On February 14th, Whitefield arrived at Bath, and immediately waited upon Dr. C., desiring the use of the Abbey Church, to preach a sermon for the Orphan House, the Trustees of Georgia having obtained the consent of the bishop more than twelve months before. "But," he writes, "Dr. C. was pleased to give me an absolute refusal to preach either on that or on any other occasion, without a positive order from the king or bishop. I asked him his reasons. He said he was not obliged to give me any. Upon which, I took my leave and retired with my friends, and prayed for him most fervently." On the evening of the same day, Whitefield came to Bristol, where his old friends welcomed him with the utmost joy; but his chief pleasure, on his arrival, was, not the greetings of his friends, but the calumny of his enemies. He writes: "Who can express the joy with which I was received? To add to my comfort, many letters came to my hands from London friends. But the chiefest pleasure was, some one had thought me considerable enough to write a letter in the Weekly Miscellany against me, and containing several untruths about my preaching at St. Margaret's, Westminster. Thou shalt answer for me, my Lord and my God! Yet a little while, and we shall all appear at the judgment-seat of Christ!"
Next morning, Whitefield first of all waited upon the Rev. Mr. Gibbs, Vicar of St. Mary Redcliffe, and asked the loan of his church, to preach a sermon on behalf of the contemplated Orphan House in Georgia. Mr. Gibbs refused, saying, "he could not lend his church without a special order from the chancellor." Nothing daunted, Whitefield went at once to the chancellor, who declined to issue an order for Mr. Gibbs, but stated that if any clergyman thought proper to lend his church to Whitefield, he (the chancellor) would not prohibit it; nevertheless, he advised Whitefield to go to some other town until the bishop had been consulted. Whitefield was far too ardent and impetuous to wait for the bishop's leave, and, hence, from the chancellor, he proceeded direct to the residence of the dean. Having shewn him his "Georgia Accounts," he asked, "Can there be any just objection against my preaching in churches for the Orphan House?" "I cannot tell," replied the dean, "but I will give you an answer some other time; now I am expecting company." "Will you be pleased to fix a time, sir?" "I will send to you," said the dean; and so ended Whitefield's interview, number three.
It cannot be denied, that, in all this, there was a display of more self-confidence than is commendable. Whitefield was a young man, not yet twenty-five; he had neither high rank, nor special scholarship to recommend him to the Church dignitaries of the day; his ecclesiastical standing was extremely insignificant—only incumbent of the distant and small settlement of Savannah. It is true, he had, a year and a half ago, moved both Bristol and the metropolis by his earnest, startling, godly eloquence; but, during the interval, his injudicious friends had published his Journals, written with the utmost artlessness, but containing much never meant for the public eye; and, within the last few days, by the rash proceedings of certain of his admirers, he had been placed in an equivocal position at St. Margaret's, Westminster. Remembering all this, it was doubtless a bold—some would call it a presumptuous—act to ask the loan of the Abbey Church, at Bath, and, next to the Cathedral, of the finest church in Bristol; and further, it is hardly surprising that his well-intentioned applications were refused.
Whitefield was baffled, but not discomfited. Churches, for the present, might be closed against him, but there was Bristol prison; there were the rooms of the Religious Societies; and there was Kingswood Hill.
In the afternoon of the very day, when his diplomacy with three of the principal ecclesiastics in Bristol was such a mortifying failure, he tried his skill with another functionary of a more humble order. At this period, the keeper of Bristol Prison was a Mr. Dagge, whom Dr. Johnson has immortalized in his Life of the poet Savage.[179] Mr. Dagge had been amongst the firstfruits of Whitefield's ministry in Bristol prison, in 1737,[180] and Whitefield's application to him was more successful than those he had made to the vicar, the chancellor, and the dean. He writes:—
"About three in the afternoon, God having given me great favour in the gaoler's eyes, I preached a sermon on the Penitent Thief, to the poor prisoners in Newgate, and collected fifteen shillings for them."
This was the beginning. Next morning, he made an arrangement, that, while he remained in Bristol, he would read prayers and preach to the prisoners every day, an arrangement which was faithfully fulfilled, until the 12th of March, when the mayor and the sheriffs thought it their duty to interfere, and absolutely commanded Mr. Dagge not to allow Whitefield to preach in the prison-house again, alleging, as their reason, that he insisted upon the necessity of our being born again—a thing which those custodians, if not regenerators, of outcast men, were unable to understand.
Whitefield's preaching to the prisoners, however, was but a small part of his public labours in Bristol and in the neighbourhood. His present sojourn here lasted between six and seven weeks, during which he preached above sixty times, and expounded fifty.
Closing the churches against him was not the way to silence him. His "heart was hot within him;" while he mused "the fire burned;" and to speak with his tongue became almost a necessity of life. For the present, he had the use of the city prison; but fancy a man like Whitefield being satisfied with a cure of souls all under a single roof! The opportunity of preaching to Mr. Dagge's domestics was important, and doubtless useful; but it was not enough; and, hence, as Whitefield had no other place in which to preach, away he went, and, for the first time in England, in the bleak month of February, preached out of doors, to a congregation of colliers, on Kingswood Hill. He writes:—
"1739. February 17, Saturday. About one in the afternoon, I went with my brother (William) Seward, and another friend to Kingswood, and was most delightfully entertained by an old disciple of the Lord. My bowels have long yearned toward the poor colliers, who are very numerous, and as sheep having no shepherd. After dinner, therefore, I went upon a mount, and spake to as many people as came unto me. They were upwards of two hundred. Blessed be God that I have now broken the ice! I believe I was never more acceptable to my Master than when I was standing to teach those hearers in the open fields. Some may censure me; but if I thus pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ."[181]