CHAPTER VIII. August, 1739, to March, 1741. THIRD VOYAGE-ITINERATING IN AMERICA-FOURTH VOYAGE BREACH WITH WESLEY. 'MY FAMILY,' as Whitefield called the eight men, one boy, two children, and his friend Mr. Seward, who accompanied him, had characters in it worth a passing notice,-Periam, the methodical madman, whom we know; Seward, the rich layman; and Gladman, a ship-captain, whom Whitefield got to know at the end of his last visit to Georgia. Seward was a gentleman of Evesham, thoroughly inspired with Methodist enthusiasm, who, to his wife's mortification, became Whitefield's companion in travel to help the good work. He was a Boswell in his admiration and fussiness; and, but for his early death, would have preserved many interesting facts which are now lost. Gladman was a convert who followed Whitefield from a double motive-love to the man and love to his Master. Distress brought him under Whitefield's notice. His ship had been wrecked on a sand-bank near the Gulf of Florida. After ten days spent in that situation by him and his crew, they sighted a vessel, and hoisted a signal of distress, which she answered. Gladman and part of his men pulled to her in a boat, and begged a passage for the whole number, which was promised them; but, as soon as they put off for the sandbank, the vessel made sail, and left them. Thirty days more were spent in their confinement; then they built a boat, into which he and five others stepped with the determination to make their escape or perish; the rest were fearful of such a frail craft, and stayed behind. Boat and crew came safe to Tybee island, ten miles off Savannah, whither Gladman was brought, and where Whitefield invited him to breakfast. A deliverance so great prepared him to receive the kindly counsels which were given him over the breakfast table, and, as host and guest soon afterwards returned to England in the same vessel, Gladman became, through further instruction, a Christian of deep conviction and firm faith. Nothing would satisfy him but to return with Whitefield on his second voyage to Georgia. The versatile preacher, who was well gifted with ability to become all things to all men, and to make himself contented in all places, had been on board ship but two days when he felt almost as forgetful of what he had passed through as if he had never been out in the world. Present duty was the only thing that ever pressed hard upon him; past bitternesses he quickly forgot; future troubles he left with God. He lived one day at a time, and lived it thoroughly. He framed regulations for his 'family,' instituted public prayer morning and evening, took to letter-writing and the reading of some very strongly flavoured divinity; and, at the same time, indulged his favourite gift and passion of exhorting every one around him to follow his Lord and Master. In this last mentioned work he had the occasional help of a Quaker, to whom he would now and again lend his cabin. The only grief was, that the Quaker was not explicit enough upon justification by faith, and upon the objective work of the Saviour; for, much as Whitefield insisted upon the inward work of the Holy Ghost, his views of the mediatorial work of our Lord were objective to the degree of grossness. But doctrinal questions by-and-by. Letter-writing was a great pastime of the Methodists, yet none of them have written any letters worth LETTERS. 6 171 preserving, either for their literary merit, or their theological grasp. All that was attempted was to comfort and cheer each other in the conflict with earth and hell; and hence their letters abound in experiences;' every doubt, every fear, every temptation is told to another believer, who can understand its meaning, and give sympathy and the help of prayer. For all who have a desire to trace the wanderings of the human spirit, when it is driven into darkness and anguish by the strivings of the evil and the good which dwell within it, nothing can be more curious and entertaining than a batch of early Methodist letters. It was natural that minds similarly affected should commune in this way; and for preachers, who by their very calling were unable to stay in any one place, it was especially natural to send exhortations and counsels to their converts, lest labour should be spent in vain. As at the beginning, so now, epistles followed sermons. But the work which was begun with zest sometimes became a burden, and a hindrance to more useful effort. Cornelius Winter complained bitterly in his old age of the time lost in writing letters, which might, if it had been devoted to reading, have yielded him more advantage, both mental and spiritual. Whitefield wrote sixty-five letters-none of them long, some of them mere notes-during his three months' voyage; they were addressed to converts who wanted encouragement, to backsliders who wanted reproof, to students who wanted cheering in their espousal of the cause of Christ, to ministers who wanted words of brotherly love. A magistrate, at Gloucester, gets a letter to tell him that for the future he must not show such partiality for balls, assemblies, and wakes, and such prejudice against Methodist congregations; and Periam's father is informed that his son is diligent and pious, his mind settled and composed-a partaker, by reading the Bible, of that peace which the world cannot give.' The burden and the spirit are the same in all. Show them,' he says to Howel Harris about his congregations,' show them in the map of the word the kingdoms of the upper world, and the transcendent glories of them; and assure them that all shall be theirs, if they believe on Jesus Christ with their whole hearts. Press on them to believe on Him immediately. Intersperse prayers with your exhortations, and thereby call down fire from heaven, even the fire of the Holy Ghost, "To soften, sweeten, and refine, Speak every time, my dear brother, as if it was your last; weep out, if possible, every argument, and, as it were, compel them to cry-" Behold how he loveth us!" He discovers, in one of them, the full extent of his mistake about impressions-'I have had great intimations from above concerning Georgia. Who knows but we may have a college of pious youths at Savannah! I do not despair thereof. Professor Francks' undertaking in Germany has been much pressed upon my heart. I really believe that my present undertaking will succeed.' The school did succeed; but the 'great intimations' were never fulfilled, and no college was ever built. As America is approached, he begins to show that greater things than building a college are shaping themselves in his mind, his world-wide work suggests itself; and with his usual promptitude he writes to a friend-'I intend resigning the parsonage of Savannah. The orphanhouse I can take care of, supposing I should be kept at a distance; besides, when I have resigned the parish, I shall be more at liberty to take a tour round America, if God should ever call me to such a work. However, I determine nothing; I wait on the Lord.' The voyage was useful both to his body and soul-to his soul, however, in a very distressing way. His journal WHITEFIELD AND BRAINERD. 6 173 from August to November is almost as dismal and painful as the early parts of Brainerd's.1 Tears were his meat day and night.' One extract will suffice to show what was his state of mind until towards the end of the voyage: I underwent inexpressible agonies of soul for two or three days at the remembrance of my sins, and the bitter consequences of them. Surely my sorrows were so great that, had not God in the midst of them comforted my soul, the load would have been insupportable! All the while I was assured God had forgiven me; but I could not forgive myself for sinning against so much light and love. Surely I felt something of that which Adam felt when turned out of Paradise; David, when he was convicted of his adultery; and Peter, when with oaths and curses he had thrice denied his Master. I then, if ever, did truly smite upon my ungrateful breast, and cry ---God be merciful to me a sinner! I ate but very little, and went mourning all the day long. At length my Lord 1 Tuesday, October 26, 1742 (at West Suffield), underwent the most dreadful distresses under a sense of my own unworthiness; it seemed to me I deserved rather to be driven out of the place than to have anybody treat me with any kindness, or come to hear me preach. And verily my spirits were so depressed at this time, as well as at many others, that it was impossible I should treat immortal souls with faithfulness; I could not deal closely and faithfully with them, I felt so infinitely vile in myself. Oh, what dust and ashes I am, to think of preaching the gospel to others! . . . In the evening I went to the meeting-house, and it looked to me near as easy for one to rise out of the grave and preach as for me. However, God afforded me some life and power, both in prayer and sermon; God was pleased to lift me up, and show me that He could enable me to preach.' Few, however, would shrink from such depression and consciousness of sin, if they might come out upon the sunny plains where Brainerd rested in his last days. 'Saturday, Sep. 19, 1747.-Near night, while I attempted to walk a little, my thoughts turned thus: How infinitely sweet it is to love God, and be all for Him! Upon which it was suggested to me, you are not an angel, not lively and active. To which my whole soul immediately replied: I as sincerely desire to love and glorify God as any angel in heaven.... I thought of dignity in heaven, but instantly the thought returned: I do not go to heaven to get honour, but to give all possible glory and praise. Oh, how I longed that God should be glorified on earth also!' -Life of Brainerd,' by Jonathan Edwards. |