_To Mr. ――――._
_Dublin, July 9, 1757._
_My dear Friend_,
MANY attacks have I had from Satan’s children, but yesterday, you
would have thought he had been permitted to have given me an effectual
parting blow. You have heard of my being in _Ireland_, and of my
preaching daily to large and very affected auditories, in Mr. _W――――_’s
spacious room. When here last, I preached in a more confined place in
the week days, and once or twice ventured out to _Oxminton-Green_, a
large place like _Moorfields_, situated very near the barracks, where
the _Ormond and Liberty_, that is, _high and low party boys_, generally
assemble every _Sunday_, to fight with each other. The congregations
then were very numerous, the word seemed to come with power; and no
noise or disturbance ensued. This encouraged me to give notice, that
I would preach there again last _Sunday_ afternoon. I went through the
barracks, the door of which opens into the green, and pitched my tent
near the barrack walls, not doubting of the protection, or at least
interposition of the officers and soldiery, if there should be occasion.
But how vain is the help of man! Vast was the multitude that attended;
we sang, prayed, and preached, without much molestation; only now and
then a few stones and clods of dirt were thrown at me. It being war
time, as is my usual practice, I exhorted my hearers not only to fear
GOD, but to honour the best of kings, and after sermon I prayed for
success to the _Prusian arms_. All being over, I thought to return home
the way I came; but to my great surprize access was denied, so that
I had to go near half a mile from one end of the green to the other,
through hundreds and hundreds of papists, &c. Finding me unattended,
(for a soldier and four methodist preachers, who came with me, had
forsook me and fled) I was left to their mercy; but their mercy, as you
may easily guess, was perfect cruelty. Vollies of hard stones came from
all quarters, and every step I took, a fresh stone struck, and made
me reel backwards and forwards, till I was almost breathless, and all
over a gore of blood. My strong beaver hat served me as it were for a
scull cap for a while; but at last that was knocked off, and my head
left quite defenceless. I received many blows and wounds; one was
particularly large and near my temples. I thought of _Stephen_, and as
I believed that I received more blows, I was in great hopes that like
him I should be dispatched, and go off in this bloody triumph to the
immediate presence of my master. But providentially, a minister’s house
lay next door to the green; with great difficulty I staggered to the
door, which was kindly opened to, and shut upon me. Some of the mob
in the mean time having broke part of the boards of the pulpit into
large splinters, they beat and wounded my servant grievously in his
head and arms, and then came and drove him from the door. For a while
I continued speechless, panting for and expelling every breath to be my
last; two or three of the hearers, my friends, by some means or other
got admission, and kindly with weeping eyes washed my bloody wounds,
and gave me something to smell to and to drink. I gradually revived,
but soon found the lady of the house desired my absence, for fear
the house should be pulled down. What to do, I knew not, being near
two miles from Mr. _W――――_’s place; some advised one thing, and some
another. At length, a carpenter, one of the friends that came in,
offered me his wig and coat, that I might go off in disguise. I
accepted of, and put them on, but was soon ashamed of not trusting my
master to secure me in my proper habit, and threw them off with disdain.
I determined to go out (since I found my presence was so troublesome)
in my proper habit; immediately deliverance came. A methodist preacher,
with two friends, brought a coach; I leaped into it, and rid in gospel
triumph through the oaths, curses, and imprecations of whole streets
of papists unhurt, though threatened every step of the ground. None
but those who were spectators of the scene, can form an idea of the
affection with which I was received by the weeping, mourning, but now
joyful methodists. A christian surgeon was ready to dress our wounds,
which being done, I went into the preaching place, and after giving
a word of exhortation, join’d in a hymn of praise and thanksgiving,
to him who makes our extremity his opportunity, who stills the noise
of the waves, and the madness of the most malignant people. The next
morning I set out for port _Arlington_, and left my persecutors to his
mercy, who out of persecutors hath often made preachers. That I may be
thus revenged of them, is the hearty prayer of,
Yours, &c.
_G. W._