During his stay in Plymouth, Whitefield's usefulness daily increased. The ferry-men, who obtained their living by carrying persons between Plymouth and Dock, refused to take money from his hearers, saying, "God forbid that we should sell his word!" The evangelist exclaimed, "Oh, the thousands that flock to the preaching of Christ's gospel!" In the midst of these scenes, the convoy arrived, and in delicate health he embarked for America.
CHAPTER IX.
WHITEFIELD'S SECOND VISIT TO NEW ENGLAND.
1744, 1745.
Mr. Whitefield commenced his third voyage to America in August, 1744. His health while crossing the Atlantic became worse, rather than better, the voyage lasting eleven weeks. He had set out in company with about one hundred and fifty ships, attended by several men-of-war as convoys, which, however, they lost by storms separating them on the way. It was more than six weeks, owing generally to want of wind, before they reached any of the western islands. When the wind again sprung up, one of the vessels, which missed stays, drove upon the ship in which Whitefield was, striking her mainsail into the bowsprit. The alarm was very great, but no lives were lost. He had been singing a hymn on deck when the concussion took place; this fact, together with that of the concussion itself, was communicated to the convoy, and led to the use of much violent and wicked language. But the good man was not intimidated. He says, "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.'" A difference was soon made. Next day a heavy storm arose, which "battered and sent away our convoy, so that we saw him no more all the voyage." Whitefield at first did not at all regret the loss, but when two strange sails appeared in the distance, and preparation was made for action by mounting guns, slinging hammocks on the sides of the ships, and encircling the masts with chains, he being, as he says, "naturally a coward," found it formidable to have no convoy. The vessels, however, proved to be only a part of their own fleet. This was a pleasant discovery to them, especially to Whitefield. "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."
The tediousness of this voyage, in the feeble state of his health, seems to have tried Whitefield's patience; so that when he arrived in sight of the port of York, in the then territory of Maine, in order to land a few hours sooner he went on board a fishing smack then 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 says he "could have gnawed the very boards." Besides he was suffering from "nervous colic." He was greatly discouraged, until a man who was 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." This was on October 19, 1744. He was quite ill when he landed; but was received by Dr. Sherburne, an eminent physician at York, who was once a Deist, but had been converted under Whitefield's ministry. This gentleman took him to his own house, and after a few days he began to recover.
The Rev. Mr. Moody, of York, the aged and excellent, but eccentric minister of whom we have already spoken, took the earliest suitable opportunity of calling on the great evangelist, and said very characteristically, "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 of New England; fifthly, to all the good people of York; and sixthly and lastly, to me, dear sir, less than the least of all." Prince's "Christian History" had announced his arrival, and that his intention was "to pass on to Georgia; and as he goes on, to meddle with no controversies, but only to preach up the parts of vital piety and the pure truths of the gospel, to all who are willing to hear them."
After giving Whitefield this hearty welcome, Moody urged him for a sermon. The preacher hesitated, on account of his illness, but "good old Mr. Moody" did not give him the benefit of his own favorite maxim, "When you know not what to do, you must not do you know not what." Whitefield preached, and immediately went to Portsmouth, where he preached the same evening, November 6, for Mr. Fitch, and was to have preached again the next morning, but was too ill, and deferred it till the afternoon. In the mean time, as he wrote, "My pains returned; but what gave me most concern was, that notice had been given of my being engaged to preach. 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 will 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. I indeed 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 upon a bed on the ground, near the fire, and I heard them say, 'He is gone.' But God was pleased to order it otherwise. I gradually recovered."
In another account he himself says, "In my own apprehension, and in all appearance to others, I was a dying man. I preached—the people heard me—as such. The invisible realities of another world lay open to my view. Expecting to launch into eternity, and to be with my Master before the morning, I spoke with peculiar energy. Such effects followed the word, I thought it was worth dying for a thousand times. Though wonderfully comforted within at my return home, I thought I was dying indeed.... Soon after, a poor negro woman would see me. She came, sat down upon the ground, and looked earnestly in my face, and then said, 'Massa, you just go to heaven's gate, but Jesus Christ said, Get you down, get you down; you must not come here yet; but go first, and call some more poor negroes.' I prayed to the Lord, that if I was to live, this might be the event."