recollect his speaking unkindly to my mother, except about this change in her religion. But she sought comfort in prayer; and would often take me with her into her chamber, and say, ‘Kneel down with me, my dear, and I will pray with you; your father and your brothers will not join me.’ I wondered why she wept so, and where she got such remarkable prayers for my father and the family; but I understand it now, and I have good reason to believe that her prayers for them have been answered, and that she has met them all in heaven, except myself, and I trust, through rich, distinguishing grace, she will meet me there also. Blessed be God for a praying mother.”
“In my thirteenth year,” he continues,” I was apprenticed to business, and in my seventeenth year finished my apprenticeship, and went abroad into the wide world to make my fortune. I proceeded to Ilfracombe, and Barnstaple, and Bristol, for improvement, and so far I succeeded; but I cannot look back to these early travels without a pang. ‘Evil communications corrupt good manners.’ In
the midst of wicked old men, and wicked young men, I forgot the prayers of my pious mother, and became fond of singing foolish songs, and breaking the Sabbath, thus stifling the voice of conscience, and fighting against God; and all this before I was twenty. My fondness for music was a great snare to me. The devil often took advantage of it to lead me into company. At last I began to fancy that if I enlisted into the militia I should soon get into the band, and then it would be music and songs all the year round. Accordingly, I enlisted. This nearly broke my mother’s heart. ‘Now,’ said she, ’ body and soul are lost; oh! what can be done?’ Mr. Evans’ the dear friend who led my mother to Jesus, called on my parents to sympathise with them, and offered to try and procure my discharge. Their hearts were full of joy at his offer. Mr. Evans immediately waited on Colonel Bevis, an intimate friend of Earl Fortescue, the Lord-Lieutenant of the country. He told the colonel the story, described the feelings of my parents, and offered any money that might be needful. * I will do it,’ said the colonel; ’ but you must
get a substitute, and keep Knill out of the way until the matter is settled.’ It was a mighty struggle,^ but it succeeded; and it is affecting for me to know, that the young man who became my substitute soon volunteered into ’ the regulars,’ and was killed in the heat of battle; perhaps, as my mother said about me, ’ body and soul were lost.^
“During the proceedings with the colonel, I was shut up. Mr. Evans gave me a room, and I came down night and morning at family prayer. This was a new and strange scene to me. I had never been present at a family prayer in my life. The first night that I was in this good man’s house, about nine o’clock lie rang the bell, and his shopmen and servants all came in to the parlour and sat down. I looked with surprise, and wondered what was coming next. When all were seated, he opened
* The mighty struggle is said, by an early companion of Mr. Knill, to have arisen in part from the dissatisfaction of the major with the substitute accepted by the colonel. Knill, being upwards of six feet high, had been placed among the grenadiers, but the substitute being shorter could not occupy his place. The colonel insisting on his right to admit a man of the minimum height, produced a permanent coolness between himself and his brother officer.
his Bible and read a portion, and thus let God speak to his household. They then arose and fell upon their knees. The sight overpowered me. I trembled; I almost fainted. At last I kneeled down too. I thought of my past life; I thought of my present position; I thought, Can such a guilty creature be saved? I heard but little of my kind friend’s prayer. All my soul seemed turned in upon myself. My conscience said — ‘This is how true Christians live; but how have I lived? God has not been in all my thoughts; but now I will begin to seek mercy.’
“I went to bed that night as I never had gone before. On entering the room, I looked around for a Bible, but found none. There was a copy of ‘Doddridge’s Hymns’ on the table, some verses of which I read on my knees, by the bed-side, and then poured out my heart in broken prayers, and went to bed. This was just when I had completed my twentieth year. I have never gone to Barnstaple of late years, without going to weep over the hallowed spot where God fastened the arrows of conviction in my heart.”
“There was from that time,” he writes in 1812, “a great alteration in my outward conduct, and I could not commit sin without stings of conscience; yet I was a stranger to that godly sorrow which worketh ’ repentance which needeth not to be repented of.’” But a new residence was to conduct to a glorious change. “Mrs. Isaac, of Bideford,” he says, “wanted a person to conduct her business, and to instruct her only son, a youth a little younger than myself. I was recommended to her, and agreed to go.”
For some time after this removal, which occurred in March, 1808, he continued to attend the services of the Established Church either at Braunton or at Bideford, but gave no indications of religious progress until he made the acquaintance of Mr. Thomas Spencer, a young man who resided next door to him. Mr. Spencer, while walking in his master’s garden, repeatedly heard his neighbour’s fine voice in song, and conceived that it would be of service both to the congregation and to himself if he could induce him to attend the ministry of the Rev. Samuel Rooker. In this he happily sue*
ceeded. The songs of the world were exchanged for those of Zion, and every week the ministry of Mr. Rooker served to bring some fresh meaning to his strains. “Mr. Rooker,’- it is said in the reminiscences, “was a holy man of God and a sound theologian, deeply read in the old divines. A hungry soul could feed and thrive on his ministry, and an inquiring spirit could find rest. It was just what I needed for nursing my incipient piety, expanding my religious views, and fitting me for active service.”
The church was at this period, it seems, in a languid state — inclined to repose on the tradition of former prosperity, and on the reputation of its then recently deceased pastor, the Rev. Samuel Lavington. Mr. Rooker had succeeded this excellent man, his father-in-law, as the sole pastor of the church, about three years before, and was anxiously desiring better times. A sermon which he preached at the celebration of the jubilee of George III, on the 25th of October, 1809, was accompanied by an unusual impression; and a report of it, from Mr. Knill’s pen, having found its way into the preacher’s hands, he was led to seek the acquaintance of the writer, and to begin a life-long friendship fraught with rich blessings.
It was about eight months after this incident that the two friends, Knill and Spencer, sought admission into the church. They were hailed by Mr. Rooker in a fine paternal address, founded on the words, “I have drawn thee with cords of love and with the bands of a man,” and the impulse which the little community received from the accession was of the happiest description. Meetings for devotional purposes, which had subsided into formality, were revived; and there was,” says a contemporary, “an earnestness, an unction, and a breathing after holiness in Mr. KnilFs prayers which went to the hearts of others.” A Sunday-school had existed for some years under * the care of an illiterate teacher, and had been reduced to an almost nominal attendance, when, about a fortnight after the addition of the new members, Mr. Rooker proposed that the then novel system of voluntary instruction should be tried. Knill and his companion seized the idea, and threw their new-born en-EARLY DAYS.
ergies into the work. The poor old teacher’s salary was continued; but a staff of young persons of both sexes assumed the duties, and the school sprung into a new existence.*
The anniversaries of the institution were seasons of great interest, which the pastor watchfully applied to the highest ends. His discourse on the 20th of Sept., 1811, deserves particular commemoration. As a contrast to the advantages of an early Christian education, he read some passages from “Buchanan’s Christian Researches in the East,” a book which was then awakening great attention in the country. As he went over the thrilling
* For several particulars in this part of the Darrative, the Editor is indebted to an interesting paper relative to the origin of the Bideford Sunday-schools, drawn up by a lady who was one of the first teachers, and who happily survives to maintain her early habits of usefulness. A curious illustration of the difficulties encountered in those times is thus given: — “Mr. Newcomen, an eminently pious and benevolent man, of good property, having read of Joseph Lancaster’s plan of educating children by mutual instruction, ordered the books and lessons with the view of establishing such a school in Bideford; but being told it would injure the poor old women who got their living by teaching children, and who could not earn a subsistence in any other way, he relinquished the attempt.” picture of the pilgrims to Juggernaut, and recounted facts which some judged too revolting for the ears of an English auditory, one of the teachers, sitting in the aisle at the head of his class, was noticed with large moistened eyes fixed on the preacher, and his manly open countenance beaming with mingled wonder and compassion. “It was,” said he, long afterwards, “like a spark on tinder. It set me on fire to go to the heathen. I did not know of missionary societies, but my thoughts were set to work, and I borrowed books and informed my mind on the subject. I was afraid to mention my impressions to my pastor, but they smouldered until the Lord’s time came.”
Mr. Knill, in later life, communicated to a small periodical an account of an incident, which it is difficult to imagine as having occurred at this advanced period of his profession; but the most careful comparison of events does not admit of its earlier insertion. If this is its proper place, it will afford a warning all the more striking to young persons of a social and trusting temperament. On his way to the school one Sabbath morn-EARLY DAYS.
ing, lie was met by three of his former companions, who said they were bound on an excursion up the river, on which the early sun was beautifully gleaming. Partly by sarcasm and partly by entreaty, they induced him to join their party. The boat glided up the stream, and had scarcely shut out the town behind the richly-wooded banks, when “the church bell rung out,” the narrator says, “signifying to the inhabitants that it was nine o’clock, and that, by and by, divine service would commence. The sound of the bell vibrated sweetly on the undulating wave, and produced a tranquillizing effect on three of the party, but to the fourth it was perfect agony. Perhaps a poor condemned criminal, on the morning of his execution, hears the prison-clock strike which warns him of the fatal hour, with just the same feelings as this young man heard the nine o’clock bell. That well-known sound had been to him, for months past, the signal for commencing the Sunday-school, and now the whole of the Sunday-school proceedings spread out before the eye of his mind. His conscience was very busy: the Spirit set his guilty conduct in terrible array before him. He fancied he heard the children sing, the teacher pray, the school business begin, and every man at his post but one, and that was himself. In vain did his companions laugh, and banter him, and try to cheer him. No — God had smitten him; and a wounded spirit who can bear? They had taken some musical instruments with the mwith an intention to play; but his harp was now unstrung, and the whole day was spent by him in perfect misery. If he could have jumped ashore he would have done it, but he could not; yet one thing he did, and it was worth doing. He solemnly resolved never to break the Sabbath again, and never more to associate with those who fear not God, but to come out from among them and be separate; and God has enabled him to perform this vow.”
After this, his deepened convictions of duty found expression in various efforts after usefulness, one of which he thus describes: —” The North Devon Local Militia was about to be disbanded at Barnstaple. The regiment consisted of one thousand men, who were soon to
return to their families in almost every parish of the north division of the county. Mr. Mills, with whom I had become acquainted through the Barnstaple Sunday-school, said to me, ‘What a noble opportunity there is for distributing religious tracts in all the dark villages around! The regiment will give us a thousand distributers, if we can only get them conveyed to the men.’ I said, ‘How can it be done? ‘To which he answered, ‘I have not nerve enough to give the tracts to the soldiers; but I will furnish you with the tracts, if you will circulate them.” Agreed.’ The tracts were obtained, and I set about my work. The men were assembled in the barrack-yard, waiting for the signal to deliver up their arms. I made my way to the Pioneers, who stood at the right, and said, ‘Friends, will you take home a beautiful little book to your families?’ They joyfully received them. I next came to the band. I took ‘Christ the only Refuge from the Wrath to Come,’ and offered it to the master. He looked at me, and said ‘I understand that you go about converting people; can you convert me?’ I replied, ‘It is not in my power to convert people; but if it were, the first person I would convert, sir, should be Serjeant Reynolds.” Well,’ said he, * that is plain enough.” Yes,’ I added, ’ and it is sincere too. Now, this tract may convert you, Serjeant; it was written by that great man, Mr. Hervey, who wrote “Meditations among the Tombs.”” Ah,’ said he, ‘I have read that book, and I will take your tract and read it too.’ This was just what I wanted, for immediately all the musicians took tracts. I proceeded next to the grenadiers, who were all pleased, until I came to one merry-andrew kind of a fellow. He took the tract and held it up, swore at it, and asked, ‘Are you going to convert me?’ I said, ‘Don’t swear at the tract; you cannot hurt the tract, but swearing will injure your soul.” Who are you? ’ he exclaimed. ‘Form a circle round him,’ said he to his comrades, ’ and I will swear at him.’ They did so: he swore fearfully, and I wept. The tears moved the feelings of the other men, and they said, ‘Let him go; he means to do us good.’ So I distributed my thousand tracts, and left them in the care of Him who said, ‘My word y shall not return unto me void.’ Many years after I Lad taken leave of these soldiers, I returned from India to my native country, and visited Ilfracombe. There I was invited to preach in the open air, a few miles distant. Preparations were made for my visit; and during the time that I was preaching, I saw a tall, grey-headed man in the crowd, weeping, and a tall young man, who looked like his son, standing by his side, and weeping also. At the conclusion of the service, they both came up to me, and the father said, ‘Do you recollect giving tracts to the local militia at Barnstaple some years ago V ‘Yes.’ Do you recollect anything particular of that distribution?” Yes; I recollect one of the granadiers swore at me till he made me weep.” Stop,’ said he; ’ oh, sir, I am the man. I never forgave myself for that wicked act. But I hope it has led me to repentance, and that God has forgiven me. And now, let me ask, will you forgive me?’ It quite overcame me for the moment, and we parted with a prayer that we might meet in heaven. Is not this encouragement? May we not well say, one tract may save a soul?”
The piety, tact, and courage which he thus early exhibited, awakened in the minds of Mr. Knill’s friends the idea that he might be destined for the Christian ministry. The Rev. William Rooker, of Tavistock, brother of his excellent pastor, when on a visit to Bideford, asked him whether his desires tended towards that work. To this he replied, that while he scarcely dared to admit the fact, and could see no way of accomplishing such an object, the wish to be wholly consecrated to the publication of the gospel occupied all his thoughts. The path was soon opened; and he proceeded for classical and theological study to the Western Academy.