“‘Would you give up, then?’

  “He smiled:  there was no ‘giving up’ in that smile of his.  ’I’ll
  tell you what I’d do:  I’d begin and break it, twig by twig, till I
  forced my way through, and got out safe at the other side.’”

This was a new inspiration.  The difficulty was not lessened by the inspiration, but a new method appealed to me.  It was the patient plodding method of “twig by twig.”  The quotation from “John Halifax” was reinforced by one of the first things I ever read of Browning: 

    “That low man seeks a little thing to do,
      Sees it and does it: 
    This high man with a great thing to pursue,
      Dies ere he knows it. 
    That low man goes on adding one to one,
      His hundred’s soon hit;
    This high man, aiming at a million,
      Misses an unit.”

The most powerful speaker I ever heard was Charles Bradlaugh.  I attended one of his lectures one Sunday afternoon in a large auditorium in Portsmouth.  I shall never forget that wonderful voice as it thrilled an audience of four thousand people.  Bradlaugh was engaged in one of his favourite themes, demolishing God and the theologians.  It was the most daring thing I had ever heard, and my mind and soul were in revolt.  When the time for questions came, I pushed my way to the front, was recognized by the chairman, and mounted the platform.  My lips were parched and I could scarcely utter a word.  The big man with the homely face saw my embarrassment, and said, “Take your time, my boy; don’t be in a hurry.”

He had been a soldier himself, and, I supposed, as I stood there in my scarlet tunic, Glengarry cap in hand, Bradlaugh became reminiscent.

When I got command of my voice, I said:  “I want to ask Mr. Bradlaugh a question.  I have very little education and little opportunity to get more, but I have a peace in my heart; I call it ‘Belief in God.’  I don’t know what else to call it and I want to ask Mr. Bradlaugh whether he is willing to take that away from me and deprive me of the biggest pleasure in my life, and leave nothing in its place?”

He rose from his chair, came forward, laid his hand on my shoulder, and amid a most impressive silence, said: 

“No, my lad, Charles Bradlaugh will be the last man on the face of the earth to take a pleasure from a soldier boy, even though it be a ‘belief in God!’”

The crowd wildly cheered, and I went out grateful and strengthened.  This incident had a very unusual effect upon me—­an intense desire to tell others of that belief possessed me.  I was already doing this in a small way, but I became bolder and sought larger opportunities.

About ten days later I was ordered to London as the personal bearer of a Government dispatch.  I made requisition for seven days’ leave of absence.  My mission was to the Horse Guards, and after its accomplishment I went to Whitechapel and rented a small room for a week.  I had with me a suit of plain clothes that I wore during the daytime, but the scarlet uniform was conspicuous and soldier Evangelists very rare, so in the mission halls and on the street corners with the Salvation Army and other open-air preachers, I exercised my one talent, and told the story of what I had now found a name for—­my conversion.