Part 2

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.

Within about two months after his first memorable change he began to perceive some secret dawnings of more cheerful hope—that, vile as he then saw himself to be, he might nevertheless obtain mercy through a Redeemer; and at length about the end of October, 1719, he found all the burden of his mind taken off at once by the powerful impression of that memorable scripture upon his mind; (Rom. iii. 25, 26.) “Whom God hath set forth for a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins—that he might be just, and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus.”

He had used to imagine, that the justice of God required the damnation of so enormous a sinner, as he saw himself to be; but now he was made deeply sensible, that the divine justice might be not only vindicated but glorified, in saving him by the blood of Jesus, even that blood which cleanseth from all sin. He was led to see the riches of redeeming love and grace, in such a manner as not only engaged him, with the utmost pleasure and confidence, to venture his soul upon them; but even swallowed up (as it were) his whole heart in the returns of love, which, from that blessed time, became the genuine and delightful principle of obedience, and animated him, with an enlarged heart, to run the ways of God’s commandments. Thus God was pleased (as he himself used to speak) in an hour to turn his captivity. All the terrors of his former state were turned into unutterable joy. And though the first ecstasies of it afterwards subsided into a more calm and composed delight; yet were the impressions so deep and so permanent, that he declared, on the word of a Christian and a friend, wonderful as it might seem, that, for about seven years after this, he enjoyed nearly a heaven upon earth. His soul was almost continually filled with a sense of the love of God in Christ; so that from the time of his waking in the morning, his heart was rising to God, and triumphing in him; and these thoughts attended him through all the day, till he lay down on his bed again, and a short interval of sleep (for it was but a very short one that he allowed himself) invigorated his animal powers for renewing those thoughts with greater intenseness and sensibility.

A life any thing like this, could not be entered upon, in the midst of such company as he was obliged to keep, without great opposition. He, however, early began a practice, which to the last day of his life he retained, of reproving vice and profaneness; and was never afraid to debate the matter with any, under the consciousness of such superiority in the goodness of his cause.

A remarkable instance of this happened about the middle of the year 1720, on his first return to make any considerable abode in England, after his remarkable change. He had heard on the other side of the water, that it was currently reported among his companions at home, that he was stark mad: a report at which no reader, who knows the wisdom of the world in these matters will be much surprised. He hence concluded that he should have many battles to fight, and was willing to despatch the business as fast as he could. And, therefore, being to spend a few days at the country-house of a person of distinguished rank, with whom he had been very intimate, he begged the favour of him that he would contrive matters so, that a day or two after he came down, several of their former gay companions might meet at his Lordship’s table; that he might have an opportunity of making his apology to them, and acquainting them with the nature and reasons of his change. It was accordingly agreed to; and a pretty large company met on the day appointed, with previous notice that major Gardiner would be there. A good deal of raillery passed at dinner, to which the major made very little answer. But when the cloth was taken away, and the servants had retired, he begged their patience for a few minutes and then plainly and seriously told them what notions he entertained of virtue and religion, and on what considerations he had absolutely determined, that, by the grace of God, he would make these things the care and business of his life, whatever he might lose by it, and whatever censure and contempt he might incur. He well knew how improper it was, in such company, to relate the extraordinary manner in which he was awakened; which they would probably have interpreted as a proof of lunacy, notwithstanding all the gravity and solidity of his discourse; but he contented himself with such a rational defence of a righteous, sober and godly life, as he knew none of them could with any shadow of reason contest. He then challenged them to propose any thing they could urge to prove that a life of irreligion and debauchery was preferable to the fear, love, and worship of the eternal God, and a conduct agreeable to the precepts of his gospel. And he failed not to bear his testimony from his own experience, (to one part of which many of them had been witnesses,) that after having run the round of sensual pleasure, with all the advantages the best constitution and spirits could give him, he had never tasted any thing deserving to be called happiness, till he made religion his refuge and delight. He testified, calmly and boldly, the habitual serenity and peace, that he now felt in his own breast, and the composure and pleasure with which he looked forward to objects, which the gayest sinner must acknowledge to be equally unavoidable and dreadful.

Upon this, the master of the table, a person of very frank and candid disposition, cut short the debate by saying, “Come let us call another cause; we thought this man mad, and he is in good earnest proving that we are so.” On the whole, this well-judged circumstance saved him a good deal of further trouble. When his former acquaintances observed that he was still conversable and innocently cheerful, and that he was immovable in his resolution, they desisted from further importunity. And he declared, that, instead of losing one valuable friend by this change in his character, he found himself much more esteemed and regarded by many, who could not persuade themselves to imitate his example.

Nothing remarkable appeared in the Colonel’s life from this period till the year 1726, when he married the Lady Frances Erskine, daughter to the Earl of Buchan, by whom he had thirteen children, five of whom survived their father.

Before the close of these short memoirs, it may not be improper, or without its use, to give the reader a sketch of the character of this excellent man, with reference to his particular relative situations; in some or other of which the reader may certainly find a model worthy of his imitation.

To view him first in the calmness of domestic life, and at the head of his affectionate family, it will naturally be supposed, that as soon as he had a house, he erected an altar in it; that the word of God was read there, and prayers and praises constantly offered. These were not to be omitted on account of any guest; for he esteemed it a part of due respect to those that remained under his roof, to take it for granted, they would look upon it as a very bad compliment, to imagine they would have been obliged by his neglecting the duties of religion on their account. As his family increased, he had a minister statedly resident in his house, who discharged the offices of tutor and chaplain, and was always treated with kindness and respect. He was constant in his attendance on public worship, in which an exemplary care was taken that the children and servants might accompany the heads of the family.

The necessity of being so many months together distant from home, hindered him from many of those condescending labours in cultivating the minds of his children in early life, which to a soul so benevolent, so wise, and so zealous would undoubtedly have afforded a very exquisite pleasure: but when he was with them, he failed not to instruct and admonish them; and the constant deep sense with which he spoke of divine things, and the real unaffected indifference which he always showed for what this vain world is most ready to admire, were daily lessons of wisdom and of piety. It was easy to perceive, that the openings of genius in the young branches of his family gave him great delight, and that he had a secret ambition to see them excel in what they undertook. Yet he was very jealous over his heart, lest he should be too fondly attached to them, and was an eminent proficient in the blessed science of resignation to the divine will.

To consider his character in the domestic relation of a master, it is proper to remark, that as his habitual meekness and command of his passions prevented indecent sallies of ungovernable anger towards those in a state of subjection to him, so the natural greatness of his mind made him solicitous to render their inferior stations as easy as he could: he had also such a sense of the dignity and worth of an immortal soul, as engaged him to give his servants frequent religious exhortations and instructions.

To consider him in his military character, his bravery was as remarkable in the field of battle, as his milder virtues in the domestic circle: and he was particularly careful to prevent the various duties of religion and his profession from interfering with one another either in himself or others. He therefore abhorred every thing that should look like a contrivance to keep the soldiers employed about their horses and their arms at the season of public worship: far from that, he used to have them drawn up just before it began, and from the parade they went off to the house of God; where they behaved with as much reverence, gravity, and decorum, during the time of divine service, as any of their fellow-worshippers.

That this remarkable care to maintain good discipline among them might be the more effectual, he made himself on all occasions accessible to them, and expressed a great concern for their interest, temporal as well as spiritual; yet he had all the firmness requisite to the infliction of punishment where he judged it necessary.

We may notice one instance of his conduct which happened at Leicester. While part of his regiment was encamped in that neighbourhood, the Colonel went _incognito_ to the camp in the middle of the night; for sometimes he lodged at his quarters in the town. One of the sentinels had abandoned his post, and, on being seized, broke out into some oaths and profane execrations against those that discovered him—a crime of which the Colonel had the greatest abhorrence, and on which he never failed to animadvert. The man afterwards appeared much ashamed and concerned for what he had done; but the Colonel ordered him to be brought up early the next morning to his own quarters, where he had prepared a piquet, on which he appointed him a private sort of penance; and while he was put upon it, he discoursed with him seriously and tenderly upon the evils and aggravations of his fault; admonishing him of the divine displeasure which he had incurred; and then urged him to argue upon the pain which he then felt, how infinitely more dreadful it must be to “fall into the hands of the living God,” and to meet the terrors of that damnation which he had been accustomed impiously to call upon himself and his companions. The result of this proceeding was, that the offender accepted his punishment, not only with submission, but with thankfulness; and spoke of it some years after in such a manner that there seemed reason to hope it had been instrumental in producing a change in his heart, as well as in his life.

Indeed, this excellent officer always expressed the greatest reverence of the name of the blessed God; and endeavoured to suppress, and, if possible to extirpate that detestable sin of swearing and cursing, which is every where so common, and especially among our military men. He often declared his sentiments with respect to this enormity at the head of the regiment, and urged his captains and their subalterns to take the greatest care that they did not give the sanction of their example to that, which by their office they were obliged to punish in others. His zeal on these occasions wrought in a very active, and sometimes in a remarkably successful manner, among not only his equals, but his superiors too.

Nor was his character less conspicuous than his zeal. The lively and tender feelings of his heart engaged him to dispense his bounties with a liberal hand: and above all, his sincere and ardent love to the Lord Jesus Christ, led him to feel, with a true sympathy, the concerns of his poor members. In consequence of this he honoured several of his friends with commissions for the relief of the poor; and esteemed it an honour which Providence conferred upon him, that he should be made the Lord’s almoner for the relief of such.

That heroic contempt of death which had often discovered itself in the midst of former dangers, was manifested now in his discourse with several of his most intimate friends. And as he had in former years often expressed a desire, “that if it were the will of God, he might have some honourable call to sacrifice his life in defence of religion and the liberties of his country:” so, when it appeared to him most probable that he might be called to it immediately, he met the summons with the greatest readiness. This appears from a letter which he wrote only eight days before his death: “The rebels,” says he, “are advancing to cross the Firth; but I trust in the Almighty God, who doeth whatsoever he pleaseth in the armies of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth.”

These sentiments wrought in him to the last in the most effectual manner. But he was ordered to march as fast as possible to Dunbar; and that hasty retreat, in concurrence with the news which they soon after received of the surrender of Edinburgh to the rebels, struck a visible panic into both the regiments of dragoons. This affected the Colonel so much, that, on Thursday before the fatal action at Preston-pans, he intimated to an officer of considerable rank, that he expected the event would be as in fact it proved; and to a person who visited him, he said, “I cannot influence the conduct of others as I could wish, but I have one life to sacrifice to my country’s safety, and I shall not spare it.”

On Friday, Sept. 20, 1745, (the day before the battle which transmitted him to his immortal crown,) when the whole army was drawn up about noon, the Colonel rode through all the ranks of his own regiment, addressing them at once in the most respectful and animating manner, both as soldiers and as Christians, to engage them to exert themselves courageously in the service of their country, and to neglect nothing that might have a tendency to prepare them for whatever event might happen. They seemed much affected with the address, and expressed a very ardent desire of attacking the enemy immediately—a desire in which he and another gallant officer of distinguished character would gladly have gratified them, if it had been in the power of either; but they were overruled; and he spent the remainder of the day in making as good a disposition as circumstances would allow.

He continued all night under arms, wrapped up in his cloak, and sheltered under a rick of barley which happened to be in the field. About three in the morning he called his domestic servants to him, of whom there were four in waiting. He dismissed three of them with most affectionate Christian advice, and such solemn charges relative to the performance of their duty, and care of their souls, as seemed plainly to intimate that he apprehended, at least very probably, he was taking his last farewell of them. There is great reason to believe that he spent the little remainder of time, which could not be much above an hour, in those devout exercises of soul, which had so long been habitual to him. The army was alarmed at break of day by a noise of the rebels’ approach, and the attack was made before sunrise. As soon as the enemy came within gun-shot, they commenced a furious fire; and the dragoons, which constituted the left wing, immediately fled. The Colonel, at the beginning of the attack, which in the whole lasted but a few minutes, received a bullet in his left breast, which made him give a sudden spring in his saddle; upon which his servant, who had led the horse, would have persuaded him to retreat; but he said it was only a wound in the flesh, and fought on, though he presently received a shot in the right thigh. The Colonel was, for a few moments, supported by his men, and particularly about fifteen dragoons, who stood by him to the last. But after a faint fire, the regiment in general was seized with a panic; and though the Colonel and some gallant officers did what they could to rally them once or twice, they at last took a precipitate flight. Just in the moment when Colonel Gardiner seemed to be making a pause, to deliberate what duty required him to do in such a circumstance, he saw a party of the foot who were then bravely fighting near him, but had no officer to head them; upon which he rode up to them immediately, and cried out aloud, “Fire on, my lads, and fear nothing.” But just as the words were out of his mouth, a Highlander advanced to him with a scythe fastened to a long pole, with which he gave him such a deep wound on his right arm, that his sword dropped out of his hand; and at the same time, several others coming about him while he was thus dreadfully entangled with that cruel weapon, he was dragged from off his horse. The moment he fell another Highlander gave him a stroke, either with a broadsword, or a Lochaber axe, on the head, which was the mortal blow. All that his faithful attendant saw further at this time was, that as his hat was falling off, he took it in his left hand, and waved it as a signal to him to retreat, adding, (which were the last words he ever heard him speak,) “Take care of yourself:” upon which the servant immediately fled to a mill, at the distance of about two miles from the spot on which the Colonel fell; where he changed his dress, and, disguised like a miller’s servant, returned with a cart about two hours after the engagement. The hurry of the action was then pretty well over, and he found his much-honoured master not only plundered of his watch and other things of value, but also stripped of his upper garments and boots, yet still breathing; and adds, that though he was not capable of speech, yet, on taking him up, he opened his eyes, which makes it something questionable whether he were altogether insensible. In this condition, and in this manner, he conveyed him to the church of Tranent, whence he was immediately taken into the minister’s house and laid in a bed; where he continued breathing till about eleven in the forenoon, when he took his final leave of pain and sorrow. His remains were interred the Tuesday following, Sept. 24, at the parish church of Tranent (where he had usually attended divine service) with great solemnity.

When God reveal’d his gracious name, And chang’d my mournful state, My rapture seem’d a pleasing dream, The grace appear’d so great.

The world beheld the glorious change, And did thy hand confess; My tongue broke out in unknown strains, And sang surprising grace.

“Great is the work,” my neighbours cried, And owned the power divine; “Great is the work,” my heart replied, “And be the glory thine.”

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