Chapter 4: Childhood

Chapter 3.
James Spurgeon Of Stambourne The Last of the Puritans"—Hereditary Rheumatism—Job Spurgeon in Chelmsford Gaol—The Old Pastor of Stambourne—His Characteristics—His Training for the Ministry—Stam-bourne and its Surroundings—The Hervey Family—Henry Havers, Founder of the Independent Congregation—Settlement of James Spurgeon at Stambourne—The Days of War and of dear Bread—A Village Greatheart—Special Providences—Charles and his Grandfather—Visits to the Squire at Stambourne Hall—Resisting the Devil—A Relic of an older World—The old Pastor's Refusal to visit London—A last Link between the Old Times and the New.

When a man preached, talked, and dressed like old Mr. James Spurgeon, the Independent pastor of Stambourne, it was quite natural that people should think and speak of him as one of the last of the Puritans. As I have heard his chief remaining grandson explain, the veteran preacher, when between eighty and ninety years of age, would significantly rub his knees as he sat by the fire, and give expression to the apprehension that rheumatism would, after all, bring him to a premature end. The rheumatism was hereditary; and though some may trace it back only as far as the time of Job Spurgeon, already mentioned, who for conscience sake was confined in Chelmsford Gaol during some weeks of wintry weather in the reign of Charles II., it is more than probable that the refugees of a century earlier brought the affection with them from the Netherlands. A correspondent of The Christian World has made these references to Mr. Spurgeon and his grandfather:—

"Down in Essex, where I paid a visit one day last autumn, near Kelvedon, I heard that Mr. Spurgeon was regarded as a boy as somewhat shy and reticent, if not, indeed, somewhat morose! As a matter of fact, no doubt he was drinking in everything he heard and saw, to be given forth again, however, with good interest when the time came. He was largely brought up by his grandfather, who was for fifty years Independent minister at Stambourne, and a shrewd, clever old man he appears to have been, whom local tradition regards as the origin—as far as wit and wisdom are concerned, at all events—of that famous personage, John Ploughman."

Old Mr. James Spurgeon was something more than an uncompromising champion of evangelical teaching; he had the old-fashioned habits of the older world in which he had passed his youth and early manhood. Like all veterans of the school to which he belonged, he may probably have had some deeply-rooted prejudices, but he inherited all the strong affections which were characteristic of the Puritan stock from which he had descended. James Spurgeon of Stambourne was of metal not a whit inferior to that of his valiant ancestor, Job Spurgeon. It was of the quality out of which martyrs are made. At whatever time or in whatever form the enemy might appear, James Spurgeon knew not what was meant by showing "the white feather." He was not superstitious; but he no more doubted the existence of a personal devil than his own. The Evil One was not only a real adversary, he was one to be resisted at any cost and at every turn. He might thwart the pastor's best endeavours during the week; he might be found following him up the pulpit stairs with perplexing suggestions on the Sabbath; but no weapons which such a foe could employ could prevail. The congregation were in full sympathy with their pastor; what he preached and practised they carried with them into the world and its everyday life. Nothing was ever said in the pulpit or believed in the pew save what had been thoroughly well tested. It was a rare instance of Puritan fervour burning on through two centuries; and if there had ever been any want of harmony between the Established Church and the Independent Chapel in earlier days, all had given place to peace and friendship in the days of James Spurgeon. The two congregations had much in common; the clergyman and the Nonconformist preacher were fast friends. Depict the village as it was half a century ago, and you have a picture of English country life at its best. In the opening years of this century Mr. James Spurgeon had been a student at Hoxton Academy, where ministerial candidates were trained for service among Nonconformists. At midsummer, 1804, he was sent to supply the pulpit at the Independent chapel at Clare, a Suffolk town which dates back to Saxon times, and which has an ancient church, and formerly had a strong castle. Mr. James Spurgeon accepted the pastorate at Clare in the summer of 1806, but four years later he removed to Stambourne, where he remained till his death in 1864.

Stambourne? Of course the reader does not know the locality. It is not even a place one goes past in the train, as there is no railway station. Book to Yeldham on the Great Eastern Railway, and you will have less than three miles to walk; but if you like to alight at Halstead, the post-town of the villages thereabout, you will enjoy a fine cross-country excursion of eight miles. If you do not know the country, be careful in regard to the roads, and ask yourself if you can answer questions such as Mr. Spurgeon might himself have put to you, if in conversation you had aroused his interest by confessing you were a native, or by professing to be tolerably well acquainted with the country. In Mr. Spurgeon's childhood days there was an oak at Great Yeldham which all curious sight-seers went to see, and which, in the days of its prime, before it died of old age, measured thirty feet in circumference four feet from the ground. Toppesfield, two miles farther on in a north-westerly direction, enjoyed some local notoriety on account of the Roman relics which had been unearthed. Wethersfield is also an interesting place, with an ancient church. Finchingfield, on an affluent of the River Pant, was the parish in which the East Essex hounds used to meet when the little boy Charles felt such an interest in their exploits. The manor belonged of old to John de Compes, who received it for the distinguished service of turning the spit at the coronation of Edward III. Steeple, not far away, belongs chiefly to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Then Hempstead had its Great Oak; and in this parish, too, was Winchlow Hall, belonging to the family of William Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood.

Such were the surroundings of Stambourne. When you actually arrive in the village, the ancient parish church, with its Norman tower, will be an object of interest; so, also, will the comfortable old mansion called Stambourne Hall. The labourers' cottages, which are gradually becoming tenantless one after the other, will probably inspire more uncomfortable reflections; but as we are concerned with the past rather than with the present, no reflection need be made on that unwelcome symptom of the decay of rural industry. Another thing to be regretted is the disappearance of the old manse in which James Spurgeon lived, and the meetinghouse, on the same ground, in which for nearly sixty years he preached the Gospel.

It is pleasant to think of Stambourne as of a typical Essex village; but apart from that the history of this quiet retreat, lying, as it were, aside from the thronged highway of modern life and progress, illustrates some of the best phases of English rural life. In the seventeenth century there was probably no one in the country who more ardently loved the Established Church than Henry Havers, who, as ex-rector of the parish, founded the original Nonconformist chapel, in which the Common Prayer was read until the reign of George II. was far advanced. As a man of substance, he founded the church which has flourished until the present day under nine successive pastors, and he took care to place the property in the hands of trustees. When the late James Spurgeon settled in this retired sphere in 1810 he little thought that he would be the man to give new interest to a settlement which already could offer some attractions to historical inquirers. The times were hard as well as threatening; for just about the date that the pastor's eldest son—the present Rev. John Spurgeon—was born, wheat rose in price in England to a guinea a bushel, and in some counties even some shillings higher. Despite all drawbacks, however, there have been persons living in those days who were wont to speak of these as the good old times.

Under James Spurgeon, the old fashions of former days held on until long after the accession of the present Queen; and an extant diary written fifty years ago we might suppose to have been composed by some Puritan Greatheart of the Commonwealth era. The writer might occasionally feel the chill of a passing cloud, but his sun could never be really eclipsed. His faith was far-seeing and steadfast; his piety was as healthy as a palm-tree refreshed by perennial springs. James Spurgeon was always himself, and that means that he was unlike any other man who lived in England during the first half of this century. He seems to have been made for country service, and it is not likely that he would ever have succeeded so well amid the more crowded life and excitement of a town.

Many special providences would happen in the life of such a man, and one of the most signal of these was when grandfather and grandson were brought together under the same roof. The two appear to have been made the one for the other. Though the one was close upon sixty years the elder of the other, they seem to have had much in common; at all events, little Charles appears to have taken readily to such things as pleased the venerable pastor. The child was a daily comfort to the veteran Christian, and was, at the same time, learning in the school which, on the whole, was probably the best fitted to educate his heart and mind.

We cannot wonder that a man in Mr. Spurgeon's position should have looked back upon the days of childhood, spent beneath his grandfather's roof, as a sunny period. The truth is, that the conditions of life in the village were favourable all round. In his own way Mr. Spurgeon tells how the rector of the parish and his grandfather were agreed as regarded their doctrinal belief. The squire was a churchman, but he also sometimes attended the Nonconformist chapel; while on Mondays squire, rector, Nonconformist pastor, and the little boy, would all be found at the Hall together—a merry party, enjoying to the full sugared bread-and-butter for their tea. Of these things, and many others, readers should not fail to read for themselves in "Memories of Stambourne," Mr. Spurgeon's last book. As we have said, few men of his time more strikingly showed the possession of Puritan characteristics than the old pastor of Stambourne. To him the Bible was literally the Word of God, all being verbally inspired. His strong belief in a personal devil has been already referred to; and some of his experiences under this head almost read like something which might have been borrowed from "The Pilgrim's Progress." He had a notion that he was liable to be assaulted by the Evil One at the most unexpected times, and at his weakest point.

More remarkable was the dream he once had when a young man, and in which he thought he saw the devil. He was accustomed to pray alone in a secluded spot formerly called Honeywood Park, between Coggeshall and Halstead; and in this night-vision Satan seemed to declare in his rage that if the young pastor ventured again to walk along the well-beaten path to the oak, he would be torn in pieces. This appears to have been regarded as a genuine threat; and, although the young man would not be turned aside from the path which led straight to the tree beneath which he had been wont to hold communion with God, he reached the spot in a state of nervous excitement, and with the perspiration standing on his face. There was no fiend to be seen; but on the ground lay an enormous golden ring, for which no owner could ever be found. The pastor of Stambourne appears not to have been married at that time; and Mr. Spurgeon's grandmother's wedding-ring was made of the gold so mysteriously discovered. The striking particulars of this incident may be found in "The Spare Half-hour." The pastor of Stambourne belonged to an older world, and he would appear to have realised the fact. With London, as it was in the first years of the century, he had been somewhat familiar as a student; but, after he had once settled in his secluded Essex pastorate, he never cared to move far away. Whether he actually ever entered a train I cannot say with certainty; for no record with which I am acquainted exists of his ever having undertaken such a journey. The Metropolitan Tabernacle was opened two or three years before his death; but although his constant references to the subject showed that no one was more interested in his grandson's success, the aged pastor of Stambourne could never be persuaded to visit London for the sake of joining in the worship at the Metropolitan Tabernacle. "I am too old," he would say; and when a man is nearer ninety than eighty there is undoubtedly some force in the plea.

James Spurgeon seemed to live as one of the last representatives of the Old Dissent. In all his tastes, manners, and aspirations, the veteran belonged to a generation which had long since passed away. His faith was old-fashioned in its childlike simplicity; he was never troubled with any of the doubts which are raised by modern criticism. He was a lover of psalmody; but when he sang anything not actually in the Bible it had to be one of Dr. Watts's hymns. All of his habits seemed to tally with his old-fashioned clothes. The venerable pastor of Stambourne was one of the last connecting links between the old times and the new. During his long life of nearly ninety years, what changes had time brought about in the world! In James Spurgeon's days of childhood Dr. Johnson still ruled as the autocrat of London literary society; the establishment of the Republic of the United States and the French Revolution were events of his youth; and he was in the early years of his pastorate when Napoleon was extinguished by Wellington at Waterloo. As a man and as a pastor, the Stambourne veteran belonged to the older world of the Georges into which he had been born; and it is probable that he had little or no sympathy with the innovations and modern methods of doing things which he lived to see introduced. Had any one of us stepped into the old meetinghouse in the middle of this century, it would have been like sitting beneath the shadow of those days of the eighteenth century which elderly people once liked to think and talk about. The occupants of the pews, the preacher in the pulpit, and, after the service was over, the leave-takings at the manse itself, would have seemed to tell of days which can never come again.