b'\nin (oT \n\n\n\nQaDr \n\n\n\nSKETCH \n\n\n\nCOL. JAMES GARDINER, \n\n\n\nOF THE ENGLISH ARMY. \n\n\n\nTHE SUBSTANCE OE A NARRATIVE, \n\n\n\nKEY. PHILIP DODDRIDGE, D.D. \nW \n\n\n\nPTJELISHED BY THE \nAMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, \n\n28 Cornhill, Boston. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nFor further particulars in the life of this eminent \nChristian, the reader is referred to a volume written by \nhis most intimate friend, Rev. P. Doddridge, D. D., \nentitled " Some Remarkable Passages in the Lite of the \nHonorable Colonel James Gardiner." \n\n\n\n(2) \n\n\n\na \n\n\n\ni\' \n\n\n\nrL \n\n\n\nSKETCH \n\n\n\nColonel James Gardiner was the son of \nCaptain Patrick Gardiner, who served many \nyears in the armies of King William and Queen \nAnne, and died abroad with the British forces \nin Germany. \n\nThe colonel\'s mother was a lady of very ex- \ncellent character, but it pleased God to exercise \nher with uncommon trials ; for she lost not only \nher husband and her brother in the service of \ntheir country, but also her eldest son, Mr. R. \nGardiner, on the day which completed his six- \nteenth year, at the siege of Namur, in 1695. \nBut God blessed these afflictions as the means \nof her attaining an eminent degree of piety. \n\nThe second son, the subject of this memoir, \nwas born in Linlithgowshire, January 10, 1687\xe2\x80\x943 \n\xe2\x80\x94 the memorable year of the Revolution, in \ndefense of which his own life was eventually \nsacrificed. \n\nIn early life, his mother took care to instruct \nhim with great tenderness and affection in the \nprinciples of true Christianity. While at the \nschool of Linlithgow, he made a considerable \nprogress in literature. \n\n(3) \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nIn the younger part of his life, the good \neffects of his mother\'s prudent and exemplary \ncare were not so conspicuous as she hoped ; yet \nthere is great reason to believe they were not \nentirely lost. Could she have prevailed, he \nwould not have thought of a military life : but \nit suited his taste ; and the ardor of his spirit, \nanimated by the persuasions of a friend who \ngreatly urged it, was not to be restrained. Nor \nwill the reader wonder at this, when he knows \nthat this lively youth fought three duels before \nhe had attained the full stature of a man, in one \nof which he received a wound in his right cheek, \nthe scar of which was always very apparent. \nThis false sense of honor some might think ex- \ncusable in those unripened years, and consid- \nering the profession of his father ; but he often \nmentioned it with regret. And after his con- \nversion, he declined accepting a challenge, with \nthis truly great reply, which, in a man of his \nexperienced bravery, was exceedingly graceful. \n" I fear sinning," said he, " though you know I \ndo not fear fighting." \n\nHe served as a cadet very early ; and at the \nage of fourteen bore an ensign\'s commission in \na Scotch regiment in the Dutch service, in which \nhe continued till 1702, when he received an en- \nsign\'s commission from Queen Anne, which he \nbore in the battle of Ramillies, in his nineteenth \nyear. \n\nOn this occasion our young officer was com- \nmanded on what seemed almost a desperate ser- \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nvice \xe2\x80\x94 to dispossess the French of the church- \nyard at Ramiilies, where a considerable number \nof them were posted to remarkable advantage. \nThey succeeded better than was expected, and \nhe was glad of such an opportunity of signal- \nizing himself. Accordingly, he had planted his \ncolors on an advanced ground, and while he was \ncalling to the men \xe2\x80\x94 probably in that horrid lan- \nguage which is so often a disgrace to our sol- \ndiery \xe2\x80\x94 he received a shot in his mouth, which, \nwithout beating out any of his teeth, or touch- \ning the fore part of his tongue, went through \nhis neck. Not feeling at first the pain of the \nstroke, he wondered what was become of the \nball, and in the wildness of his surprise, began \nto suspect he had swallowed it ; but, dropping \nsoon after, he traced the passage of it by his \nfinger, when he could discover it no other way. \n\nThis occurrence happened about five or six \no\'clock in the evening of May 23, 1706; and \nthe army pursuing its advantages against the \nFrench, without regarding the wounded, our - \nyoung officer lay all night in the field, agitated, \nas may well be supposed, with a great variety \nof thoughts. When he reflected upon the cir- \ncumstances of his wound, \xe2\x80\x94 that a ball should, \nas he then conceived, go through his head with- \nout killing him, \xe2\x80\x94 he thought God had preserved \nhim by a miracle ; and therefore assuredly con- \ncluded that he should live, abandoned and des- \nperate as his condition then seemed. Yet had \nhe little thoughts of humbling himself before \n\n\n\n6 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nGod, and returning to him after the wanderings \nof a life so licentiously begun. But hoping he \nshould recover, his mind was taken up with con- \ntrivances to secure his gold, of which he had \nnearly twenty pistoles about him ; and he had \nrecourse to a very odd expedient. Expecting \nto be stripped, he took out a handful of clotted \ngore, of which he was frequently obliged to \nclear his mouth ; and putting it into his left \nhand, he took out his money, and shutting his \nhand, besmeared the back of it with his blood : \nin this position he kept it, till the blood so dried, \nthat his hand could not easily fall open. \n\nIn the morning, the French, who were mas- \nters of that spot, though defeated at some dis- \ntance, came to plunder the slain ; and seeing \nhim to appearance almost expiring, one of them \nwas just applying a sword to his breast, to de- \nstroy the little remainder of life, when, in the \ncritical moment, a cordelier, who attended them, \ninterposed, taking him by his dress for a \nFrenchman, and said, " Do not kill the poor \nchild." Our young soldier heard all that passed, \nthough he was not able to speak one word ; and \nopening his eyes, made a sign for something to \ndrink. They gave him a sup of some spirituous \nliquor, which happened to be at hand ; from \nwhich he said he derived a more sensible refresh- \nment than he could remember from any thing \nhe had tasted, either before or since. Then \nasking, by signs, the friar to lean down his ear \nto his mouth, he employed the first efforts of his \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nfeeble breath in telling him \xe2\x80\x94 what, alas ! was a \ncontrived falsehood \xe2\x80\x94 that he was nephew to \nthe governor of Huy, a neutral town in the \nneighborhood, and that, if they could convey \nhim thither, he did not doubt but his uncle \nwould liberally reward them. He had indeed a \nfriend there, but the relationship was pretended. \nHowever, on hearing this, they laid him on a \nsort of hand-barrow, and sent him with a file \nof musketeers toward the place ; but the men \nlost their way, and got into a wood toward the \nevening, in which they were obliged to continue \nall night. The poor patient\'s wound being still \nundressed, it is not to be wondered at, that by \nthis time it raged violently. . The anguish of it \nengaged him earnestly to beg that they would \neither kill him outright, or leave him there to \ndie, without the torture of any other motion ; \nand indeed they were obliged to rest for a con- \nsiderable time, on account of their own weari- \nness. Thus he spent the second night in the \nopen air, without any thing more than a com- \nmon bandage to stanch the blood ; and he often \nmentioned it as a most astonishing providence, \nthat he did not bleed to death. \n\nJudging it quite unsafe to attempt carrying \nhim to Huy, whence they were now several miles \ndistant, his convoy took him early in the morn- \ning to a convent in the neighborhood, where he \nwas hospitably received, and treated with great \nkindness and tenderness. But the cure of his \nwound was committed to an ignorant barber- \n\n\n\n8 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nsurgeon, who lived near the house. The tent \nwhich this artist applied was almost like a peg \ndriven in the wound ; yet, by the blessing of \nGod, he recovered in a few months. The lady \nabbess, who called him her son, treated him with \nthe affection and care of a mother. He received \na great many devout admonitions from the ladies \nthere, and they would fain have persuaded him \nto acknowledge so miraculous a deliverance, by \nembracing the Catholic faith, as they were \npleased to call it. But, though no religion lay \nnear his heart, he had too much the spirit of a \ngentleman lightly to change that form of reli- \ngion which he wore loose about him, as well as \ntoo much good sense to swallow the absurdities \nof Popery. \n\nWhen his liberty was regained by an exchange \nof prisoners, and his health established, he was \nfar from rendering to the Lord according to the \nmercy he had experienced. Very little is known \nof the particulars of those wild and thoughtless \nyears which lay between the nineteenth and thir- \ntieth of his life ; except, that he experienced the \ndivine goodness in preserving him in several hot \nmilitary actions ; and yet these years were spent \nin an entire alienation from God, and an eager \npursuit of sensual pleasure as his supreme good. \n\nAmidst all these wanderings from religion, \nvirtue, and happiness, he approved himself so \nwell in his military character, that he was made \na lieutenant in 1708; and, after several imme- \ndiate promotions, appointed major of a regiment \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 9 \n\n\n\ncommanded by the Earl of Stair. In January, \n1729-30, he was advanced to the rank of lieu- \ntenant-colonel in the same regiment, and here \ncontinued till April, 1743, when he received a \ncolonel\'s commission over a regiment of dra- \ngoons, at the head of which he valiantly fell, \nabout two years and a half after he received it. \n\nWe now return to that period of his life which \npassed at Paris, where he resided in the family \nof the Earl of Stair, with some interruptions, \ntill about the year 1720. \n\nThe earl\'s favor and generosity made him \neasy in his affairs, though he was part of the \ntime out of commission, the regiment to which \nhe belonged being disbanded. This was, in all \nprobability, the gayest part of his life, and the \nmost criminal. " Whatever good examples he \nmight find in the family where he lived, it is \ncertain that the French court was one of the \nmost dissolute under heaven. What, by a \nwretched abuse of language, have been called \nintrigues of love and gallantry, constituted, if \nnot the whole business, at least the whole hap- \npiness of his life ; and his fine constitution, than \nwhich, perhaps, there was hardly ever a better, \ngave him great opportunities of indulging him- \nself in those excesses ; while his good spirits \nenabled him to pursue his pleasures in such a \nmanner that multitudes envied him, and called \nhim, by a dreadful kind of compliment, " the \nhappy rake." \n\nYet the checks of conscience, and some re- \n\n\n\n10 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nmaining principles of a good education, would \nbreak in upon the most licentious hours ; and \nwhen some of his dissolute companions were \nonce congratulating him upon his felicity, a dog \nhappening at that time to come into the room, \nhe could not forbear groaning inwardly, and \nsaying to himself, " Oh that I were that dog ! " \nSuch was then his happiness, and such, per- \nhaps, is that of hundreds more who bear them- \nselves highest in the contempt of religion, and \nglory in that infamous servitude which they \naffect to call liberty. \n\nYet in the most abandoned days he was never \nfond of intemperate drinking, from which he \nused to think a manly pride might be sufficient \nto preserve persons of sense and spirit ; so that, \nif he ever fell into any excesses of that kind, it \nwas merely out of complaisance. His frank, \nobliging, and generous temper procured him \nmany friends ; and those principles which ren- \ndered him amiable to others, not being under \nthe direction of wisdom and piety, sometimes \nmade him more uneasy to himself than he per- \nhaps might have been, if he could entirely have \noutgrown them ; especially as he was never a \nskeptic in his heart, but still retained a secret \napprehension that natural and revealed religion \nwas founded in truth. With this conviction, his \nnotorious violations of the most essential pre- \ncepts of both, could not but occasion some se- \ncret misgivings of heart. His continual neglect \nof the great Author of his being, of whose per- \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 11 \n\n\n\nfections he could not doubt, and to whom he \nknew himself to be under daily and perpetual \nobligations, gave him, in some moments of in- \nvoluntary reflection, inexpressible remorse ; and \nthis, at times, wrought upon him to such a de- \ngree, that he resolved he would attempt to make \nseme pious acknowledgments. Accordingly, for \na few mornings he did it, repeating, in retire- \nment, some passages out of the Psalms, and \nother Scriptures, which he still retained in his \nmemory ; and owning, in a few strong words, \nthe many mercies and deliverances he had re- \nceived, and the ill returns he had made for them. \nBut these strains were too devout to continue \nlong in a heart as yet unsanctified ; for how \nreadily soever he could repeat such acknowledg- \nments of the divine power and goodness, and \nconfess his own follies and faults, he was stopped \nshort by the remonstrances of his conscience, as \nto the flagrant absurdity of confessing sins he \ndid not desire to forsake, and of pretending to \npraise God for his mercies, when he did not en- \ndeavor to live in his service. A model of devo- \ntion, where such sentiments made no part, his \ngood sense could not digest; and the use of \nsuch language before a heart-searching Gcd, \nmerely as a hypocritical form, while the senti- \nments of his soul were contrary to it, appeared \nto him such daring profaneness, that, irregular \nas the state of his mind was, the thought of it \nstruck him with horror. He therefore deter- \nmined to make no more attempts of this sort ; \n\n\n\n12 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nand was perhaps one of the first that delib- \nerately laid aside prayer, from some sense of \nGod\'s omniscience, and some natural. principle \nof honor and conscience. \n\nThese secret debates with himself, and ineffec- \ntual efforts, would sometimes return ; but they \nwere overborne, again and again, by the force \nof temptation ; and it is no wonder that in con- \nsequence of them his heart grew still harder. \nNeither was it softened or awakened by the \nvery memorable deliverances which at this time \nhe received. Once he was in extreme danger \nfrom a fall from his horse. While riding fast \ndown a hill, he was thrown over the horse\'s \nhead, and the horse pitched over him ; so that \nwhen he rose, the beast lay beyond him, and \nalmost dead. Yet, though he received not the \nleast harm, it made no serious impression on his \nmind. In his return from England in the \npacket boat, but a few weeks after the former \naccident, a violent storm, that drove them up to \nHarwich, tossed them from thence for several \nhours, in a dark night, on the coast of Holland, \nand brought them into such extremity that the \ncaptain of the vessel urged him to go to prayers \nimmediately, if he ever intended to do it at all ; \nfor he concluded they would in a few minutes be \nat the bottom of the sea. In these circum- \nstances he did pray, and that very fervently, \ntoo ; and it was remarkable, that while he was \ncrying to God for deliverance, the wind fell, and \nquickly after they arrived at Calais. But he was \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 13 \n\n\n\nso little affected with what had befallen him, \nthat, when some of his gay friends, on hearing \nthe story, rallied him upon the efficacy of his \nprayers, he excused himself from the scandal of \nbeing thought much in earnest, by saying, " that \nit was at midnight, an hour when his good \nmother and aunt were asleep, or else he should \nhave left that part of the business to them." \n\nWe now come to the account of his conversion. \nThis memorable event happened toward the mid- \ndle of July, 1719. He had spent the evening, \nwhich was the Sabbath, in some gay company, \nand had a disreputable engagement to fill ex- \nactly at twelve. The company broke up about \neleven ; and he went into his chamber to kill \nthe tedious hour. It happened that he took \nup a religious book, which his good mother \nor aunt had, without his knowledge, slipped \ninto his portmanteau, called " The Christian \nSoldier, or Heaven taken by Storm," written \nby Mr. Thomas Watson. Guessing, by the \ntitle, that he should find some phrases of his \nown profession spiritualized, in a manner \nwhich might afford him some diversion, he re- \nsolved to dip into it ; but took no serious notice \nof any thing he read: and yet, while this book \nwas in his hand, an impression was made upon \nhis mind \xe2\x80\x94 perhaps God only knows how \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nwhich drew after it a train of the most impor- \ntant and happy consequences. \n\nSuddenly he thought he saw an unusual blaze \nof light fall on the book while he was reading, \n\n\n\n14 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nwhich he at first imagined might have happened \nby some accident in the candle. But lifting up \nhis eyes, he apprehended, to his extreme amaze- \nment, that there was before him, as it were sus- \npended in the air, a visible representation of the \nLord Jesus Christ upon the cross, surrounded \nwith a glory ; and was impressed as if a voice, \nor something equivalent to a voice, had come to \nhim, to this effect : " O sinner, did I suffer this \nfor thee, and are these the returns ? " But \nwhether this were an audible voice, or only a \nstrong impression on his mind, equally striking, \nhe did not seem confident, though he judged it \nto be the former. Struck with so amazing a \nphenomenon, there remained hardly any life in \nhim, so that he sunk down in the arm chair in \nwhich he sat, and continued, he knew not ex- \nactly how long, insensible ; and when he opened \nhis eyes, saw nothing more than usual. \n\nIt may be easily supposed that he was in no \ncondition to make any observation upon the \ntime in which he had remained insensible ; nor \ndid he, throughout all the remainder of the \nnight, once recollect that criminal assignation \nwhich had before engrossed all his thoughts. \nHe arose in a tumult of passions not to be con- \nceived, and walked to and fro in his chamber \ntill he was ready to drop down in unutterable \nastonishment and agony of heart ; appearing to \nhimself the vilest monster in the creation of \nGod, who had all his lifetime been crucifying \nChrist afresh by his sins, and now saw, as he \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 15 \n\n\n\nassuredly believed, by a miraculous vision, the \nhorror of what he had done. With this was \nconnected such a view, both of the majesty and \ngoodness of God, as caused him to loathe and \nabhor himself, and to "repent as in dust and \nashes." He immediately gave judgment against \nhimself, that he was worthy of eternal damna- \ntion ; was astonished that he was not immedi- \nately struck dead in the midst of his wicked- \nness ; and \xe2\x80\x94 which deserves particular remark \n\xe2\x80\x94 though he assuredly believed that he should \nere long be in hell, and settled it as a point with \nhimself, for some months, that the wisdom and \njustice of God did most necessarily require that \nsuch an enormous sinner should be made an \nexample of everlasting vengeance, and a spec- \ntacle as such both to angels and men, so that he \nhardly durst presume to pray for pardon, yet \nwhat he then suffered was not so much from the \nfear of hell, though he concluded it must soon \nbe his portion, as from a sense of the horrible \ningratitude he had shown to the God of his life, \nand to that blessed Redeemer who had been in \nso affecting a manner set forth as crucified be- \nfore him. \n\nIn this view, it may naturally be inferred that \nhe passed the remainder of the night waking ; \nand he could get but little rest in several that \nfollowed. His mind was continually taken up \nin reflecting on the divine purity and goodness ; \nthe grace which had been proposed to him in \nthe gospel, and which he had rejected; the \n\n\n\n16 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nsingular advantages he had enjoyed and abused ; \nand the many favors of Providence he had re- \nceived, particularly in rescuing him from so \nmany imminent dangers of death, which he \nnow saw must have been attended with such \ndreadful and hopeless destruction. The privi- \nleges of his education, which he had so much \ndespised, lay with an almost insupportable \nweight on his mind ; and the folly of that career \nof sinful pleasure, which he had so many years \nbeen running with desperate eagerness, filled \nhim with indignation against himself, and against \nthe great deceiver, by whom \xe2\x80\x94 to use his own \nphrase \xe2\x80\x94 he had been so "wretchedly and scan- \ndalously befooled." \n\nThe mind of Colonel Gardiner continued \nfrom this remarkable time \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 rather more than \nthree months, but especially the first two of \nthem \xe2\x80\x94 in a very extraordinary state. He knew \nnothing of the joys arising from a sense of par- \ndon ; but, on the contrary, for the greater part \nof that time, and with very short intervals of \nhope toward the end of it, took it for granted \nthat he must in all probability quickly perish. \nNevertheless, he had such a sense of the evil of \nsin, the goodness of the Divine Being, and of \nthe admirable tendency of the Christian revela- \ntion, that he resolved to spend the remainder of \nhis life, while God continued him out of hell, in \nas rational and useful a manner as he could, \nand to continue casting himself at the feet of \ndivine mercy every day, and often in a day, if \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 17 \n\n\n\nperaclventure there might be hope of pardon, of \nwhich all that he could say was, that he did not \nabsolutely despair. \n\nHe had at that time such a sense of the de- \ngeneracy of his own heart that he hardly durst \nform any determinate resolution against sin, or \npretend to engage himself by any vow, in the \npresence of God ; but was continually crying to \nhim, that he would deliver him from the bon- \ndage of corruption. He perceived in himself a \nmost surprising alteration with regard to the \ndispositions of his heart ; so that, though he \nfelt little of the delight of religious duties, he \nextremely desired opportunities of being en- \ngaged in them : and these licentious pleasures \nwhich had before been his heaven, weie new ab- \nsolutely Lis aversion, and he was grieved to see \nhuman nature, even in those to whom he was a \nstranger, prostituted to such low and contempti- \nble pursuits. He therefore exerted his natural \ncourage in a new kind of combat, and became \nan open advocate for religion, in all its princi- \nples, so far as he was acquainted with them, and \nall its precepts, relating to sobriety, righteous- \nness, and godliness. Yet he was very desirous \nand cautious that he might not run into an ex- \ntreme ; and made it one of his first petitions to \nGod, the very day after these amazing impres- \nsions had been wrought in his mind, that he \nmight not be suffered to behave with such an \naiiected strictness and preciseness as would \nlead others about him into mistaken notions of \n2 \n\n\n\n18 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nreligion, and expose it to reproach or suspicion, \nas if it were an unlovely or uncomfortable thing. \nFor this reason, he endeavored to appear as \ncheerful in conversation as he conscientiously \ncould ; though, in spite of all his precautions, \nsome traces of that deep, inward sense which \nhe had of his guilt and misery would at times \nappear. \n\nHe made no secret of it, however, that his \nviews were entirely changed, though he con- \ncealed the particular circumstance attending \nthat change. He told his most intimate com- \npanions, freely, that he had reflected on the \ncourse of life in which he had so long joined \nthem, and found it to be folly and madness, un- \nworthy of a rational creature, and much more un- \nworthy of persons calling themselves Christians. \nAnd he set up his standard, upon all occasions, \nagainst infidelity and vice, as determinately as \never he planted his colors in the field. There \nwas at that time in Paris a certain lady who had \nimbibed the principles of Deism, and valued her- \nself much upon being an avowed advocate for \nthem. Colonel Gardiner, with his usual frank- \nness, though with that politeness which was \nhabitual to him, answered like a man who per- \nfectly saw through the fallacy of her arguments, \nand was grieved to the heart for her delusion. \nOn this she challenged him to debate the matter \nat large, and to fix upon a day for that purpose, \nwhen he should dine with her, attended with \nany clergyman he might choose. A sense of \nduty would not allow him to decline tins chal- \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 19 \n\n\n\nlenge ; and yet he had no sooner accepted it, \nthan he was thrown into great perplexity and \ndistress, lest, being only a Christian of six weeks \nold, he should prejudice so good a cause by his \nunskillful manner of defending it. However, he \nsought his refuge in earnest and repeated \nprayers to God, that he would graciously enable \nhim, on this occasion, to vindicate his truths in \na manner which might carry conviction along \nwith it. He then endeavored to marshal the \narguments in his own mind as well as he could ; \nand apprehending that he could not speak with \nso much freedom before a number of persons, \nespecially before those whose province he might \nin that case seem to invade, he waited on the \nlady alone upon the day appointed. \n\nHe opened the conference with a view of such \narguments of the Christian religion as he had \ndigested in his own mind, to prove that the \napostles were not mistaken themselves, and that \nthey could not have intended to impose upon us \nin the accounts they giYe of the grand facts they \nattest ; with the truth of which facts that of the \nChristian religion is most apparently connected. \nAnd it was a great encouragement to him to \nfind that, unaccustomed as he was to discourses \nof this nature, he had an unusual command \nboth of thought and expression ; so that he \nrecollected and uttered every thing as he could \nhave wished. The lady heard with attention, \ntill he had finished his design and waited for her \nreply. She then produced some of her objec- \ntions, which he canvassed in such a manner that \n\n\n\n20 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nat length she burst into tears, allowed the force \nof his arguments and replies, and appeared, for \nsome time after, so deeply impressed with the \nconversation, that it was observed by several of \nher friends ; and there is reason to believe that \nthe impression continued, at least so far as to \nprevent her from ever appearing under the char- \nacter of an unbeliever or a skeptic. \n\nThis is only one among many of the battles \nhe was almost daily called out to fight in the \ncause of religion \'and virtue. The continual \nrailleries with which he was received in almost \nall companies where he had been most familiar \nbefore, often distressed him beyond measure ; \nso that he declared he would much rather have \nmarched up to a battery of the enemy\'s cannon, \nthan have been obliged, so continually as he \nwas, to face such artillery as this. But, like a \nbrave soldier in the first action wherein he is \nengaged, he continued resolute, though shud- \ndering at the terror of the assault, and quickly \novercame those impressions which it is not, per- \nhaps, in nature wholly to avoid. In a word, he \nwent on, as every Christian by divine grace may \ndo, till he turned ridicule and opposition into \nrespect and veneration. \n\nWithin about two months after his first mem- \norable change, he began to perceive some secret \ndawnings of more cheerful hope, that, vile as he \nthen saw himself to be, he might, nevertheless, \nobtain mercy through a Redeemer ; and at \nlength, about the end of October, 1719, he \nfound all the burden of his mind taken off at \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 21 \n\n\n\nonce by the powerful impression of that mem- \norable scripture upon his mind, (Rom. 3 : 25, 26,) \n" Whom God hath set forth for a propitiation, \nthrough faith in his blood, to declare his right- \neousness for the remission of sins \xe2\x80\x94 that he \nmight be just, and the justifier of him that be- \nlieveth in Jesus." He had used to imagine that \nthe justice of God required the damnation of so \nenormous a sinner as he saw himself to be ; but \nnow he was made deeply sensible that the divine \njustice might be not only vindicated, but glori- \nfied, in saving him by the blood of Jesus, even \nthat blood which cleanse th from all sin. He \nwas led to see and feel the riches of redeeming \nlove and grace in such a manner as not only \nengaged him, with the utmost pleasure and con- \nfidence, to venture his soul upon them, but even \nswallowed up, as it were, his whole heart in the \nreturns of love, which, from that blessed time, \nbecame the genuine and delightful principle of \nobedience, and animated him with an enlarged \nheart to run the ways of God\'s commandments. \nThus God was pleased \xe2\x80\x94 as he himself used \nto speak \xe2\x80\x94 in an hour to turn his captivity. \nAll the terrors of his former state were turned \ninto unutterable joy. And though the first \xe2\x80\xa2 \necstasies of it afterward subsided into a more \ncalm and composed delight, yet were the im- \npressions so deep and so permanent, that he \ndeclared, on the word of a Christian, wonderful \nas it might seem, that for about seven years \nafter this he enjoyed nearly a heaven upon \nearth. His soul was almost continually filled \n\n\n\n22 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nwith a sense of the love of God in Christ ; so \nthat from the time of his waking in the morn- \ning, his heart was rising to God, and triumphing \nin him ; and these thoughts attended him \nthrough all the day, till he lay down on his bed \nagain, and a short parenthesis of sleep \xe2\x80\x94 for it \nwas but a very short one that he allowed him- \nself \xe2\x80\x94 invigorated his animal powers for renew- \ning those thoughts with greater intenseness and \nsensibility. \n\nA life any thing like this could not be entered \nupon in the midst of such company as he was \nobliged to keep, without great opposition. He, \nhowever, early began a practice, which to the last \nday of his life he retained, of reproving vice \nand profaneness ; and was never afraid to de- \nbate the matter with any, under the conscious- \nness of such superiority in the goodness of his \ncause. \n\nA remarkable instance of this happened \nabout the middle of the year 1720, on his first \nreturn to make any considerable abode in Eng- \nland after his remarkable change. He had \nheard on the other side of the water, that it was \ncurrently reported among his companions at \nhome, that he was stark mad \xe2\x80\x94 a report at \nwhich no reader, who knows the wisdom of the \nworld in these matters, will be much surprised. \nHe hence concluded that he should have many \nbattles to fight, and was willing to dispatch the \nbusiness as fast as he could. And therefore, \nbeing to spend a few days at the country-house \nof a person of distinguished rank, with whom \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 23 \n\n\n\nhe had been very intimate, he begged the favor \nof him that he would contrive matters so, that a \nday or two after he came down, several of their \nformer gay companions might meet at his lord- \nship\'s table ; that he might have an opportunity \nof making his apology to them, and acquainting \nthem with the nature and reasons of his change. \nIt was accordingly agreed to ; and a pretty \nlarge company met on the day appointed, with \nprevious notice that Colonel Gardiner would be \nthere. A good deal of raillery passed at din- \nner, to which the colonel made very little an- \nswer. But when the cloth was taken away, and \nthe servants had retired, he begged their pa- \ntience for a few minutes, and then plainly and \nseriously told them what notions he entertained \nof virtue and religion, and on what considera- \ntions he had absolutely determined that, by the \ngrace of God, he would make these things the \ncare and business of his life, whatever he might \nlose by it, and whatever censure and contempt \nhe might incur. He well knew how improper it \nwas in such company to relate the extraordinary \nmanner in which he was awakened, which they \nwould probably have interpreted as a demon- \nstration of lunacy, against all the gravity and \nsolidity of his discourse ; but he contented him- \nself with such a rational defense of a righteous, \nsober, and godly life, as he knew none of them \ncould with any shadow of reason contest. He \nthen challenged them to propose any thing they \ncould urge, to prove that a life of irreligion and \ndebauchery was preferable to the fear, love, and \n\n\n\n24 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nworship of the eternal God, and a conduct \nagreeable to the precepts of his gospel. And \nhe failed not to bear his testimony, from his own \nexperience \xe2\x80\x94 to one part of which many of \nthem had been witnesses \xe2\x80\x94 that, after having \nrun the round of sensual pleasure, with all the \nadvantages the best constitution and spirits \ncould give him, he had never tasted any thing \ndeserving to be called happiness, till he made \nreligion his refuge and delight. He testified, \ncalmly and boldly, the habitual serenity and \npeace that he now felt in his own breast, and \nthe composure and pleasure with which he \nlooked forward to objects which the gayest sin- \nner must acknowledge to be equally unavoidable \nand dreadful. \n\nUpon this, the master of the table, a person \nof a very frank and candid disposition, cut \nshort the debate by saying, " Come, let us call \nanother cause : we thought this man mad, and \nhe is in good earnest proving that we are so." \nOn the whole, this well-judged circumstance \nsaved him a good deal of further trouble. \nWhen his former acquaintances observed that \nhe was still conversable and innocently cheerful, \nand that^ he was immovable in his resolution, \nthey desisted from further importunity. And \nhe declared, that instead of losing one valuable \nfriend by this change in his character, he found \nhimself much more esteemed and regarded by \nmany who could not persuade themselves to \nimitate his example. \n\nNothing remarkable occurred in the colonel\'s \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 25 \n\nlife from this period till the year 1726, when he \nmarried the Lady Frances Erskine, daughter to \nthe Earl of Buchan, by whom he had thirteen \nchildren, five of whom survived their lather. \n\nBefore the close of these short memoirs^ it \nmay not be improper, or without its use, to give \nthe reader a sketch of the character of this ex- \ncellent man, with reference to his particular rel- \native situations ; in some one or other of which \nthe reader may certainly find a model worthy oi \nhis imitation. \n\nTo view him first in the calmness of domestic \nlife, and at the head of his affectionate family, \n_it will naturally be supposed that, as soon as \nhe had a house, he erected an altar in it ; that \nthe word of God was read there, and prayers \nand praises constantly offered. These were not \nto be omitted on account of any guest; for he \nesteemed it a part of due respect to those that \nremained under his roof to take it for granted \nthey would look upon it as a very bad compli- \nment to imagine they would have been obliged \nby his neglecting the duties of religion on their \naccount. As his family increased, he had^ a \nminister statedly resident in his house, who \ndischarged the offices of tutor and chaplain, \nand was always treated with kindness and re- \nspect. He was constant in his attendance on \npublic worship, in which exemplary care was \ntaken that the children and servants might ac- \ncompany the heads of the family. \n\nThe necessity of being so many months to- \n\n\n\n26 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\ngether distant from home prevented him from \ntaking part in several of those condescending \nlabors connected with the education of his chil- \ndren in early life, which, to a soul so benev- \nolent, so wise, and so zealous, would undoubt- \nedly have afforded a very exquisite pleasure : \nbut when he was with them, he failed not to \ninstruct and admonish them ; and the constant \ndeep sense with which he spoke of divine things, \nand the real, unaffected indifference which he \nalways showed for what this vain world is most \nready to admire, were daily lessons of wisdom \nand of piety. And it was easy to perceive that \nthe openings of genius in the young branches \nof his family gave him great delight, and that \nhe had a secret ambition to see them excel in \nwhat they undertook. Yet he was very jealous \nover his heart, lest he should be too fondly \nattached to them, and was an eminent proficient \nin the blessed science of resignation to the di- \nvine will. \n\nTo consider him in his military character \xe2\x80\x94 \nhis bravery was as remarkable in the field of \nbattle as his milder virtues in the domestic \ncircle ; and he was particularly careful to pre- \nvent the various duties of religion and his pro- \nfession from interfering with one another, either \nin himself or in others. He therefore abhorred \nevery thing that should look like a contrivance \nto keep the soldiers employed about their horses \nand their arms at the season of public worship ; \nfar from that, he used to have them drawn up \njust before it began, and from the parade they \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 27 \n\n\n\nwent off to the house of God, where they be- \nhaved with as much reverence, gravity, and \ndecorum, during the time of divine service, as \nany of their fellow-worshipers. \n\nThat his remarkable care to maintain good \ndiscipline among them might be the more effec- \ntual, he made himself on all occasions accessible \nto them, and expressed a great concern for their \ninterest, temporal as well as spiritual ; yet he \nhad all the firmness requisite to the infliction of \npunishment where he judged it necessary. \n\nWe may notice one instance of his conduct, \nwhich happened at Leicester. While part of his \nregiment was encamped in that neighborhood, \nthe colonel went, unknown, to the camp, in the \nmiddle of the night ; for sometimes he lodged \nat his quarters in the town. One of the sen- \ntinels had abandoned his post, and, on being \nseized, broke out into some oaths and profane \nexecrations against those that discovered him \n\xe2\x80\x94 a crime of which the colonel had the great- \nest abhorrence, and on which he never failed \nto animadvert. The man afterward appeared \nmuch ashamed and concerned for what he had \ndone. But the colonel ordered him to be \nbrought up early the next morning to his own \nquarters, where he had prepared a picket, on \nwhich he appointed him a private sort of pen- \nance ; and while he was put upon it, he dis- \ncoursed with him seriously and tenderly upon \nthe evils and aggravations of his fault, admon- \nishing him of the divine displeasure which he \nhad incurred ; and then urged him to argue, \n\n\n\n28 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nfrom the pain which he then felt, how infinitely \nmore dreadful it must be to " fall into the hands \nof the living God," and to meet the terrors of \nthat damnation which he had been accustomed \nimpiously to call upon himself and his com- \npanions. The result of this proceeding was, \nthat the offender accepted his punishment, not \nonly with submission, but with thankfulness ; \nand spoke of it some years after in such a man- \nner, that there seemed reason to hope it had \nbeen instrumental in producing a change in his \nheart, as well as in his life. \n\nIndeed, this excellent officer always expressed \nthe greatest reverence for the name of the \nblessed God, and endeavored to suppress, and, \nif possible, to extirpate, that detestable sin of \nswearing and cursing, which is every where so \ncommon, and especially among military men. \nHe often declared his sentiments with respect to \nthis enormity, at the head of the regiment, and \nurged his captains and their subalterns to take \nthe greatest care that they did not give the \nsanction of their example to that which, by \ntheir office, they were obliged to punish in oth- \ners. His zeal on these occasions wrought in a \nvery active, and sometimes in a remarkably suc- \ncessful manner, among not only his equals, but \nhis superiors, too. \n\nNor was his charity less conspicuous than his \nzeal. The lively and tender feelings of his \nheart engaged him to dispense his bounties \nwith a liberal hand ; and, above all, his sincere \nand ardent love to the Lord Jesus Christ led \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 29 \n\n\n\nhim to feel, with a true sympathy, the concerns \nof his poor members. In consequence of this, \nhe honored several of his friends with commis- \nsions for the relief of the poor ; and esteemed \nit an honor which Providence conferred upon \nhim, that he should be made the Lord\'s almoner \nfor the relief of such. \n\nThat heroic contempt of death, which had \noften discovered itself in the midst of former \ndangers, was manifested now in his discourse \nwith several of his most intimate friends. And \nas he had in former years often expressed a \ndesire, " that, if it were the will of God, he \nmight have some honorable call to sacrifice his \nlife in defense of religion and the liberties of \nhis country," so, when it appeared to him most \nprobable that he might be called to it immedi- \nately, he met the summons with the greatest \nreadiness. This appears from a letter which he \nwrote only eight days before his death : " The \nenemy," says he, " are advancing to cross the \nFrith ; but I trust in the Almighty God, who \ndoeth whatsoever he pleaseth in the armies of \nheaven and among the inhabitants of the earth." \n\nThese sentiments wrought in him to the last, \nin the most effectual manner. But he was or- \ndered to inarch as fast as possible to Dunbar, \nand that hasty retreat, in concurrence with the \nnews which they soon after received of the sur- \nrender of Edinburgh to the enemy, struck a \nvisible panic into both the regiments of dra- \ngoons. This affected the colonel so much that, \non Thursday before the fatal action of Preston- \n\n\n\n30 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nPans, he intimated to an officer of considerable \nrank, that he expected the event would be as in \nfact it proved ; and to a person who visited him \nhe said, " I can not influence the conduct of \nothers as I could wish, but I have one life to \nsacrifice to my country\'s safety, and I shall not \nspare it." \n\nOn Friday, September 20, the day before the \nbattle which transmitted him to his immortal \ncrown, when the whole army was drawn up \nabout noon, the colonel rode through all the \nranks of his own regiment, addressing them at \nonce in the most respectful and animating man- \nner, both as soldiers and as Christians, to en- \ngage them to exert themselves courageously in \nthe service of their country, and to neglect \nnothing that might have a tendency to prepare \nthem for whatever event might happen. They \nseemed much affected with the address. \n\nHe continued all night under arms, wrapped \nup in his cloak, and sheltered under a rick of \nbarley which happened to be in the field. \nAbout three in the morning, he called his do- \nmestic servants to him, of whom there were \nfour in waiting. He dismissed three of them \nwith the most affectionate Christian advice, and \nsuch solemn charges relative to the performance \nof their duty, and care of their souls, as seemed \nplainly to intimate that he apprehended he was \ntaking his last farewell of them. There is \ngreat reason to believe that he spent the little \nremainder of time, which could not be much \nabove an hour, in those devout exercises of soul \n\n\n\nSKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. 31 \n\n\n\nwhich had so long been habitual to him. The \narmy was alarmed at break of day by the noise \nof the enemy\'s approach, and the attack was \nmade before sunrise. As soon as the enemy \ncame within gunshot, they commenced a furious \nfire ; and the dragoons, which constituted the \nleft wing, immediately fled. The colonel, at the \nbeginning of the attack, which in the whole \nlasted but a few minutes, received a bullet in his \nleft breast, which made him give a sudden \nspring in his saddle ; upon which his servant, \nwho had led the horse, would have persuaded \nhim to retreat ; but he said it was only a wound \nin the flesh, and fought on, though he pres- \nently received a shot in the right thigh. The \ncolonel was, for a few moments, supported by \nhis men, and particularly by about fifteen dra- \ngoons, who stood by him to the last. But after \na faint fire, the regiment in general was seized \nwith a panic ; and though the colonel and some \ngallant officers did what they could to rally them \nonce or twice, they at last took a precipitate \nflight. Just at this moment Colonel Gardiner \nsaw a party of foot who were then bravely fight- \ning near him, but had no officer to head them, \nand rode immediately to their aid ; but a High- \nlander, advancing to him with a scythe fastened \nto a long pole, gave him such a deep wound on \nhis right arm, that his sword dropped out of his \nhand ; and at the same time, several others \ncoming about him, while he was thus dreadfully \nentangled with that cruel weapon, he was \ndragged off from his horse. The moment he \n\n\n\n82 SKETCH OF COL. GARDINER. \n\n\n\nfell, another Highlander gave him a stroke, \neither with a broadsword or a Lochaber-ax, on \nthe head, which was the mortal blow. All that \nhis faithful attendant saw further at this time \nwas, that as his hat was falling off, he took it in \nhis left hand, and waved it as a signal to him to \nretreat, and added, \xe2\x80\x94 which were the last words \nhe ever heard him speak, \xe2\x80\x94 "Take care of \nyourself;" upon which the servant immediately \ntied to a mill, at the distance of about two \nmiles from the spot on which the colonel fell, \nwhere he changed his dress, and, disguised like \na miller\'s servant, returned with a cart about \ntwo hours after the engagement. The hurry of \nthe action was then pretty well over, and he \nfound his much-honored master not only plun- \ndered of his watch and other things of value, \nbut also stripped of his upper garments and \nboots, yet still breathing ; and adds, that though \nhe was not capable of speech, yet on taking him \nup, he opened his eyes, which makes it some- \nthing questionable whether he were altogether \ninsensible. In this condition, and in this man- \nner, he conveyed him to the church of Tranent, \nwhence he was immediately taken into the min- \nister\'s house, and laid in a bed ; where he con- \ntinued breathing till about eleven in the fore- \nnoon, when he took his final leave of pain and \nsorrow. His remains were interred the Tues- \nday following, September 24, at the parish church \nof Tranent, where he had usually attended di- \nvine service, with great solemnity. \n\n\n\nm 2) \n\n\n\n'