“My very dear Friend,—By this time, I thought to be moving southward: but never was greater importunity used to detain me longer in these northern parts. Poor New England is much to be pitied; Boston people most of all. How falsely misrepresented! What a mercy that our Christian charter cannot be dissolved! Blessed be God for an unchangeable Jesus! You will see, by the many invitations enclosed, what a door is opened for preaching His everlasting gospel. I was so ill on Friday, that I could not preach, though thousands were waiting to hear. Well, the day of release will shortly come, but it does not seem yet; for,by riding sixty miles, I am better, and hope to preach here to-morrow. I hope my blessed Master will accept of these poor efforts to serve Him. O for a warm heart! O to stand fast in the faith, to quit ourselves like men, and to be strong! May this be the happy experience of you and yours! If spared so long, I expect to see Georgia about Christmas. Still pray and praise. I am so poorly, and so engaged when able to preach, that this must apologize for not writing to more friends. It is quite impracticable. Hoping to see all dear friends about the time proposed, and earnestly desiring a continued interest in all your prayers, I must hasten to subscribe myself,
“My dear, very dear sir,
“Less than the least of all,
“George Whitefield.”
This was Whitefield’s last letter; at all events, no letter of a subsequent date has been published.
Though Whitefield scarcely alludes to the circumstance, it ought to be noted, that, the last six months of his life were spent in the midst of great political excitement. It is a well-known fact, that the inhabitants of the British colonies in America strongly objected to pay taxes upon goods imported from England; and defended themselves by the famous aphorism, “Taxation, without representation, is tyranny.” So stout was their resistance, that, during the year 1769, the exports of English merchants fell short of what they had been to the value of three-quarters of a million sterling; and, since the year 1767, the revenue, received by government from duties paid in America, had decreased from £110,000 to £30,000. In consequence of this state of things, Lord North, on the 5th of March, 1770, moved in the House of Commons for leave to bring in a bill to repeal all the American taxes and duties, except the duty upon tea. Great debates followed. On the 1st of May, the opposition called for the correspondence with the American colonies. Eight days later, Burke moved eight resolutions censuring the plan the government were pursuing. On the 14th of May, Chatham moved that, in consequence of “the alarming disorders in his Majesty’s American dominions,” an humble address be presented to the king, beseeching him “to take the recent and genuine sense of the people, by dissolving this present parliament, and calling another, with all convenient dispatch.”
So much as it regards England. In America, the excitementhad become dangerous. In nearly all the principal seaports of the colonies, committees had been appointed, by the people, to examine cargoes arriving from Great Britain, and to prevent the sale of taxed commodities. At Boston, meetings were regularly held, and strong votes of censure passed upon every one who dared to introduce or sell any of the prohibited goods; and, still further to increase the odium and danger of such departures from the popular will, the names of offenders were published in the newspapers, with comments representing them as slaves and traitors.
As might naturally be expected, riots followed. In the month of February, 1770, the shop of Theophilus Lillie was attacked. A friend of Lillie’s seized a gun, and fired upon the assailants. The shot killed Christopher Snider, a dirty boy, who, as “the first martyr to the glorious cause of liberty,” was buried with great pomp, the procession which followed the young reformer to his grave being a quarter of a mile in length. In the meantime, the inhabitants of Boston, and the soldiers quartered there, were perpetually quarrelling. No man in a red coat could go through the streets without being insulted, and no discipline could prevent the soldiers from retorting. Words led to blows. On the 2nd of March, a private of the 29th Regiment got into a quarrel, and was beaten by a set of ropemakers. A dozen of the soldier’s comrades chastised the ropemakers, and made them run for their very lives. The townspeople were exasperated, and armed themselves with clubs. Meetings were held by the mob; and, on the 5th of March, a crowd, with sticks and clubs, marched to Dock Square, and made an attack upon the soldiers. Muskets were fired, and the rioters ran away; but three were killed, and five were dangerously wounded. The subject need not here be pursued at greater length. In point of fact, the American Rebellion was begun, and, during the last six months of his eventful life, Whitefield preached among the excited and angry discontents. In some degree, he evidently sympathised with their protests concerning their grievances; and, hence, the exclamations in his last letter to Mr. Keen: “Poor New England is much to be pitied! Boston people most of all! How falsely misrepresented!” No doubt,both sides were misrepresented. The hour was pregnant with the most disastrous events. For years afterwards, the roar and ravages of war were terrific. Fortunately for himself, Whitefield escaped to the land of love, and peace, and blessedness, while the storm was only gathering, and before it burst in all its devastating deadliness.
On Saturday morning, September 29, Whitefield set out from Portsmouth to Boston, with the intention of preaching at Newbury Port next morning. On the way, he was stopped at Exeter, fifteen miles from Portsmouth, and was prevailed upon to give a sermon to the people there. A friend said to him, “Sir, you are more fit to go to bed than to preach.” “True, sir,” replied Whitefield; and then, clasping his hands, and looking up to heaven, he added, “Lord Jesus, I am weary in Thy work, but not of it. If I have not yet finished my course, let me go and speak for Thee once more in the fields, seal Thy truth, and come home and die!” An immense multitude assembled. He mounted a hogshead.[669] His text was, “Examine yourselves, whether you be in the faith.” One, who was present, thus described the preacher and his sermon:—
“The subject was ‘Faith and works.’ He rose up sluggishly and wearily, as if worn down and exhausted by his stupendous labours. His face seemed bloated, his voice was hoarse, his enunciation heavy. Sentence after sentence was thrown off in rough, disjointed portions, without much regard to point or beauty. At length, his mind kindled, and his lion-like voice roared to the extremities of his audience. He was speaking of the inefficiency of works to merit salvation, and suddenly cried out in a tone of thunder, ‘Works! works! a man get to heaven by works! I would as soon think of climbing to the moon on a rope of sand!’”[670]