Since writing the above, I have been in the wars.—But blessed be God am pretty well recovered, and going on my way rejoicing.—Pray hard.
LETTER MCLXX.
To Mr. ——.
Dublin, July 9, 1757.
My dear Friend,
MANY attacks have I had from Satan’s children, but yesterday, you would have thought he had been permitted to have given me an effectual parting blow. You have heard of my being in Ireland, and of my preaching daily to large and very affected auditories, in Mr. W——’s spacious room. When here last, I preached in a more confined place in the week days, and once or twice ventured out to Oxminton-Green, a large place like Moorfields, situated very near the barracks, where the Ormond and Liberty, that is, high and low party boys, generally assemble every Sunday, to fight with each other. The congregations then were very numerous, the word seemed to come with power; and no noise or disturbance ensued. This encouraged me to give notice, that I would preach there again last Sunday afternoon. I went through the barracks, the door of which opens into the green, and pitched my tent near the barrack walls, not doubting of the protection, or at least interposition of the officers and soldiery, if there should be occasion. But how vain is the help of man! Vast was the multitude that attended; we sang, prayed, and preached, without much molestation; only now and then a few stones and clods of dirt were thrown at me. It being war time, as is my usual practice, I exhorted my hearers not only to fear God, but to honour the best of kings, and after sermon I prayed for success to the Prusian arms. All being over, I thought to return home the way I came; but to my great surprize access was denied, so that I had to go near half a mile from one end of the green to the other, through hundreds and hundreds of papists, &c. Finding me unattended, (for a soldier and four methodist preachers, who came with me, had forsook me and fled) I was left to their mercy; but their mercy, as you may easily guess, was perfect cruelty. Vollies of hard stones came from all quarters, and every step I took, a fresh stone struck, and made me reel backwards and forwards, till I was almost breathless, and all over a gore of blood. My strong beaver hat served me as it were for a scull cap for a while; but at last that was knocked off, and my head left quite defenceless. I received many blows and wounds; one was particularly large and near my temples. I thought of Stephen, and as I believed that I received more blows, I was in great hopes that like him I should be dispatched, and go off in this bloody triumph to the immediate presence of my master. But providentially, a minister’s house lay next door to the green; with great difficulty I staggered to the door, which was kindly opened to, and shut upon me. Some of the mob in the mean time having broke part of the boards of the pulpit into large splinters, they beat and wounded my servant grievously in his head and arms, and then came and drove him from the door. For a while I continued speechless, panting for and expelling every breath to be my last; two or three of the hearers, my friends, by some means or other got admission, and kindly with weeping eyes washed my bloody wounds, and gave me something to smell to and to drink. I gradually revived, but soon found the lady of the house desired my absence, for fear the house should be pulled down. What to do, I knew not, being near two miles from Mr. W——’s place; some advised one thing, and some another. At length, a carpenter, one of the friends that came in, offered me his wig and coat, that I might go off in disguise. I accepted of, and put them on, but was soon ashamed of not trusting my master to secure me in my proper habit, and threw them off with disdain. I determined to go out (since I found my presence was so troublesome) in my proper habit; immediately deliverance came. A methodist preacher, with two friends, brought a coach; I leaped into it, and rid in gospel triumph through the oaths, curses, and imprecations of whole streets of papists unhurt, though threatened every step of the ground. None but those who were spectators of the scene, can form an idea of the affection with which I was received by the weeping, mourning, but now joyful methodists. A christian surgeon was ready to dress our wounds, which being done, I went into the preaching place, and after giving a word of exhortation, join’d in a hymn of praise and thanksgiving, to him who makes our extremity his opportunity, who stills the noise of the waves, and the madness of the most malignant people. The next morning I set out for port Arlington, and left my persecutors to his mercy, who out of persecutors hath often made preachers. That I may be thus revenged of them, is the hearty prayer of,
Yours, &c.
G. W.