TWICE-BORN MEN

REMARKABLE CONVERSIONS OF WELL-KNOWN MEN
IN DIFFERENT AGES AND IN VARIED RANKS OF LIFE

Compiled by HY. PICKERING

The Dundee Christian Hero

ROBERT ANNAN, the Christian Hero, Dundee, led a very wild life, giving way to drink, and finding himself more than once in prison. Sent to America, he only sank deeper into sin, and for a time literally was a helper to “feed swine.” Then he enlisted in the 100th Regiment and returned to Aldershot. The regiment being ordered to Gibraltar, he deserted, and joining the ship “Edgar,” finally returning to his father’s house a sadder and a wiser man.

As yet Robert Annan knew only his own righteousness and strength. He had abandoned the tavern, the theatre, and his old companions. He became proud of his newly-begun moralities, and began to reckon himself “as good as there was any use for.” When the doctrine of the new birth was discussed, he poured contempt upon the very idea of being born again, and went the length of saying that the narrative of our Lord’s life was got up by design­ing men.

A few days after this discussion he went, in the strength of his new reformation, to a public-house, to fetch away from the scene of temptation a friend of his own. His friend signified his willingness to go, if Robert would consent to drink a single glass. He did so, but im­mediately the desire to drink another, and remain with the company, took possession of him. The rest I need not tell; a drunken carousal followed. Next morning he looked around upon the total wreck of his resolutions, his reforms, and his hopes. The dog had returned to his vomits. He was filled with confusion and alarm. “What !” he said to himself, “has it come to this again? Am I past all redemption? Surely I have sold myself to the devil I What shall I do?”

Chagrin at the failure of his good intentions and solemn vows confounded his pride and stung him to the quick. The gall and wormwood of remorse embittered his soul, and a melancholy feeling of hopelessness began to possess him.

That night he was so far humbled as to go to a revival meeting—one of a series of meetings then being held in the Kinnaird Hall. In those days (1860-61) the Spirit of God was working very gloriously in the town of Dundee, and throughout the land. DUNCAN MATHIESON, who had been signally owned of the great Master in the conversion of many souls, was preaching. During the meeting, Robert felt as if he were a target for every shooter; the arrows of conviction stuck fast in his conscience, eternal realities burst upon his view, and the powerful strivings of the Holy Spirit baffled his endeavours to maintain a sullen reserve.

At the close of the meeting he felt disposed to join the company of weeping inquirers, but shame prevented him. As he stood upon the doorsteps a young man exhorted him to decide, and then bade him good-night, saying, “We shall meet at the Judgment-Seat.” “The Judgment-Seat,” repeated the trembling sinner to himself. “Yes, i yes, it is true I must go there.” Every old truth seemed now to flash new light into his soul.

Just as he was going to enter the inquiry-meeting, the hall door was closed in his face, and he reeled down the steps, exclaiming, “Great God, am I shut out of salvation for ever?” Away he went to the house of a friend, who assured him that he might find an entrance into the hall by another door. In breathless haste he returned to seek the door, but in vain.

At the midnight hour he entered the room of JOHN MACPHERSON and stood before him, his eyes wild and red with excitement, and his countenance black and terrible. His whole body, a frame of iron, shook and quivered. Knowing something of the man, I feared he was about to lay hands upon me and take vengeance for some words of reproof. Very different was the case. Robert had now no blows but for himself, and with words of keen and cutting self-condemnation, he asked the question of questions: “What must I do to be saved ?” I pointed him to the Lamb of God, but in vain; Robert went away as he came, smiting on his breast and calling for mercy.

In his wretchedness he resolved to retire to the top of the Law, a hill which rises almost from the banks of the Tay, and overlooks Dundee, and spend the night in soli­tude and prayer. But although a child could find its way to the summit, and he had been familiar with the hill and its environs from infancy, Robert failed to reach the sought-for solitude. “I could see no hill,” he afterwards said to me; “the mountain of my sin rose before my eyes, and the wrath of God like a mist blinded me.” A voice then seemed to say, “Go to Camperdown woods, where you used to desecrate the Lord’s day, and end your exist­ence.” As he pondered this suggestion be said to himself, “If I do so, what next?” He shuddered at the thought, and turned his back on Camperdown woods. Then the voice said, “Go to Reres Hill, where you used to break the Sabbath, and pray to God on the spot where you sinned, and He will forgive you.”

Robert did not go to Reres Hill to do penance; but returning home, he went to a hay-loft, where, during the night and all next day, for the space of thirteen hours, he lay on his face before God, and with agonising cries, pleaded for mercy. Strange, indeed, was the scene enacted in that hay-loft. Too familiar had that sinner been with deeds of violence and of blood; but the hay-loft struggle was more terrible than any he had ever passed through. Surely the angels were looking down upon that once hardened blasphemer, and exclaiming, “Behold he prayeth!” Light and darkness were in conflict; grace and sin were striving for the mastery; Christ and the devil contended for that soul, whilst Heaven and Hell seemed to hold their breath in expectation of the issue.

Alarmed at his absence, his parents and sister sought him next day, and discovering him by hearing his groanings in the hay-loft, induced him to enter the house; but he could neither eat, drink, nor sleep. For three days the conflict went on, his darkness the while deepening, his anguish growing more keen, and his burden more intoler­able, as he lay bemoaning himself and crying with a piteous voice for help.

I went to see him, and found him in a darkened room, alone, and upon his knees, panting and pleading for mercy like one who had not five minutes to live. Like many an awakened sinner, he was evidently seeking peace with God by trying to pray himself into a better state of heart, instead of looking out to Jesus as “the Lord our Righteous­ness.” “Robert,” said I to him, “you are looking for a sign from Heaven. You think if you heard a voice assur­ing you of salvation, or felt some strange thing within you, you would then believe and rest on Jesus. God gives you His Word; why will you not rest on that? The Gospel of Christ ‘ is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.’ Believe, and it will be the power of God unto salvation to you. ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’ Jesus says, ‘Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out. ‘”

Robert confessed he had been seeking a sign from Heaven; and had, in fact, but a little before we entered, listened in the hope of hearing a voice say, “Robert, your sins are all forgiven.” Robert was near the Kingdom, but he did not at that hour enter in. At the end of three he was enabled to lay hold upon the word of Jesus, “Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out” (John 6. 37). There he cast anchor; and although in after years he en­countered many a storm, no blast was ever able to drive him from his moorings. He was safe on the Rock.

Down went the proud flag of rebellion, with its mottoes, SIN SELF-WILL, SELF-TRUST, INDEPENDENCE OF GOD; and up went the banner of Jesus and Salvation, and on the banner was written “LOVE.” Old things had now passed away, and all things were become new.

For years he witnessed a noble confession. Then on his way to work at the Docks, he observed a youth in the water, plunged in, reached the spot where the boy was struggling, but the current proved too strong. The boy was saved, but ROBERT ANNAN , who might have saved himself by letting go the boy, was drowned. Waving his hand as if bidding farewell, he went down—no, not down, but up, up to be “for ever with the Lord.”