As William stood outside staring up at the four columns that formed the colonnade at the front of the church, he wondered what the service inside would be like. Until now William had attended St. Stephen’s Anglican Church with his mother and three sisters. His father seldom attended the church, and William understood why. The minister stood in a pulpit high above the congregation and preached using such big words that William could understand little of what was said. And his voice droned on so that William had to fight to stay awake.
The service at Broad Street Chapel was astoundingly different from anything else William had experienced. The preacher read from the Bible and then, using simple words and ideas, carefully explained the meaning of the passage. As he spoke, people in the congregation yelled out, “Praise the Lord” and “Hallelujah.” William could hardly believe it. A person would be removed from St. Stephen’s for yelling at the preacher! And the singing amazed him, too. He had never heard such hymns before—so full of joy and action. They made him want to get up and march around the room! And the way prayers were said was also totally foreign to William. Instead of reading from page sixty-two of the Prayer Book, people just spoke out their own prayers, made up right there on the spot. By the time the service was over, William knew one thing for sure: This was the liveliest church he had ever experienced, and he was going to come back as often as he could for services.
The summer of 1842 was one William would never forget. It was the summer in which his father lost all of the family’s money. The man who had always encouraged William to “seek the advantage” made one shaky deal too many, and the family was ruined financially. There was no way William could continue attending school; it was much too expensive. Besides, he was now thirteen years old—old enough to get a job and contribute to the family income.
Within days William’s clothes were packed and he was sent off to work for Francis Eames. Mr. Eames was a pawnbroker in Goosegate, Nottingham, and William was to be his apprentice for five years. This meant that William would live above the pawnshop and learn the trade of pawnbrokering. The sudden change in his circumstances shocked William, but he realized there was little he could do about it. His father was in charge of him, and he had no choice but to obey him.
William began to learn the ways of the pawnbroker. The idea was simple, really. Customers brought in items, and Mr. Eames assessed the value of the items and paid the customer about sixty percent of what they were worth. Then he held the items for two weeks. If the customer did not come to buy the items back, he sold them at a profit. Of course, most of the customers were hopeful, even confident, that in two weeks’ time they would have the money to redeem their belongings, but few of them did.
William’s first job was to sweep the floor and fold the clothes and bedding that people pawned. This was not hard to master, though he had to constantly be on the lookout for ticks and lice that crawled out of the blankets. Soon Mr. Eames promised William that he would show him how to decide what an item was worth and how to extract the most money from the transaction.
This is just the job my father would enjoy—taking advantage of people in their weakest moments, William thought to himself as he folded and swept. But William could not enjoy the “game.” He was too concerned about the customers and what they would do next. Some men became wretched enough to pawn the tools of their trade: the carpenter’s level and saw, a bricklayer’s trowel, or a butcher’s knives. William wondered how they would ever get on their feet again without a way to make a living.
Just about all the customers who sought out the pawnshop, with its three brass balls hanging over the doorway, lived in quiet desperation. Often the same customers came back time after time to pawn more of their or their family’s possessions for cash to put food on the table or pay the rent on the pitiful hovels they lived in.
Over time William began to see that there was a pattern to the way people pawned things. The first time he met new customers they brought in such items as umbrellas, articles of clothing, and furniture. But as time went by, these same people began bringing in more and more necessary items, such as plates, teapots, and tools, until finally they came wanting to pawn their wedding rings.
Although William felt sorry about the plight of these people, things were also going from bad to worse for the Booth family. In September William’s father died. At sixty-eight years of age, he was an old man by the standards of the day, and his marriage to William’s mother, Mary, was his second marriage. His first wife and child had died long ago.
William hardly knew how to feel about his father’s death. Samuel Booth had always been a distant man, pushing William to make deals and get ahead in the world, two things William felt uneasy about. It was his mother to whom he was most attached. She was the one who encouraged him and told him that one day things would get better.
With her husband’s death, William’s mother set up a tiny shop not far from the pawnbrokers in Goosegate. William’s three sisters became the shop assistants. The shop sold sewing needles, thread, hatpins, handkerchiefs, and other small items that women needed. Whenever she could, Mary Booth slipped into Eames Pawnbrokers to find out how William was faring.
On Sundays William sometimes went to St. Stephen’s Church with his mother and sisters, but more often than not he walked the extra distance to Broad Street Chapel. He had grown to love this church, especially the chance to listen to the outstanding preachers who spoke there. Two of them, the Reverend James Caughey from the United States and Yorkshire man Isaac Marsden, particularly inspired him. Something about their preaching drew him like a magnet. Sometimes, after hearing a stirring sermon, William would wander off to Wilford Meadows and try preaching to himself. He was always disappointed with the results, though. The famous preachers he heard at Broad Street Chapel were powerful and articulate. There was something else about them—they spoke with fiery conviction. It was obvious they believed what they were preaching with all their heart. William, on the other hand, was not sure what he believed.
Even though he had been going to this church for two years, William was still a “spectator.” He enjoyed the free-flowing atmosphere there, the lively singing, and the preaching, but he had never settled the matter about the state of his own soul. It seemed an enormous decision to give his life wholly to God in the way that the Methodist preachers encouraged their listeners to do.
That was the case until one night late in 1844, when fifteen-year-old William Booth strolled into Bible class. The teacher, Henry Carey, opened with the words, “A soul dies every minute.” For some reason these words penetrated right into William’s heart. What if he died? Where would his soul go? Did he truly belong to Jesus Christ, or was he going to spend the rest of his life dabbling around the edges of Christianity? As William pondered these questions, a thought rushed through his mind. God shall have all there is of William Booth.
Henry Carey continued speaking to the Bible class, but William was scarcely aware of what his teacher was saying. The thought played over and over in his mind. Finally, as the class drew to a close, Henry Carey announced, “If anyone would like to own his sins and surrender his life to God, he may meet me at the back of the room.”
Without hesitation William leaped from his seat and hurried to the back. He knelt at a wooden table and poured out his thoughts to God. Almost immediately Robert Powell’s silver pencil case came to mind. William had felt guilty about having it from the day he tricked Robert with the lost money. Now he knew he had to do something about it. He prayed, “God, I promise I will return the pencil case to Robert as soon as I can.” Then he stopped and thought for a moment and then went on, “And I will even tell him how I tricked him into giving it to me.”
As William spoke these words, he felt a huge weight lift from his mind. He no longer had to seek the advantage in every deal. There was something much more important to seek now—God’s will.
William felt lighter than air that night as he walked back to Eames Pawnshop. He might be a lowly apprentice, but he was determined to give his life—every bit of it—to God. Of course he didn’t have the least idea what God would do with his life.
Chapter 3
William’s People
That lighthearted feeling did not desert William in the days following his experience at Broad Street Chapel. In fact, he felt even lighter after he found Robert Powell, apologized for tricking him with the money, and gave his silver pencil case back. William also found he was more patient with the customers at the pawnshop and was always ready to quote a few words from the Bible to comfort them. Sometimes he even invited them to attend church, though most people just shook their head or laughed in his face. William longed to do something more effective to share the gospel with these people, but if they refused to come to church with him, what else was there? Two years passed before an opportunity to branch out in evangelizing presented itself.
One winter’s day in 1846, seventeen-year-old William Booth lay ill in bed. His fever had gone down some, and the doctor told him he would get better as long as he rested. Resting was not an easy assignment for such an active young man, but as he lay there, William thought a lot about his commitment to give his whole life to God. But what could a seventeen-year-old apprentice do that would make any kind of difference in the world? He did not have the freedom to train to become a pastor, and besides, he did not like reading and studying much. Nor did he have the money to help the poor people who came through the doors of the pawnshop every day. Just as William was beginning to despair that his Christian commitment would never amount to much, there came a knock at the door. His friend Bill Sansom opened it and strolled in.
“I hear you’ve been through a rough patch,” Bill said in his usual cheerful manner. “I brought a pudding my mother baked for you. But if you’re not well enough to eat it, I’ll take it back. My mother’s the best cook in town, you know!”
William grinned. Bill had a way of making a person see the brighter side of things. “Leave it here!” William replied, grinning. “I’m on the mend. The doctor says the worst is over. All I have to do is to get strong again, and I think a good pudding will help.”
“I know something else that would help,” Bill said. “Some of us boys from the Bible class have decided to form a club and start preaching in the poorest parts of the city. Why don’t you join us? It would give you a reason to get back on your feet, and I know you’d be good at it. After all, half the people we are going to preach to probably visit your pawnshop at least once a week. How about it? What do you say?”
“Well, yes, all right,” William replied, astonished that an opportunity to make a difference had just presented itself. “As soon as I’m well enough, I’ll join you. I take it you preach on Sunday afternoons.”
“And in the evenings. I’ll tell the other lads to be expecting you, if not next week then the week after. I’d better go now. I have to deliver a spool of Belgian lace to one of my father’s customers.”
After Bill had left, William lay back in his bed and thought. He knew it was a sin to envy anyone, but it was hard not to envy Bill. He came from a well-to-do family; his father was an importer of fashionable Belgian lace. Better still, Bill had such an easy way with people; “a natural leader” was how others described him. When he suggested an activity, the other boys automatically followed him, even into the slums. William wished he were like that, but he lacked the confidence to encourage others to follow his example.
