Yet in the most abandoned days, he was never fond of intemperate drinking, from which he used to think a manly pride might be sufficient to preserve persons of sense and spirit; so that if he ever fell into any excesses of that kind, it was merely out of complaisance. His frank, obliging, and generous temper, procured him many friends; and those principles, which rendered him amiable to others, not being under the direction of wisdom and piety, sometimes made him more uneasy to himself than he perhaps might have been if he could entirely have outgrown them, especially as he was never a confirmed sceptic, but still retained a secret apprehension, that natural and revealed religion was founded in truth. With this conviction, his notorious violation of the most essential precepts of both, could not but occasion some secret misgivings of heart.
His continual neglect of the great Author of his being, to whom he knew himself to be under daily and perpetual obligations, gave him, in some moments of involuntary reflection, inexpressible remorse; and this, at times, wrought upon him to such a degree, that he resolved he would attempt to pay Him some acknowledgments. Accordingly, for a few mornings he did it; repeating in retirement some passages out of the Psalms, and other Scriptures, which he still retained in his memory; and owning, in a few strong words, the many mercies and deliverances he had received, and the ill-returns he had made for them.
But these strains were too devout to continue long in a heart as yet unsanctified: for how readily soever he could repeat such acknowledgments of the divine power and goodness, and confess his own follies and faults, he was stopt short by the remonstrances of his conscience, as to the flagrant absurdity of confessing sins he did not desire to forsake, and of pretending to praise God for his mercies, when he did not endeavour to live to his service. A model of devotion, where such sentiments made no part, his good sense could not digest; and the use of such language before a heart-searching God merely as a hypocritical form, while the sentiments of his soul were contrary to it, appeared to him such daring profaneness, that, irregular as the state of his mind was, the thought of it struck him with horror. He therefore determined to make no more attempts of this sort; and was one of the first that deliberately laid aside prayer, from some sense of God’s omniscience, and some natural principle of honour and conscience.
These secret debates with himself and ineffectual efforts would sometimes return: but they were overborne, again and again, by the force of temptation; and it is no wonder, that in consequence of them his heart grew still harder. Neither was it softened, or awakened, by the very memorable deliverances, which at this time he received. Once he was in extreme danger by a fall from his horse. As he was riding fast down a hill, the horse threw him over his head, and pitched over him; so that when he rose, the beast lay beyond him, and almost dead. Yet, though he received not the least harm, it made no serious impression on his mind. In his return from England in the packet-boat, but a few weeks after the former accident, a violent storm, that drove them up to Harwich, tossed them from thence for several hours, in a dark night, on the coast of Holland; and brought them into such extremity, that the captain of the vessel urged him to go to prayers immediately if he ever intended to do it at all; for he concluded they would in a few minutes be at the bottom of the sea. In these circumstances he did pray, and that very fervently too; and it was remarkable, that while he was crying to God for deliverance, the wind fell, and quickly after they arrived at Calais. But the major was so little affected with what had befallen him, that, when some of his gay friends, on hearing the story, rallied him upon the efficacy of his prayers, he excused himself from the scandal of being thought much in earnest, by saying, “that it was at midnight, an hour when his good mother and aunt were asleep; or else he should have left that part of the business to them.”
We now come to the account of his conversion. This memorable event happened towards the middle of July, 1719. The major had spent the evening (which was the Sabbath) in some gay company, and had an unhappy assignation with a married lady, whom he was to attend exactly at twelve. The company broke up about eleven; and he went into his chamber to kill the tedious hour. It happened that he took up a religious book, (which his good mother or aunt had, without his knowledge, slipped into his portmanteau,) called, “The Christian Soldier; or Heaven taken by Storm:” written by Mr. Thomas Watson. Guessing, by the title, that he should find some phrases of his own profession spiritualized, in a manner which might afford him some diversion, he resolved to dip into it, but took no serious notice of any thing he read; and yet while this book was in his hand, an impression was made upon his mind (perhaps God only knows how) which drew after it a train of the most important and happy consequences.
Suddenly he thought he saw an unusual blaze of light fall on the book, while he was reading, which he at first imagined might have happened by some accident in the candle. But lifting up his eyes, he apprehended to his extreme amazement, that there was before him, as it were suspended in the air, a visible representation of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the cross, surrounded with a glory; and was impressed as if a voice, or something equivalent to a voice, had come to him to this effect: “Oh, sinner, did I suffer this for thee, and are these the returns?” But whether this were an audible voice, or only a strong impression on his mind equally striking, he did not seem confident, though he judged it to be the former. Struck with so amazing a phenomenon, there remained hardly any life in him, so that he sank down in the arm-chair in which he sat, and continued, (he knew not exactly how long) insensible, and when he opened his eyes saw nothing more than usual.
It may be easily supposed he was in no condition to make any observation upon the time during which he remained insensible; nor did he throughout all the remainder of the night once recollect that criminal assignation which had before engrossed all his thoughts. He arose in a tumult of passions not to be conceived, and walked to and fro in his chamber, till he was ready to drop down, in unutterable astonishment and agony of heart; appearing to himself the vilest monster in the creation of God, who had all his lifetime been crucifying Christ afresh by his sins, and now saw, as he assuredly believed, by a miraculous vision, the horror of what he had done. With this was connected such a view both of the majesty and goodness of God as caused him to loathe and abhor himself, and to “repent as in dust and ashes.” He immediately gave judgment against himself that he was worthy of eternal damnation; was astonished that he had not been immediately struck dead in the midst of his wickedness; and, (which deserves particular remark,) though he assuredly believed that he should ere long be in hell, and settled it as a point with himself for some months, that the wisdom and justice of God did most necessarily require that such an enormous sinner should be made an example of everlasting vengeance, and a spectacle, as such, both to angels and men, so that he hardly durst presume to pray for pardon; yet what he then suffered, was not so much from the fear of hell, though he concluded it must soon be his portion, as from a sense of that horrible ingratitude he had shown to the God of his life, and to that blessed Redeemer who had been, in so affecting a manner, set forth as crucified before him.
In this view it may naturally be inferred, that he passed the remainder of the night waking; and he could get but little rest in several that followed. His mind was continually taken up in reflecting on the divine purity and goodness; the grace which had been proposed to him in the gospel, and which he had rejected; the singular advantages he had enjoyed and abused; and the many favours of providence he had received; particularly in rescuing him from so many imminent dangers of death; which he now saw must have been attended with such dreadful and hopeless destruction. The privileges of his education, which, he had so much despised, lay with an almost insupportable weight on his mind; and the folly of that career of sinful pleasure, which he had so many years been running with desperate eagerness, filled him with indignation against himself, and against the great deceiver, by whom (to use his own phrase) he had been “so wretchedly and scandalously befooled.”
The mind of major Gardiner continued from this remarkable time, rather more than three months, (but especially the two first of them,) in as extraordinary a situation as one can well imagine. He knew nothing of the joys arising from a sense of pardon; but, on the contrary, for the greater part of that time, and with very short intervals of hope towards the end of it, took it for granted, that he must, in all probability, quickly perish. Nevertheless, he had such a sense of the evil of sin, the goodness of the Divine Being, and of the admirable tendency of the Christian Revelation, that he resolved to spend the remainder of his life, while God continued him out of hell, in as rational and useful a manner as he could; and to continue casting himself at the feet of Divine Mercy every day, and often in a day, if peradventure there might be hope of pardon, of which all that he could say was, that he did not absolutely despair. He had at that time such a sense of the degeneracy of his own heart, that he hardly durst form any determinate resolution against sin, or pretend to engage himself by any vow in the presence of God; but was continually crying to him, that he would deliver him from the bondage of corruption. He perceived within himself a most surprising alteration with regard to the dispositions of his heart; so that though he felt little of the delight of religious duties, he extremely desired opportunities of being engaged in them; and those licentious pleasures, which had before been his heaven, were now absolutely his aversion; and he was grieved to see human nature, even in those to whom he was a stranger, prostituted to such low and contemptible pursuits. He therefore exerted his natural courage in a new kind of combat, and became an open advocate for religion, in all its principles, so far as he was acquainted with them, and all its precepts, relating to sobriety, righteousness, and godliness. Yet he was very desirous and cautious, that he might not run into an extreme; and made it one of his first petitions to God, the very day after these amazing impressions had been wrought in his mind, that he might not be suffered to behave with such an affected strictness and preciseness, as would lead others about him into mistaken notions of religion, and expose it to reproach or suspicion, as if it were an unlovely or uncomfortable thing. For this reason, he endeavoured to appear as cheerful in conversation as he conscientiously could; though in spite of all his precautions, some traces of that deep inward sense which he had of his guilt and misery would at times appear. He made no secret of it, however, that his views were entirely changed, though he concealed the particular circumstances attending that change. He told his most intimate companions freely, that he had reflected on the course of life in which he had so long joined them, and found it to be folly and madness, unworthy a rational creature, and much more unworthy persons calling themselves Christians. And he set up his standard, upon all occasions, against infidelity and vice, as determinately as ever he planted his colours in the field. There was at that time in Paris a certain lady who had imbibed the principles of Deism, and valued herself much upon being an avowed advocate for them. The major, with his usual frankness, (though with that politeness which was habitual to him,) answered like a man who perfectly saw through the fallacy of her arguments, and was grieved to the heart for her delusion. On this she challenged him to debate the matter at large, and to fix upon a day for that purpose, when he should dine with her, attended with any clergyman he might choose. A sense of duty would not allow him to decline this challenge: and yet he had no sooner accepted it than he was thrown into great perplexity and distress, lest being only a Christian of six weeks old, he should prejudice so good a cause, by his unskilful manner of defending it. However, he sought his refuge in earnest and repeated prayers to God, that he would graciously enable him, on this occasion, to vindicate his truths in a manner which might carry conviction along with it. He then endeavoured to marshal the arguments in his own mind, as well as he could; and apprehending that he could not speak with so much freedom before a number of persons, especially before such whose province he might in that case seem to invade, he waited on the lady alone upon the day appointed.
The major opened the conference with a view of such arguments of the Christian religion as he had digested in his own mind, to prove that the apostles were not mistaken themselves, and that they could not have intended to impose upon us, in the accounts they give of the grand facts they attest; with the truth of which facts that of the Christian religion is most apparently connected. And it was a great encouragement to him to find, that, unaccustomed as he was to discourses of this nature, he had an unusual command both of thought and expression; so that he recollected and uttered every thing as he could have wished. The lady heard with attention, till he had finished his design, and waited for her reply. She then produced some of her objections, which he canvassed in such a manner, that at length she burst out into tears, allowed the force of his arguments and replies, and appeared, for some time after, so deeply impressed with the conversation, that it was observed by several of her friends: and there is reason to believe that the impression continued, at least so far as to prevent her from ever appearing under the character of an unbeliever or a sceptic. This is only one, among many of the battles he was almost daily called out to fight in the cause of religion and virtue. The continued railleries with which he was received, in almost all companies where he had been most familiar before, did often distress him beyond measure; so that he declared, he would much rather have marched up to a battery of the enemy’s cannon than have been obliged, so continually as he was, to face such artillery as this. But, like a brave soldier in the first action wherein he is engaged, he continued resolute, though shuddering at the terror of the assault; and quickly overcame those impressions, which it is not, perhaps, in nature wholly to avoid. In a word, he went on, as every Christian by divine grace may do, till he turned ridicule and opposition into respect and veneration.