All during the winter of 1767-1768, besides the distress of mind and spirit, he suffered from many diseases, chiefly a wasting cough, and at the beginning of July of 1768 his various ailments became so aggravated he was most of the time in great pain, so that he was forced to exclaim more than once to me—and I rejoice now I never deserted him—that he was nailed to the cross; but such was his stubborn will and fortitude that he refused to acknowledge any physical sickness, but would often say his sufferings were mere spiritual throes preceding his new birth. He also found great comfort in the firm persuasion, which many of his most intimate followers held with him, that he would be spared the pains of a bodily dissolution and would be translated into the realms of bliss as Enoch and Elijah of old; but in this, like his predecessor on the Wissahickon, Magister Johannus Kelpius, our leader was destined to make his exit in no wise different from ordinary mortals.
Notwithstanding his grievous infirmities our leader attended to the duties of his office to within eight days of his end, when for the last time, in his priestly robes, he officiated at a love feast, and seeing that his end was nigh he consecrated Brother Philemon and Brother Eleazer and myself to the priesthood, from which his successor should be selected. While in such suffering he received word, only three days before his death, that one of our oldest housemothers was breathing her last, and that she wished to see our leader even if he could not speak to her. So with him leaning on my arm we went to our dear sister's, thereby fulfilling her wish.
"At last," so our Chronicon states, "Wednesday, the sixth day of July of the year 1768 came when he laid aside his mortal raiment."
On that morning, having rallied somewhat, he attended prayers in the Sisters' Saal, and sought earnestly for reconciliation with our prioress, but in vain. As he returned to his cabin, sad at heart—for with all his fiery nature he ever strove to merit his favorite name, Father Friedsam Gottrecht (Father Peaceful Godright)—none of us thought his departure was so near; for the powers of darkness, as he said, could not prevail upon him to lie down.
Meanwhile the Brethren kept a constant watch, for many of our little flock looked for great happenings, feeling assured the powers of death would have no easy struggle with such an old soldier of the cross, who was neither accustomed to call on men for mercy nor to yield to the powers of darkness.
But by the time the sun had stood at midday, we could see the end was near, and all the Solitary and the near-by householders gathered about him in his little cabin, soon filling it, many standing outside the doorway. On his little bench, as hard and uncomfortable as any of ours—for he scorned any comforts denied to his disciples—sat our little ruler, gaunt, wasted, his features thin and drawn, and eyes sunken. Around him clustered the Brethren of Bethania, sad and silent, but not shedding any tears to annoy his stubborn spirit. Back of the Brethren stood the Sisters, some of the shorter ones on a bench, and most of them weeping quietly despite their fortitude. All was silence and expectation. But though within the cabin reigned the darkness of death, outside under the glowing sun all was life and brightness, like the glorious radiance that would burst through the gates of death, for our beloved leader.
Over an hour we stood, not saying a word, but all the while our brother becoming weaker and weaker from the great heat and the stifling air in so small a cabin. At last he broke the silence and asked the Brethren to bless him and receive his memory into their fellowship. Then I anointed him with the holy oil, and as I spread the sacred chrism upon his forehead I gave him my blessing with the laying on of hands, after which all the Brethren in turn gave him the kiss of peace to take with him on his journey.
After this tender ceremony was over he consented, after my continued persuasion, to lie down on his bench, resting his head upon the wooden block that had served him so many years. He lay quietly for a while with eyes closed, and then as if gazing into the very depths of eternity, he partly raised himself on his elbow and exclaimed, "O wehe! O wehe! O wunder! O wunder!" (Oh, woe! Oh, woe! Oh, wonder! Oh, wonder!) and then fell back, his spirit soon after taking its flight peacefully from its earthly home to that still more wonderful home of which oft during his stay with us he had received such gracious visions.
Immediately upon his death messengers were sent out near and far with slips prepared by the Sisters, inviting the people to the funeral of our Vorsteher which, on account of the great heat, was set but two days following his death, the Brethren meanwhile preparing the body for burial, the Sisterhood keeping vigil, five Sisters constantly watching and reciting prayers for our dead.
On the day of the funeral our usual customs were observed, such as sweeping the floor of his cabin, pouring a bucket of water over the door-sill, and the chalking of the three crosses upon the side of the doorway. And there were those who, following an old German superstition, went about and informed every hive of bees within our grounds and for a considerable distance without, of the death of our leader, it being firmly believed that the bees would swarm if this notice to them were neglected; and also every barrel, keg, and crock of wine and vinegar and pickles and sauer kraut and preserved fruits, in order not to be spoiled, had to be turned on the shelves or skids.