_Dissenter_, of _any denomination_, was at all concerned in
this riot. They were all of the _old stamp_, that have ever
been known by the name of _church rabble_; though I cannot
omit to notice, that the Methodists complain much against
the Presbyterian clergy, who (they say), in their sermons
and conversations, frequently represent them in a _false_ and
_injurious_ light; and, thereby, lessen the affection, and raise
the antipathy, of the people towards them.”
The author concludes by saying, that his pamphlet was written “for his
_own private amusement_, and without any design to _publish_ it;” and
that its _publication_ was the result of what he saw and heard after
the pamphlet was finished.
“On a certain evening, he saw, with his own eyes, the wicked
rioters collected and assembled together, by beat of drum, in
the open streets, with sticks and bats, in order to disturb
and abuse the poor Methodists, who were at their meeting-house,
worshipping and serving God, in a manner perfectly innocent
and inoffensive, without the least disturbance to the public
peace. He saw the Methodists flee with great fear and trembling,
and the rabble persecuting with rage and violence. And he
heard, that, the very night before, this same riotous crew,
to the number of many hundreds, attacked Mr. Adams, one of the
Methodist ministers, with sticks, dirt, and mud; and that, in
all probability, they would have murdered him in the open street,
had not a good Samaritan, in Southgate Street, taken him into
his house, and there rescued him from their violent and wicked
hands.”
At the risk of being prolix, Mr. Adams’s own account must be added to
these statements of the “impartial” observer at Exeter. The _Christian
History_ No. 3, vol. vii., 1745, contains two letters on the subject,
one by “a gentleman in Exeter,”[107] dated June 16, 1745, and the
other by Thomas Adams himself, dated Hampton, June 20, 1745. The latter
writes:――
“On my way to the west, I heard of a cruel persecution at Exeter;
but I had no freedom to omit going thither, though I expected
much opposition. Our Saviour brought me there on Saturday
evening, and I was kindly received by Mr. Kennedy and his
wife. Many told me, we should be mobbed, if I preached in the
play-house; but we thought it was right to try. Accordingly, I
preached there, at six o’clock on Sunday morning, and we were
not much disturbed. I preached again in the afternoon, and,
though many of the mob came in, they did not disturb us.
“The next morning, (Monday) we were much interrupted, by the
mob beating a drum and a pan, at a window of the play-house;
and they hallooed us, and beat the drum quite to Mr. Kennedy’s
house. We did not, however, receive much personal abuse until
eight days after, when I came back from Plymouth.” [Adams here
interjects an account of his preaching at Plymouth, Kingsbridge,
Wonhil, and Tavistock, at which last-mentioned place, the mob
brought out the water-engine, and endeavoured to play it upon
him and his congregation. He then proceeds with his narrative
of the persecution at Exeter.]
“The evening I returned to Exeter, I preached in Mr. Kennedy’s
house. The next morning, (Thursday) I preached at the play-house;
and so continued morning and evening till Saturday; but not
without interruption of a drum, besides being hallooed after,
and pushed about, as we went along the street.
“On Saturday morning, as soon as I had done preaching, some of
the brethren told me there were several constables waiting at
the _Dove_ to impress me. Accordingly, when I came to the _Dove_,
one of the constables laid hold on me, and said, I was a fit
person to serve the king. I told him, if he had sufficient
authority for his proceedings, I would go with him. They then
took hold of Brother S――――, who had come with me from Plymouth,
and told him he must go with me. We knew not whither we were
going, till we got to Southgate prison. When we came to the
prison door, they stopped us, and said, we must go in there.
Having entered, one of the constables asked me what countryman
I was. I modestly answered, ‘My country is Canaan, and thither
I am journeying.’ They said we must stay in prison till Monday,
and then be brought before the justices at their quarter
sessions.
“We had not, however, been there above five or six hours,
when two of the constables came again, and desired to know our
circumstances and manner of living; and particularly if I had
taken the oaths, and qualified myself for preaching. I said,
‘You ought to have enquired into this before you brought us
hither. Do we look like vagrants? Mr. S. is a tradesman, and
keeps an open shop in Plymouth, and came hither about business.
He is also a constable, so that you have impressed one of the
king’s officers. As to myself, I am of the Church of England,
and have no need to take the oaths to qualify myself for a
preacher; and, besides, I am a freeholder.’ When they heard this,
they said, ‘Gentlemen, we have no more to say. You are welcome
to go as soon as you please.’ So they called the keeper of the
prison, and desired him to release us. At first, he refused, and
said he durst not without an order from the magistrates. They
said, as they brought us thither without being committed by the
justices, they had power to release us. The keeper said, they
must give security to bear him blameless. Whether they did or
not, I cannot tell; but they let us go; and I believe the poor
constables were as glad to bring us out as they were to put us
in. I gave the turnkey sixpence, because he used us kindly, and
asked us to go on the leads of the house to air ourselves.
“In the evening, I again preached in the play-house, but was
much disturbed. Some beat a drum; some hallooed; some stamped
up and down the galleries; and some spat on the people, and
slapped them on their faces. Mr. S. and another[108] went to
a justice of the peace, and desired the Proclamation might be
read, to disperse the mob. The justice said he would come; and
bid them go directly to the town clerk’s, and he would meet them
there. Thither they went, and from thence to the mayor’s, who
made many objections against going. After great delay, he went
with reluctance; but, before they came, we were gone, being
apprehensive that the mob would abuse the women as they had done
before, which was cruel and inhuman.
“The passage, from the play-house to the street, was filled with
fellows of the baser sort. One poor wretch gnashed his teeth,
and swore he would be revenged on me. We were pushed about most
grievously. The women were thrown into the dirt, and one had
her eye much hurt. Two of the brethren were cuffed prodigiously.
I received only some scratches on my hand, but was besmeared
all over with mud and dirt, the mob pelting us with all the
nastiness the kennels afforded, till we got to the house of
Mr. Kennedy.
“The next day being Sunday, and the last of my being there,
many of our friends thought it would be best to preach in
Mr. Kennedy’s house, which I did both morning and evening. It
was well we did not go to the play-house, for the mob were there,
and seemed more desperate than ever. One of our friends found
a paper stuck up against the play-house door, with these words:
‘_For the benefit of the mob. This evening will be acted at the
theatre, Hell in an Uproar; or, the Furies let loose. The part
of Beelzebub, by Mr. P――――ns: Queen of Hell, by Mrs. L――――w,
etc._’
“After I had done preaching on Sunday evening, and was going
to Rocks Lane, to take my leave of the Society, I was stopped
by the same two constables who imprisoned and released us.
They told me, the mayor had sent them to acquaint me, that I
must meet him and the justices at their quarter sessions on
the morrow, at eleven o’clock. I answered, ‘I cannot, for I am
obliged to go out of town early in the morning.’ They said, if I
would not promise them to be there, they must keep me in custody.
I said, I would wait upon the mayor in half an hour, if they
would appoint a place where I should meet them; which they did.
So I gave a short exhortation to the Society; and then Brother
S―――― and I went with one of the constables to the mayor.
“His worship asked me if my name was Adams. I said, ‘Yes.’ He
asked if I was the preacher. I said, ‘Yes.’ ‘Have you qualified
yourself?’ I answered, ‘My qualification and sufficiency are
of the Lord.’ He bid me not tell him of the _Lord_, but to
say whether I had qualified myself according to the Act of
Toleration. I answered, ‘I am not a Dissenter, and therefore
have nothing to do with that Act, being a son of the Church
of England.’ He furiously cried, ‘You are not of the Church,’
and called me several ridiculous names. I said, ‘Sir, you may
call me what you please, but I say I am of the Church; and,
considering myself so, do not know that my proceedings are
illegal.’ He called me several names again, and said I made
collections among the poor people, and got their money from
them. ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘I never made a collection amongst them
in my life.’ He persisted in saying that I did; and asked, ‘How
else do you live?’ ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I have nothing from you;
and I know not why I came here to receive such ill-treatment;’
to which I added, that, ‘I did not apprehend I was under any
obligation at all to come there; for,’ said I, ‘by the same rule
that you stop me on my journey, you may stop any gentleman who
comes on business.’ He answered, ‘Sure you have not the d――――d
impudence to call yourself a gentleman!’ I said, ‘Sir, whether I
be gentle or simple, I am sure you do not use me well; therefore,
I don’t think to stay any longer with you.’ ‘But,’ said he, ‘I
desire you will be at the quarter sessions to-morrow.’ ‘I cannot,’
said I, ‘for I am obliged to go out of town very early in the
morning.’ The constable standing by said, ‘Sir, if you please,
I will keep him in custody till the time.’ ‘Will you?’ said I;
‘you had best know by what authority you touch me. If you act
contrary to law, I shall let you hear of it. Besides,’ I added,
‘you know I have not reckoned with you yet for yesterday’s five
hours’ false imprisonment.’ And so, without offering to stop us
any longer, they let us go.
“When we came out of the mayor’s house into the street, we
found a mob of some hundreds gathered together, who pelted us
with cabbage-stumps, and whatever they could find, until we came
almost to Southgate, which was near a furlong; when one opened
a door, and desired us to come in, which we did. By this time,
I was ready to fall down, by reason of the violent blows I
received on my head, and other parts of my body. O good God,
forgive these cruel men!
“I am to return to the west in a few days. I am filled with
comfort, and not in the least troubled or terrified, though I
expect much opposition, and am persuaded afflictions await me.
O pray for me, my dear, dear friends, that I may be kept near
the Saviour, and may be made bold as a lion, wise as a serpent,
meek as a lamb, and harmless as a dove.”
This is a long account; but it is useful as illustrating the state of
some of the first towns in the kingdom a hundred and thirty years ago;
and as shewing the cruel persecutions to which Whitefield’s preachers,
and the Societies they had gathered, were at that time subjected.
It would be easy to furnish other extracts from the _Christian
History_――a book now nearly non-existent; but enough has been written
to afford the reader a glimpse――though an imperfect one――of the extent
and quality of Whitefield’s brotherhood, when, for the third time, he
set sail for America.
_THIRD VISIT TO AMERICA._
AUGUST 1744 TO JUNE 1748.
WHITEFIELD and his wife embarked at Plymouth about August 10, and
landed at York, in New England, on October 26. The voyage was long,
rough, and dangerous. Six days before his arrival, he wrote:――
“In a week or two after we sailed, we began to have a church
in our ship. Two serious New England friends, finding how I
was served at Portsmouth, came from thence to Plymouth, to bear
me company. We had regular public prayer morning and evening,
frequent communion, and days of humiliation and fasting. Being
time of war, and sailing out with near a hundred and fifty ships,
we had several convoys. Their taking leave of each other, at
their several appointed places, was striking. We have often been
alarmed; once with the sight of a Dutch fleet, which we took for
an enemy; and again at the sight of Admiral Balchen, who rode by
us, receiving the obeisance of the surrounding ships as though
he were lord of the whole ocean. On another occasion, one of
the ships struck her mainsail into our bowsprit. A little after
we came up with the convoy, and our captain informed them of
what had happened. The answer was, ‘This is your praying, and
be damned to you!’ This shocked me more than the striking of the
ships. At another time, we were alarmed with the sight of two
ships, which our captain took to be enemies. The preparations
for an engagement were formidable: guns were mounted, chains put
round the masts, everything taken out of the great cabin, and
hammocks placed about the sides of the ships. All, except myself,
seemed ready for fire and smoke. My wife, after having dressed
herself to prepare for all events, set about making cartridges,
whilst I wanted to go into the holes of the ship, hearing
that was the chaplain’s usual place. I went; but not liking my
situation, I crept upon deck, and, for the first time in my life,
beat up to arms, by a warm exhortation. The apprehended enemy
approached; but, upon a nearer view, we found them to be two
ships going under the same convoy as ourselves.”
Perhaps it will be thought that Whitefield and his fellow-voyagers were
more alarmed than hurt. But the narrative is not ended. When near the
port of York, a small fishing smack approached them. Being told that
the smack would be in port several hours before the ship, Whitefield
and others went on board. It soon grew dark. The pilots missed the
inlet, and the smack was tossed about all night. Whitefield’s hunger
was such, that, to use his own expression, he “could have gnawed the
very boards.” The fishermen had nothing eatable, except a few potatoes.
Whitefield eagerly devoured them. About half an hour after his arrival
at York, he “was put to bed, racked with a nervous colic, and convulsed
from his waist down to his toes.” For four days, his life was in danger.
Word was sent to Boston, that he was dying. A friend and a physician
came, says he, “either to take care of me, or to attend my funeral; but,
to their great surprise, they found me in the pulpit.” The truth is,
as soon as Whitefield’s pain abated, the minister at York asked him to
preach, and, of course, the temptation was too powerful to be resisted.
Not content with this imprudence, he crossed the ferry to Portsmouth,
caught cold, had a return of illness, and was taken to the house
of Mr. Sherburne.[109] Three physicians attended him, and Colonel
Pepperell,[110] with many others, came to condole with him. It so
happened, however, that he was announced to preach at Portsmouth the
day after his arrival. A substitute was provided: but, when the time
for holding the service came, Whitefield suddenly exclaimed, “Doctor,
my pains are suspended; by the help of God, I will go and preach, and
then come home and die.” He wrote:――
“With some difficulty, I reached the pulpit. All looked quite
surprised. I was as pale as death, and told them they must
look upon me as a dying man; and that I came to bear my dying
testimony to the truths I had formerly preached amongst them,
and to the invisible realities of another world. I continued
an hour in my discourse, and nature was almost exhausted; but,
O what life, what power, spread all around! All seemed to be
melted, and were in tears. Upon my coming home, I was laid on a
bed, upon the ground, near the fire; and I heard them say, ‘He
is gone!’ but God was pleased to order it otherwise. I gradually
recovered; and, soon after, a poor negro woman came, sat down
upon the ground, looked earnestly in my face, and said, ‘Master,
you just go to heaven’s gate; but Jesus Christ said, Get you
down, get you down; you must not come here yet. Go first, and
call more poor negroes.’[111] You will find by this, I am still
alive; and, if spared to be made instrumental in making any
poor dead soul alive to God, I shall rejoice that the all-wise
Redeemer has kept me out of heaven a little longer.”
Whitefield was now thoroughly disabled. Hence the following letter from
his wife to a friend in England:――
“PORTSMOUTH, NEW ENGLAND, _November 14, 1744_.
“My dear and honoured master has ordered me to send you an
account of our sorrowful, yet joyful, voyage.
“Our captain and others say, they never saw such a voyage; for
all nature seemed to be turned upside down. We had nothing but
storms, calms, and contrary winds. We frequently expected to go
into eternity. Our own provision was spent; and Mr. Whitefield
was so ill, that he could not take the ship’s provision. The
winds were such that we expected to be driven off the coast,
after we had seen land a week. We prayed to the Lord to send a
boat to take us on shore; and, accordingly, a fishing schooner
came, that had not been out for a long time before. Into it we
went, hoping to get on shore in three or four hours: but the
wind arose, and we were out all night.
“On the morrow, being the 26th of October, we landed, about nine
in the morning, at York; where the Lord was pleased to visit my
dear and honoured master with a nervous colic, which almost took
his life. As soon as he was able to go about, he went out and
preached twice a day, which was too much for him. We came from
York here; and, in the way, he preached in the rain. On reaching
Portsmouth, he preached at candle-light. This laid him up again,
and the next day he was judged to be dangerously ill; but, when
the time he had proposed to preach arrived, finding himself free
from pain, he went out and preached. This had like to have cost
him his life, for he became as cold as a clod. But the Lord was
pleased to hear prayer from him, and he is now in a fair way.
“The Lord is doing great things here. The fields are indeed
ready to the harvest, though there is some opposition. Mr.
Whitefield has written several things, which will be sent as
soon as printed here. We received your letter by Captain Adams,
but Mr. Whitefield has not strength to answer it. He desires
you will send the contents of this to all friends, and tell them
they may expect letters the first opportunity.
“The Lord is with my dear Mr. Whitefield, and has been through
his illness. He says, he was frequently in hopes of entering
his eternal rest; but, since he is longer detained, he is fully
persuaded it will be for the Mediator’s glory. I would enlarge,
but my dear master’s illness, and many other things, oblige me
to subscribe myself your sincere friend and affectionate servant,
“ELIZABETH WHITEFIELD.”[112]
Mrs. Whitefield speaks of “_some opposition_.” What was it?
Considerable space will have to be occupied in answering this question.
The reader will already have observed that some of the Presbyterian
and Congregational ministers of America were as bitterly opposed
to Whitefield as were any of the clergy of the Church of England.
This will become increasingly manifest by the following details.
First of all, however, must be given a rampant letter by a quondam
Congregationalist, who was now an Episcopalian of the most fervid type.
Timothy Cutler, after graduating at Harvard College, was ordained in
1709, minister of Stratford, Connecticut, and soon became the most
celebrated preacher in the colony. In 1719, he was chosen president
of Yale College. Three years afterwards, he renounced his connection
with the Congregational churches; and, in consequence, was dismissed
from his presidential chair. Embarking for England, he was, in 1723,
ordained, first a deacon and then a priest of the Established Church;
and, at the same time, was created a doctor of divinity, by the
Oxford University. Soon after, he became rector of Christ Church,
Boston, where he continued till his death in 1765. Though haughty and
overbearing in his manners, he was a man of great ability, and, in
addition to his general learning, was one of the best oriental scholars
of the age. In the following letter to the Rev. Dr. Zachary Grey, of
Houghton Conquest, Bedfordshire, Dr. Cutler, doubtless, represented
the Episcopalian animosity too generally cherished by the clergy of
New England.
“BOSTON, NEW ENGLAND, _September 24, 1743_.
“Whitefield has plagued us with a witness. It would be
an endless attempt to describe the scene of confusion and
disturbance occasioned by him: the divisions of families,
neighbourhoods, and towns; the contrariety of husbands and wives;
the undutifulness of children and servants; the quarrels among
the teachers; the disorders of the night; the intermission of
labour and business; the neglect of husbandry and the gathering
of the harvest.
“Our presses are for ever teeming with books, and our women with
bastards. Many of the teachers have left their particular cures,
and are strolling about the country. Some have been ordained by
them _evangelizers_. They all have their _armour-bearers_ and
_exhorters_. In many conventicles and places of rendezvous,
there has been chequered work――several preaching, and several
exhorting, or praying, at the same time,――the rest crying, or
laughing, yelping, sprawling, or fainting. This revel, in some
places, has been maintained many days and nights together, with
intermission, and then there were the ‘blessed outpourings of
the Spirit!’
“Some of the _New Lights_[113] have overdone themselves by
ranting and blaspheming, and are quite demolished; others have
extremely weakened their interest, and others are terrified
from going the lengths they are inclined to. On the other hand,
many of the _Old Lights_ (thus are they distinguished) have been
forced to trim, and some have lost their congregations; but they
will soon raise up a new congregation in any new town where they
are opposed. I do not know, but we have fifty, in one place or
other, and some of them large and much frequented.
“When Mr. Whitefield first arrived here, the whole town was
alarmed. He made his first visit to church on a Friday, and
conversed with many of our clergy together, and belied them,
me especially, when he had gone. Being not invited into our
pulpits, the Dissenters were highly pleased, and engrossed him;
and immediately the bells rang, and all hands went to lecture.
This show kept on all the while he was here. The town was ever
alarmed; the streets were filled with people, with coaches, and
chaises――all for the benefit of that holy man. The conventicles
were crowded; but he rather chose the common, where multitudes
might see him in all his awful postures: besides, in one crowded
conventicle, six were killed in a fight before he came in. The
fellow treated the most venerable with an air of superiority;
but he for ever lashed and anathematized the Church of England,
and that was enough.
“After him came one Tennent――a monster! impudent and noisy――and
told them they were all _damned! damned! damned!_ This charmed
them; and, in the most dreadful winter I ever saw, people
wallowed in snow, night and day, for the benefit of his beastly
brayings; and many ended their days under these fatigues. Both
of them carried more money out of these parts than the poor
could be thankful for.”[114]
Another notable opponent must be introduced. The Rev. Charles Chauncy,
D.D., was born in Boston, in the year 1705. He entered Harvard College
at the age of twelve, and four years afterwards received his first
degree. In 1727, he was ordained pastor of the first church in Boston,
as colleague of the Rev. Thomas Foxcroft. He died in 1787, in the
eighty-third year of his age, and the sixtieth of his ministry. Chauncy
was eminent for his learning, was ardently attached to the civil and
religious liberties of his country, and strongly objected to State
Church establishments. His publications were too numerous to be
specified in a work like this. His last days were almost entirely
occupied in devotional exercises.