day, dined, with a number of ministers, at the manse of his old friend,
the Rev. William Tennent. After dinner, as often happened, Whitefield
expressed his joy at the thought of soon dying and being admitted into
heaven; and, then, appealing to the ministers present, he asked if his
joy was shared by them. Generally they assented; but Tennent continued
silent. “Brother Tennent,” said Whitefield, “you are the oldest man
among us. Do you not rejoice that your being called home is so near at
hand?” “I have no wish about it,” bluntly answered Tennent. Whitefield
pressed his question, and Tennent again replied, “No, sir, it is no
pleasure to me at all; and, if you knew your duty, it would be none to
you. I have nothing to do with death. My business is to live as _long_
as I can, and as _well_ as I can.” Whitefield was not satisfied, and a
third time urged the good old man to state, whether he would not choose
to die, if death were left to his own choice. “Sir,” answered Tennent,
“I have no choice about it. I am God’s servant, and have engaged to
do His business as long as He pleases to continue me therein. But now,
brother Whitefield, let me ask you a question. What do you think I
would say, if I were to send my man Tom into the field to plough, and
if at noon I should find him lounging under a tree, and complaining,
‘Master, the sun is hot, and the ploughing hard, and I am weary of my
work, and overdone with heat: do, master, let me go home and rest’?
What would I say? Why, that he was a lazy fellow, and that it was his
business to do the work I had appointed him, until I should think fit
to call him home.” For the present, at least, Whitefield was silenced,
and was taught, that it is every Christian man’s duty to say, “All the
days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come.”[664]
Whitefield’s preaching was never more popular and powerful than now.
Sharon has been mentioned in the foregoing extract. The minister
here was the Rev. Cotton Mather Smith, who offered him his pulpit.
Whitefield selected his favourite subject, and preached from, “Ye
must be born again.” The immense congregation was moved and melted
throughout, but the pronunciation of the concluding words of the sermon,
it is said, produced a life-time impression on those who heard them:
“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon this garden, that
the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into this garden,
and eat his pleasant fruits.” (Solomon’s Song, iv. 16.) Simple words,
but uttered in a manner and with a pathos which thrilled the enormous
crowd, and which caused many of them to follow him into the adjacent
towns for several successive days.[665]
Another anecdote may be inserted here. An eminent shipbuilder being
invited to hear Whitefield, at first made several objections, but at
last was persuaded to go. “What do you think of Mr. Whitefield?” asked
his friend. “Think,” said he, “I never heard such a man in my life. I
tell you, sir, every Sunday, when I go to church, I can build a ship
from stem to stern, under the sermon; but, were it to save my soul,
under Mr. Whitefield, I could not lay a single plank.”[666]
Whitefield sailed from New York on Tuesday, July 31st, and arrived at
New Port on the Friday following. With the exception of six days, on
five of which he was seriously ill, he preached daily until he died.
From August 4th to 8th inclusive, he preached at New Port; August 9th
to 12th, at Providence; August 13th, at Attleborough; and 14th, at
Wrentham. With the exception of the 19th, when he discoursed at Malden,
he officiated every day at Boston, from the 15th to the 25th. On August
26th, he preached at Medford; on the 27th, at Charlestown; and on the
28th, at Cambridge. The next two days were employed at Boston; August
31st, at Roxbury Plain; September 1st, at Milton; 2nd, at Roxbury; 3rd,
at Boston; 5th, at Salem; 6th, at Marble Head; 7th, at Salem; 8th, at
Cape Ann; 9th, at Ipswich; 10th and 11th, at Newbury Port; and 12th and
13th, at Rowley. On the 14th and two following days, he was disabled
by violent diarrhœa. From September 17th to 19th, he again preached at
Boston; and on the 20th, at Newton. The next two days he was ill, but
managed to travel from Boston to Portsmouth, where he preached on the
23rd to the 25th.[667] The 26th, he employed at Kittery; the 27th, at
Old York; the 28th, at Portsmouth; and the 29th, at Exeter.[668] At six
o’clock in the morning of the 30th, he died.
Thus were spent the last two months of Whitefield’s life. He was too
much occupied to have time for his wonted correspondence with his
friends; but there are two letters, belonging to this interval, which
must be quoted: the first to Mr. Wright, his manager at Bethesda; the
second to his beloved and faithful friend, Mr. Keen, of London.
“BOSTON, _September 17, 1770_.
“DEAR MR. WRIGHT,――Blessed be God! I find all is well at
Bethesda; only I want to know what things are needed, that I
may order them from Philadelphia, by Captain Souder. Fain would
I contrive to come by him, but people are so importunate for my
stay in these parts, that I fear it will be impracticable. Lord
Jesus, direct my goings in Thy way! He will, He will! My God
will supply all my wants, according to the riches of His grace
in Christ Jesus. Two or three evenings ago, I was taken in the
night with a violent lax, attended with retching and shivering,
so that I was obliged to return to Boston. Through infinite
mercy, I am restored, and to-morrow morning hope to begin _to
begin_ again. Never was the word received with greater eagerness
than now. All opposition seems, as it were, for a while to cease.
I find God’s time is the best. The season is critical as to
outward circumstances. But when forts are given up, the Lord
Jesus can appoint salvation for walls and bulwarks. He has
promised to be a wall of fire round about His people. This
comforts me concerning Bethesda, though we should have a Spanish
war. You will be pleased to hear I never was carried through the
summer’s heat so well. I hope it has been so with you, and all
my family. Hoping ere long to see you, I am, etc.,
“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.”
The letter to Mr. Keen, written only seven days before Whitefield’s
death, was to the following effect:――
“PORTSMOUTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE, _September 23, 1770_.
“MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,――By this time, I thought to be moving
southward: but never was greater importunity used to detain me
longer in these northern parts. Poor New England is much to be
pitied; Boston people most of all. How falsely misrepresented!
What a mercy that our Christian charter cannot be dissolved!
Blessed be God for an unchangeable Jesus! You will see, by the
many invitations enclosed, what a door is opened for preaching
His everlasting gospel. I was so ill on Friday, that I could
not preach, though thousands were waiting to hear. Well, the
day of release will shortly come, but it does not seem yet;
for, by riding sixty miles, I am better, and hope to preach here
to-morrow. I hope my blessed Master will accept of these poor
efforts to serve Him. O for a warm heart! O to stand fast in the
faith, to quit ourselves like men, and to be strong! May this
be the happy experience of you and yours! If spared so long, I
expect to see Georgia about Christmas. Still pray and praise.
I am so poorly, and so engaged when able to preach, that this
must apologize for not writing to more friends. It is quite
impracticable. Hoping to see all dear friends about the time
proposed, and earnestly desiring a continued interest in all
your prayers, I must hasten to subscribe myself,
“My dear, very dear sir,
“Less than the least of all,
“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.”
This was Whitefield’s last letter; at all events, no letter of a
subsequent date has been published.
Though Whitefield scarcely alludes to the circumstance, it ought to
be noted, that, the last six months of his life were spent in the
midst of great political excitement. It is a well-known fact, that the
inhabitants of the British colonies in America strongly objected to
pay taxes upon goods imported from England; and defended themselves by
the famous aphorism, “Taxation, without representation, is tyranny.”
So stout was their resistance, that, during the year 1769, the exports
of English merchants fell short of what they had been to the value
of three-quarters of a million sterling; and, since the year 1767,
the revenue, received by government from duties paid in America, had
decreased from £110,000 to £30,000. In consequence of this state of
things, Lord North, on the 5th of March, 1770, moved in the House of
Commons for leave to bring in a bill to repeal all the American taxes
and duties, except the duty upon tea. Great debates followed. On the
1st of May, the opposition called for the correspondence with the
American colonies. Eight days later, Burke moved eight resolutions
censuring the plan the government were pursuing. On the 14th of May,
Chatham moved that, in consequence of “the alarming disorders in his
Majesty’s American dominions,” an humble address be presented to the
king, beseeching him “to take the recent and genuine sense of the
people, by dissolving this present parliament, and calling another,
with all convenient dispatch.”
So much as it regards England. In America, the excitement had
become dangerous. In nearly all the principal seaports of the
colonies, committees had been appointed, by the people, to examine
cargoes arriving from Great Britain, and to prevent the sale of taxed
commodities. At Boston, meetings were regularly held, and strong votes
of censure passed upon every one who dared to introduce or sell any
of the prohibited goods; and, still further to increase the odium and
danger of such departures from the popular will, the names of offenders
were published in the newspapers, with comments representing them as
slaves and traitors.
As might naturally be expected, riots followed. In the month of
February, 1770, the shop of Theophilus Lillie was attacked. A friend of
Lillie’s seized a gun, and fired upon the assailants. The shot killed
Christopher Snider, a dirty boy, who, as “the first martyr to the
glorious cause of liberty,” was buried with great pomp, the procession
which followed the young reformer to his grave being a quarter of a
mile in length. In the meantime, the inhabitants of Boston, and the
soldiers quartered there, were perpetually quarrelling. No man in
a red coat could go through the streets without being insulted, and
no discipline could prevent the soldiers from retorting. Words led
to blows. On the 2nd of March, a private of the 29th Regiment got
into a quarrel, and was beaten by a set of ropemakers. A dozen of
the soldier’s comrades chastised the ropemakers, and made them run
for their very lives. The townspeople were exasperated, and armed
themselves with clubs. Meetings were held by the mob; and, on the 5th
of March, a crowd, with sticks and clubs, marched to Dock Square, and
made an attack upon the soldiers. Muskets were fired, and the rioters
ran away; but three were killed, and five were dangerously wounded. The
subject need not here be pursued at greater length. In point of fact,
the American Rebellion was begun, and, during the last six months of
his eventful life, Whitefield preached among the excited and angry
discontents. In some degree, he evidently sympathised with their
protests concerning their grievances; and, hence, the exclamations in
his last letter to Mr. Keen: “Poor New England is much to be pitied!
Boston people most of all! How falsely misrepresented!” No doubt,
both sides were misrepresented. The hour was pregnant with the most
disastrous events. For years afterwards, the roar and ravages of war
were terrific. Fortunately for himself, Whitefield escaped to the
land of love, and peace, and blessedness, while the storm was only
gathering, and before it burst in all its devastating deadliness.
On Saturday morning, September 29, Whitefield set out from Portsmouth
to Boston, with the intention of preaching at Newbury Port next morning.
On the way, he was stopped at Exeter, fifteen miles from Portsmouth,
and was prevailed upon to give a sermon to the people there. A friend
said to him, “Sir, you are more fit to go to bed than to preach.” “True,
sir,” replied Whitefield; and then, clasping his hands, and looking up
to heaven, he added, “Lord Jesus, I am weary in Thy work, but not of it.
If I have not yet finished my course, let me go and speak for Thee once
more in the fields, seal Thy truth, and come home and die!” An immense
multitude assembled. He mounted a hogshead.[669] His text was, “Examine
yourselves, whether you be in the faith.” One, who was present, thus
described the preacher and his sermon:――
“The subject was ‘Faith and works.’ He rose up sluggishly and
wearily, as if worn down and exhausted by his stupendous labours.
His face seemed bloated, his voice was hoarse, his enunciation
heavy. Sentence after sentence was thrown off in rough,
disjointed portions, without much regard to point or beauty. At
length, his mind kindled, and his lion-like voice roared to the
extremities of his audience. He was speaking of the inefficiency
of works to merit salvation, and suddenly cried out in a tone of
thunder, ‘Works! works! a man get to heaven by works! I would as
soon think of climbing to the moon on a rope of sand!’”[670]
Another gentleman, who was present, wrote:――
“Mr. Whitefield rose, and stood erect, and his appearance alone
was a powerful sermon. He remained several minutes unable to
speak; and then said, ‘I will wait for the gracious assistance
of God; for He will, I am certain, assist me once more to
speak in His name.’ He then delivered, perhaps, one of his best
sermons. ‘I go,’ he cried, ‘I go to rest prepared; my sun has
arisen, and by aid from heaven, has given light to many. It is
now about to set for――no, it is about to rise to the zenith of
immortal glory. I have outlived many on earth, but they cannot
outlive me in heaven. Oh, thought divine! I soon shall be in
a world where time, age, pain, and sorrow are unknown. My body
fails, my spirit expands. How willingly would I live for ever
to preach Christ! But I die to be _with_ Him.’”[671]
Whitefield’s sermon was two hours in length,――characteristic of the
man, but, in his present health, quite enough to kill him.
The Rev. Jonathan Parsons, who, for the last twenty-four years, had
been the Presbyterian minister at Newbury Port, met him at Exeter. In
piety, the two were kindred spirits. Mr. Parsons’ congregation was one
of the largest in America. As a preacher, he was eminently useful; his
imagination was rich, and his voice clear and commanding. He was well
skilled in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages; and many were the
seals of his faithful ministry, which closed six years after that of
his friend Whitefield’s.
After Whitefield’s enormous sermon, the two friends dined at Captain
Gillman’s, and then started for Newbury Port. On arriving there,
Whitefield was so exhausted, that he was unable to leave the boat
without assistance, but, in the course of the evening, he recovered
his spirits.[672]
Newbury Port was an ordinary New England village; in fact, it remains
such at the present day,――its streets narrow, and not overcrowded with
either traffic or passengers.[673] It is a remarkable coincidence,
that, _exactly_ thirty years before his death, Whitefield, for the
first time, visited the place which contains his sepulchre. In his
Journal, he wrote:――
“Tuesday, September 30, 1740. Preached at Ipswich in the morning
to many thousands. There was a great melting in the congregation.
Dined. Set out for Newbury, another town twelve miles from
Ipswich, and arrived about three. Here again the power of the
Lord accompanied the word. The meeting-house was very large.
Many ministers were present, and the people were greatly
affected. Blessed be God!”
Little did the great preacher think, that, on the same day, thirty
years afterwards, his work would terminate in the meeting-house’s manse.
The venerable building still stands, in a narrow lane, and, though
now used as two comfortable residences, the spacious entrance hall yet
exists, and likewise the fine oak staircase which led to the room in
which Whitefield died.[674]
While Whitefield partook of an early supper, the people assembled at
the front of the parsonage, and even crowded into its hall, impatient
to hear a few words from the man they so greatly loved. “I am tired,”
said Whitefield, “and must go to bed.” He took a candle, and was
hastening to his chamber. The sight of the people moved him; and,
pausing on the staircase, he began to speak to them. He had preached
his last sermon; this was to be his last exhortation. There he stood,
the crowd in the hall “gazing up at him with tearful eyes, as Elisha
at the ascending prophet. His voice flowed on until the candle which
he held in his hand burned away and _went out in its socket_! The next
morning he was not, for God had taken him!”[675]
Mr. Richard Smith, who had accompanied Whitefield from England, and had
attended him in his journeyings, followed him to his chamber. He found
him reading the Bible, and with Dr. Watts’s Psalms before him.
Whitefield drank some water-gruel, knelt by his bedside, engaged in
prayer, and then went to rest. He slept till two in the morning, when
he asked for cider, and drank a wine-glassful.
“He panted for want of breath,” says Mr. Smith. “I asked him
how he felt. He answered, ‘My asthma is returning; I must have
two or three days’ rest. Two or three days’ riding, without
preaching, will set me up again.’ Though the window had been
half up all night, he asked me to put it a little higher.
‘I cannot breathe,’ said he, ‘but I hope I shall be better
by-and-by. A good pulpit sweat to-day may give me relief. I shall
be better after preaching.’ I said to him, I wished he would
not preach so often. He replied, ‘I had rather wear out, than
rust out.’ He then sat up in bed and prayed that God would bless
his preaching where he had been, and also bless his preaching
that day, that more souls might be brought to Christ. He prayed
for direction, whether he should winter at Boston, or hasten
southward. He asked for blessings on his Bethesda College
and his family there; likewise on the congregations at the
Tabernacle and Tottenham Court chapel, and on all his English
friends.
“He then lay down to sleep again. This was nigh three o’clock.
At a quarter to four he awoke, and said, ‘My asthma, my asthma
is coming on again. I wish I had not promised to preach at
Haverhill to-morrow. I don’t think I shall be able; but I shall
see what to-day will bring forth. If I am no better to-morrow,
I will take a two or three days’ ride.’ He then asked me to
warm him a little gruel; and, in breaking the firewood, I awoke
Mr. Parsons, who rose and came in. He went to Mr. Whitefield’s
bedside, and asked him how he felt. He answered, ‘I am almost
suffocated. I can scarce breathe. My asthma quite chokes me.’
He got out of bed, and went to the open window for air. This was
exactly at five o’clock. Soon after, he turned to me, and said,
‘I am dying.’ I said, ‘I hope not, sir.’ He ran to the other
window, panting for breath, but could get no relief. I went for
Dr. Sawyer; and, on my coming back, I saw death on his face.
We offered him warm wine with lavender drops, which he refused.
I persuaded him to sit down and put on his cloak; he consented
by a sign, but could not speak. I then offered him the glass of
warm wine; he took half of it, but it seemed as if it would have
stopped his breath entirely. In a little while, he brought up
a considerable quantity of phlegm. I was continually employed
in taking the mucus from his mouth, bathing his temples, and
rubbing his wrists. His hands and feet were as cold as clay.
When the doctor came, and felt his pulse, he said, ‘He is a dead
man.’ Mr. Parsons replied, ‘I do not believe it. You must do
something, doctor.’ He answered, ‘I cannot. He is now near his
last breath.’[676] And indeed so it proved; for he fetched but
one gasp, stretched out his feet, and breathed no more. This was
exactly at six o’clock.”[677]
Thus died the most popular and powerful evangelist of modern times,
on Sunday morning, September 30, 1770. “I shall die silent,” remarked
Whitefield at the dinner table of Finley, the president of New Jersey
College: “I shall die silent. It has pleased God to enable me to bear
so many testimonies for Him during my life, that He will require none
from me when I die.” Whitefield’s words were strangely verified. In
this respect, his death was a contrast to that of his friend Wesley.
Whitefield was interred on Tuesday, October 2. “At one o’clock, all the
bells in Newbury Port were tolled for half an hour, and all the ships
in the harbour hoisted signals of mourning. At two o’clock, the bells
tolled a second time. At three o’clock, the bells called to attend the
funeral.”[678] Meanwhile, a large number of ministers had assembled
at the manse of Mr. Parsons, and had spent two hours in conversation
respecting Whitefield’s usefulness, and in prayer that his mantle
might fall on them and others. The pall-bearers were the Revs.
Samuel Haven, D.D., of Portsmouth; Daniel Rogers, of Exeter; Jedediah
Jewet and James Chandler, of Rowley; Moses Parsons, of Newbury; and
Edward Bass, D.D.,[679] the first bishop of the Church of England
in Massachusetts. The funeral procession was a mile in length. About
6,000 persons crowded within the church, and many thousands stood
outside.[680] The corpse being placed at the foot of the pulpit, the
Rev. Daniel Rogers offered prayer, in which he confessed that he owed
his conversion to Whitefield’s ministry, and then exclaiming, “O my
Father! my Father!” stopped and wept as though his heart was breaking.
The scene was one never to be forgotten. The crowded congregation were
bathed in tears. Rogers recovered himself, finished his prayer, sat
down, and sobbed. [681] One of the deacons gave out the hymn beginning
with the line,――
“Why do we mourn departing friends?”
Some of the people sang, and some wept, and others sang and wept
alternately. The coffin was then put into a newly prepared tomb,
beneath the pulpit; and, before the tomb was sealed, the Rev. Jedediah
Jewet delivered a suitable address, in the course of which he spoke
of Whitefield’s “peculiar and eminent gifts for the gospel ministry,
and his fervour, diligence, and success in the work of it.” “What a
friend,” cried Jewet, “he has been to us, and our interests, religious
and civil; to New England, and to all the British colonies on the
continent!”[682] After this, another prayer was offered, and the
immense crowd departed, weeping through the streets, as in mournful
groups they wended their way to their respective homes.[683]
The sensation occasioned by the sudden decease of the “man greatly
beloved” was enormous. The people came in crowds, begging to be allowed
to see his corpse. Ministers of all denominations hastened to the
house of Mr. Parsons, where several of them related how his ministry
had been the means of their conversion. Two days before his death,
he had preached at Portsmouth, and one of his hearers was a young
man named Benjamin Randall, then unconverted, and also cherishing a
dislike to Whitefield. “O how wonderful he spoke!” wrote Randall. His
soul inflamed with love, his arms extended, and tears rolling from his
eyes――with what power he spoke!” At noon on Sunday, a stranger was seen
riding through the streets of Portsmouth, and crying at the different
corners, “Whitefield is dead! Whitefield is dead!” Young Randall heard
the announcement. It pierced his heart. He afterwards wrote: “It was
September 30, 1770――that memorable day! that blessed day to Whitefield!
that blessed day to me! A voice sounded through my soul, more loud
and startling than ever thunder pealed upon my ears, ‘_Whitefield is
dead!_’ Whitefield is now in heaven, but I am on the road to hell.
He was a man of God, and yet I reviled him. He taught me the way to
heaven, but I regarded it not. O that I could hear his voice again!”
Whitefield’s death led to Randall’s conversion. He became a Baptist
minister, and _founded_ the Free-Will Baptist denomination, which now
numbers sixty thousand church members, more than a thousand ministers,
two colleges, and one theological seminary; and also has its weekly
periodicals, its _Quarterly Review_, and its flourishing missions in
India.[684]
The effect of Whitefield’s death upon the inhabitants of Georgia was
indescribable. All the black cloth in the colony was bought up. The
pulpit and desk, the chandeliers and organ, the pews of the Governor
and Council in the church at Savannah were draped with mourning;
and the Governor and members of the two Houses of Assembly went in
procession to the church, and were received by the organ playing a
funereal dirge.[685] A sum of money also was unanimously voted for
the removal of Whitefield’s remains to Georgia, to be interred at his
Orphan House; but the people of Newbury Port strongly objected, and the
design had to be relinquished. Forty-five years later, however, when
a new county was formed in Georgia, it received the name of Whitefield,
in memory of his worth and useful services.[686]