CHAPTER XIV.

WHITEFIELD ITINERATING

1744.

IN AMERICA.

"In the beginning of August, 1744, Whitefield embarked, though in a poor state of health; and after a tedious passage of eleven weeks, arrived at York." Gillies. He sailed from Plymouth, with nearly a hundred and fifty ships, under several convoys. It was, however, "full six weeks" before they reached the Western Islands. This was owing to the want of wind. When the wind did spring up, one of the vessels, which missed stays, drove right upon his ship; striking her mainsail into the bowsprit. Whitefield's vessel, being large, sustained little damage; but the other received a blow, which disabled and well nigh sunk her. The cries and groans of her crew, he says, "were awful!"

He had been singing a hymn on deck when the concussion took place. This fact, with the news of the concussion, was communicated to the convoy. It drew out, he says, the remark, "This is your praying and be damned! with many sayings of the like nature." He adds, "this, I must own, shocked me more than the striking of the ship." It did not, however, stop nor intimidate him. "I called my friends together, and broke out into these words in prayer:-God of the sea and God of the dry land, this is a night of rebuke and blasphemy! Show thyself, O God, and take us under thine own immediate protection. Be thou our Convoy, and make a difference between those who fear thee, and those that fear thee not."

Providence soon made a difference! Next day, a "violent Euroclydon arose," which "battered and sent away our convoy, so that we saw him no more all the voyage." Letters. Whitefield, at first, thought this "no loss: " but when two strange sail appeared in the distance, and preparation was made for action by mounting guns, slinging hammocks on the sides of the ship, and encircling the masts with chains, he

(being "naturally a coward," as he says) found it “formidable to have no convoy. The vessels were, however, only part of their own fleet. This was a pleasant discovery to more than the skulking chaplain in the holes of the ship. "The captain, on clearing the cabin, said, ' After all, this is the best fighting. You may be sure I concurred, praying that all our conflicts with spiritual enemies might at last terminate in a thorough cleansing and an eternal purification of the defiled cabin of our hearts." Letters.

No other accident occurred during the voyage. Its tediousness overcame his patience, however, when he saw the port. In order to land a few hours sooner than the vessel, he went on board a smack in the bay; but darkness coming on she missed her course and was tossed about all night. Unfortunately, too, she had no provisions, and he was so hungry that he "could have gnawed the very boards." Besides this he was suffering from "nervous cholic." Altogether he was thoroughly mortified, until a man lying at his elbow in the cabin, began to talk of "one Mr. Whitefield, for whose arrival the new lights in New England were watching and praying. "This," he says, "made me take courage. I continued undiscovered; and in a few hours, in answer, I trust, to new-light prayers, we arrived safe."

He was received at York by a physician, once a notorious deist, who had been converted under his ministry. This was a signal providence; for in about half an hour after he entered the doctor's house, he became racked with cholic, and convulsed from the "waist to the toes." A "total convulsion" was apprehended by the physician. He himself dreaded delirium, and implored his weeping wife and friends not to be "surprised if he uttered any thing wrong." Both fears, however, were soon allayed: but he was brought so low that he could not "bear the sound of the tread of a foot, or the voice of friends." Four days elapsed before nature could be relieved; and for weeks he had to be carried like a child. The fact is, he had eaten "eagerly" of some potatoes, during his gnawing hunger on board the smack, and they had remained on the stomach undigested. They were not even "discoloured," when they were removed.

When Whitefield recovered, the excellent though eccentric Moody, the minister of York, called upon him, and accosted him thus: "Sir, you are first welcome to America; secondly, to New England; thirdly, to all faithful ministers in New

England; fourthly, to all the good people in New England; fifthly, to all the good people of York; and sixthly and lastly, to me, dear sir, less than the least of all." This welcome was followed by an urgent request for a sermon. Whitefield he

sitated for a time; but "good old Mr. Moody" did not give him the benefit of his own favourite maxim, "When you know not what to do, you must not do you know not what." This, however, he did. He preached, and immediately after went over the ferry to Portsmouth. As might be expected, he caught cold, and was again brought to the gates of death. Three physicians attended him during the night.

With his usual simplicity, he says, "My pains returned; but what gave me most concern was, that notice had been given of my being to preach next evening. I felt a divine life distinct from my animal life, which made me, as it were, laugh at my pains, though every one thought I was taken with death. My dear York physician was then about to administer a medicine. I, on a sudden, cried out, Doctor, my pains are suspended; by the help of God, I'll go and preach,—and then come home and die! With some difficulty I reached the pulpit. All looked quite surprised, as though they saw one risen from the dead. Indeed, I was as pale as death, and told them they must look upon me as a dying man, come to bear my dying testimony to the truths I had formerly preached to them. All seemed melted, and were drowned in tears. The cry after me, when I left the pulpit, was like the cry of sincere mourners when attending the funeral of a dear departed friend. 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.”

Gillies has added to this account an interesting anecdote, from some of Whitefield's papers. "A poor negro woman insisted upon seeing the invalid, when he began to recover. She came in, and sat down on the ground, and looked earnestly in his face. She then said, in broken accents, 'Massa, 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 some more poor negroes.' I prayed to the Lord that, if I was to live, this might be the event." Gillies.

He thought himself "dying indeed," when he was laid near the fire, after preaching. But when he recollected “the life and power which spread all around," whilst "expecting to stretch into eternity," he said, "I thought it was worth dy

ing for a thousand times!" In three weeks after, he was able to go to Boston, though still very weak. His arrival was announced thus in Prince's Christian History: "The Rev. George Whitefield was so far revived, as to be able to set out from Portsmouth to Boston, whither he came in a very feeble state, the Monday evening after: since which he has been able to preach in several of our largest houses of public worship, with great and growing success. He comes with the same extraordinary spirit of meekness, sweetness, and universal benevolence, as before. In opposition to the spirit of separation and bigotry, he is still for holding communion with all Protestant churches. In opposition to enthusiasm, he preaches a close adherence to the Scriptures, and the necessity of trying all impressions by them, and of rejecting as delusion whatever is not agreeable to them. In opposition to antinomianism, he preaches up all kinds of relative and religious duties-though to be performed in the strength of Christ; and in short, the doctrines of the church of England, and of the first fathers of this country. As before, he applies himself to the understanding of his hearers, and then to their affections. And the more he preaches, the more he convinces people of their mistakes about him, and increases their satisfaction." Prince.

This defence was not needless at the time. Both calumny and caricature had been busy at Boston against Whitefield. Harvard College, and half-penny squibs, called "testimonies," united against him. A good old puritan of the city said of the testimonies, "they do not weigh much :" this was equally true of the more learned charges from the college. Accordingly neither weighed with the public. They soon offered to build for Whitefield "the largest place of worship that was ever seen in America." This he declined. He did not decline, however, when the people voted him into the pulpits of their" shy pastors." This led him to say, in reference to the old joke, "that the lord brethren of New England could tyrannize as well as the lord bishops of Old England." "Well is it at present, that the people are lord brethren; for they have passed votes of invitation to me to preach in the pulpits!" Had he been himself at the time, however, he would have gone into the fields.

The coolness and shyness of many ministers did not surprise him now. When he was the guest of Governor Belcher, on his former visit to Boston, he quite understood the

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"civil nod" of the clergy, at table; and said, at the time, "many who are now extremely civil, will turn out my open and avowed enemies." They did; and he said now, "I have been no false prophet." Still he felt the difference, when the clergy, "freed from restraints, appeared in puris naturalibus." Letters. He found that "the good old man (Moody) judged too much by his own honest feelings," when he welcomed him "to all the faithful ministers of New England." But Whitefield soon forgot all who forgot him at Boston, when the high sheriff, who was once the leader of the persecution, began to hear him, and especially when his "spiritual levees," for the awakened, became crowded. At one of them, a very singular Bostonian visited him ;-a man of ready wit and racy humour, who delighted in preaching over a bottle to his boon companions. He had gone to hear Whitefield, in order to get up a new "tavern harangue : " but when he had caught enough of the sermon for his purpose, and thus wanted to quit the church for the inn, "he found his endeavours to get out fruitless, he was so pent up." Whilst thus fixed, and waiting for "fresh matter of ridicule," he was arrested by the gospel. That night he went to Prince, full of horror, and longing to beg pardon of Whitefield. Prince encouraged him to visit the preacher. Whitefield says of him, "by the paleness, pensiveness, and horror of his countenance, I guessed he was the man of whom I had been apprized. Sir, can you forgive me?' he cried, in a low but plaintive voice. I smiled, and said, 'Yes, sir, very readily.' Indeed, you cannot,' he said, when I tell you all.' I then asked him to sit down; and judging that he had sufficiently felt the lash of the law, I preached the gospel unto him." This, with other remarkable conversions, gave increased energy and influence to his preaching in Boston. "My bodily strength," he says, "is recovered, and my soul more than ever in love with a crucified Jesus!"

At this time, the Cape Breton expedition was committed to his friend Colonel Pepperell; the first and last native of New England created a baronet of Great Britain. For his success at the siege of Louisburgh, which led to this unusual honour, Pepperell was not a little indebted to Whitefield. He gave him a rallying motto for his flag, and preached to his soldiers before they embarked. It is painful to recollect this patronage of war by a minister of peace! He himself did not easily get over his scruples of conscience. His friend Sherbourne,