DOVER CIRCUIT, 1806—SICKNESS AND DEATH OF BISHOP WHATCOAT.
On Saturday, August 12, I went with Bishop Asbury to Philadelphia. He
preached twice on Sabbath. In the morning at St. George’s, from 2 Peter
i, 12-14. If the reader will turn to the passage he will see how touching
and how appropriate it was. The bishop had just left his dying colleague,
Bishop Whatcoat. He was himself pressed down with many infirmities; his
tabernacle was shaken, some of the pins were being taken out. He preached
also at the Academy from James v, 7, 8, on patiently waiting for results,
like the husbandman. The conference commenced on Monday the 14th. There
were sixty-three preachers present, and the session was one of great
peace and harmony. Bishop Asbury preached on Wednesday from 1 Tim. iv,
12, 13: “Let no man despise thy youth;” after which he ordained seven
elders.
On Thursday I heard Ezekiel Cooper preach in the Bethel from Haggai ii,
9: “The glory of the latter house shall be greater than the former,” etc.
This was a sermon of superior excellence. Ezekiel Cooper was then in his
palmy days, powerful in the pulpit, powerful on the conference floor.
The influence he wielded in the Philadelphia Conference was wonderful. He
was the master-mind, the leading spirit.
On Monday the 21st this pleasant and profitable conference adjourned.
The bishop in his journal says, “I hope many souls will be converted in
consequence of the coming together of this conference, having had great
peace in the societies, and sound, sure preaching three times a day.”
I was appointed to Dover Circuit with James Bateman. It was a pleasant
circuit, and he was a pleasant colleague. He was a young man, belonging
to one of the first families on the Peninsula, and this was his first
circuit. William P. Chandler was the presiding elder. On my arrival I
was heartily welcomed in the name of my Master. My home was the house of
the Hon. Richard Bassett. On the 26th I wrote: “Here in this hospitable
mansion the venerated Richard Whatcoat is confined with dangerous
illness; but I rejoice to find him better, and that there is hope of his
recovery.” Alas, it was a false hope, raised only to settle in despair.
On Sunday morning, with the assistance of several class-leaders, I met
two hundred colored members. Their black faces shone with holy joy, and
their songs were fervent and exhilarating. Religion does wonders for the
children of Ham.
On Tuesday I went with Dr. Chandler to James Purnell’s, where our
quarterly meeting was to be held in a grove. This was the custom in that
day. They were miniature camp-meetings. The people came in crowds, so
the churches could not hold them. We spent a day or two in clearing the
ground and removing the underbrush, and prepared seats for twelve hundred
persons. On Friday there were several tents on the ground, and a number
of people.
Dr. Chandler preached the opening sermon from Hab. iii, 2: “O Lord,
revive thy work,” etc. Great success attended the word. Brother Richard
Lyon exhorted. I closed with prayer, and then Brother Lyon invited
the mourners to the front of the preachers’ stand. I preached in the
afternoon, from 1 Peter iii, 9; and at night James Bateman, from Acts
iii, 19, on the times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord. We had
not only the gentle dew, but the refreshing shower; a number of mourners
came to the altar; sinners were pricked to the heart, and some who came
to mock, remained to pray.
Sunday was a day of mighty power; we had three sermons. I never witnessed
a more melting time. The work of justifying and sanctifying grace went on
with sweetness and power.
During the meeting one hundred and sixty were converted, and thirty-four
professed to be sanctified, and were witnesses that the blood of Jesus
Christ cleanseth from all sin.
I do not wish to make any invidious comparisons, and all my brethren
know that I never belonged to the family of croakers; but I will ask
this question: What would we think if we could witness such a scene at a
modern quarterly meeting? There was a power among the fathers, both in
the ministry and laity, that we do not possess. The ministers moved the
masses as the wind does a field of wheat, and they mowed them down as the
scythe does the grass.
After spending several days in attending the different appointments, I
returned to Dover on Monday the 12th. I wrote in my journal thus: “Father
Whatcoat is still very dangerous.” Tuesday, “To-day I shaved the dear
saint of God. I also had great satisfaction in conversing with him; he
is much resigned to the will of God.” Never shall I forget the days and
hours I spent with the dying bishop. The place was hallowed, and the room
seemed filled with the glory of God.
I took another tour, and then returned and spent more time with the
excellent bishop, whose days were closing, and the shadows of a long
evening were gathering around him.
On the 18th I preached at Barratt’s Chapel. I also preached at Frederica
and at Banning’s Chapel. Much of the power of God was felt in many of
these meetings; several lay speechless and helpless.
On May 26 I made this record: “This evening I had the pleasure of
conversing with dear Father Whatcoat, who is in a very low state of
bodily health; but what is infinitely superior, he has peace of mind,
which the world, together with health, cannot give.” The next day I had
another conversation with the aged pilgrim. “O! may the loving wholesome
advice he gave me never be erased from my mind. May I, agreeably to his
wish, continue in the field of battle should I live fifty years from now
and have health and strength. Lord, thou knowest I want to be wholly
thine while I live, thine in the article of death, thine in Paradise,
thine in the morning of the resurrection.”
Such is the record I made fifty-nine years ago, after an interview with
one of the holiest men earth ever saw. He was exceedingly happy; he
shouted aloud the praises of Jesus, and gave a glorious testimony to the
power of religion to sustain in adversity. He talked sweetly of heaven,
and of the numerous friends in America and in England that he expected to
meet in heaven.
I have ever esteemed it one of the most exalted privileges of my life to
enjoy the interviews I did with the dying bishop, and to be favored with
his benediction.
On the 5th of July, 1806, the good bishop gave his soul to God and his
body to the dust. Seldom has the Church lost a brighter ornament, seldom
heaven received a purer spirit.
Dr. Chandler delivered an address at his funeral to an immense crowd,
and the remains were deposited under the altar of the church, in Dover,
Delaware.
PORTRAITURE OF BISHOP WHATCOAT.
With Bishop Whatcoat I was personally acquainted for sixteen years. I had
seen him at my father’s house long before he was elected bishop. I was
present at his election and ordination, and I was myself ordained by him
a deacon. I have heard him preach often; have traveled with him hundreds
of miles; have been with him in many families; enjoyed his friendship,
and had the benefit of his wise counsels. I presume there is no one
living that has as many personal recollections of Bishop Whatcoat as I
have.
In regard to his personal appearance, Bishop Whatcoat was not very
tall; he was stout, though not corpulent. He had a fine intellectual
face; his mouth was small; his eyes not very dark, but expressive. His
dress was very plain, in Methodist minister style: the shad-belly coat,
and vest buttoned snug up to his neck. A few years before his death he
lost all his hair, so he was entirely bald. Some time after, to his
great astonishment, it began to grow, and his hair came out thick and
beautiful, so that when he died he had a fine head of dark hair, not even
sprinkled with gray. He combed it down straight over his forehead, the
Methodist fashion in those days. It would have been considered out of
order to have worn it so as to exhibit a noble forehead. His face, like
that of Bishop Asbury, was bronzed or tanned by exposure to many summer’s
suns and winter winds and storms. His likeness in the “Arminian Magazine”
resembles him, though it is younger than when I saw him.
As a man he was most remarkable, for in him was blended a dignity
that commanded reverence, and a humility and sweetness that inspired
affection. The benignity that shone in his countenance revealed the
character of the inner man. He loved everybody, and all loved him in
return. As a bishop he was a safe counselor, for he was wise in judgment.
He was a good presiding officer. He governed by the law of kindness, and
the preachers all venerated him. In the pulpit he excelled. He could melt
and mould an audience as few men ever did. The holy anointing rested on
him, and a peculiar unction attended his words. Several of his sermons I
can never forget. One I heard from him in 1790, seventy-five years ago, I
distinctly remember: “The handful of corn,” and “the fruit shaking like
Lebanon.” Also the one at Duck Creek Cross Roads, in 1803, on “suffering
a while,” etc. He professed purity of heart, and no one that knew him
doubted his being in possession of it. A holier man has not lived since
the days of the seraphic Fletcher, whom in some respects he strikingly
resembled. He walked in the light as God was in the light. He was a man
of one book, the Bible; and such was his knowledge of the Scriptures
that he was called “a concordance.” He was peculiarly solemn. He always
appeared to act as if he heard a voice saying, “Occupy till I come,” or
as if the judgment trump was sounding in his ears summoning him to “give
an account of his stewardship.”
It was my privilege on September 23 to hear Dr. Chandler in Dover
preach the funeral sermon of Bishop Whatcoat from John i, 47: “Behold
an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile.” Was there ever a more
appropriate text? No man was ever more free from guile than Bishop
Whatcoat. Dr. Chandler did justice to the subject. He had known the
bishop intimately for years, and was a great admirer of his many virtues.
I wrote thus in my journal: “This was truly a solemn and profitable
discourse. My heart was affected on reflecting on what wholesome
instructions I have heard from the lips of our father in the Lord both in
private and public. I am encouraged to be more faithful, that I may not
become a castaway, and be separated from those who have gone before.”
Bishop Asbury hastened back after his New England tour to see his friend
and “true yoke-fellow,” but he was too late. “At Kingston,” he says, “I
found a letter from Dr. Chandler declaring the death of Bishop Whatcoat,
that father in Israel, and my faithful friend for forty years; a man of
solid parts; a self-denying man of God. Who ever heard him speak an
idle word? When was guile found in his mouth? He had been thirty-eight
years in the ministry: sixteen years in England, Wales, and Ireland, and
twenty-two in America; twelve years as presiding elder; four of this time
he was stationed in the cities, or traveling with me, and six years in
the superintendency. A man so uniformly good I have not known in Europe
or America.... At his taking leave of the South Carolina Conference I
thought his time was short. I changed my route to visit him, but only
reached within a hundred and thirty miles; death was too quick for me.”
The next spring, when Bishop Asbury was returning from his annual
southern tour, he came to Dover. On April 27, 1807, in Wesley Chapel,
standing over the remains of Bishop Whatcoat, he preached the funeral
sermon of his late colleague from 2 Tim. iii, 10: “But thou hast fully
known my doctrine, manner of life, purpose, faith, longsuffering,
charity, patience.”[11] Governor Bassett was present, and many others who
loved Bishop Whatcoat in life, and mourned the loss they sustained in
his death. It was a portraiture of Bishop Whatcoat sketched and painted
by a master workman who was well acquainted with his subject; and so
accurate was the likeness, with its lights and shades, that there was no
difficulty in recognizing the original.
On the walls of the church in Dover was placed a neat marble slab, on
which the following was inscribed:
“In memory of the REV. RICHARD WHATCOAT, one of the bishops of the
Methodist Episcopal Church, who was born March, 1736, in Gloucestershire,
England, and died in Dover July 5, 1806, aged seventy years.”