CHAPTER XII
ENCOUNTERS WITH THE MOB
NO man was
so familiar with the English mobs of his day as John Wesley.
In almost every place he visited opposition was, sooner or later,
stirred up against the despised Methodists. We have already
seen how Beau Nash tried to silence him at Bath in June, 1739.
Next day Wesley was at Priest Down. He stood in the open air,
where two men, hired for the purpose, began to sing a ballad.
Wesley spoke a few mild words, but as they were without effect,
he and his friends were compelled to sing a psalm, which drowned
the voices of the disturbers, and utterly silenced them. Prayer
was then offered, and the men seemed utterly confounded.* In
London and Bristol violent opposition broke out both from high
and low. “The beasts of the people,” Wesley says,
“were stirred up almost in all places to ‘knock
these mad dogs on the head at once.” At first no magistrate
would listen to any complaints against this brutal violence.
On April 1st, 1740, however, the rioters in Bristol, who had
long disturbed the Methodists, were so increased as to fill,
not only the court before the place of meeting, but a considerable
part of the street. The Mayor sent them an order to disperse;
but they set him at defiance. He then ordered several of his
officers to take the ringleaders into custody. These received
a severe reprimand at the Quarter Sessions. When they began
to excuse themselves by saying many things against Wesley the
Mayor cut them short, saying, “What Mr. Wesley is is nothing
to you. I will keep the peace; I will have no rioting in this
city.” The Methodists of Bristol thus found a deliverer.
London was
soon as quiet as Bristol. One Sunday evening in September, 1740,
when Wesley stepped out of the coach at the Foundery, the mob,
who had gathered in great numbers about the door, quite closed
him in. He blessed God that the time he had long looked for
was come, and at once began to speak on “righteousness
and judgment to come.” The noise was so great that at
first only a few heard, but the silence spread from the little
ring around him, till even those on the skirts of the crowd
were perfectly quiet. Wesley withdrew from this novel congregation
amid general marks of goodwill. “They all showed me much
love, and dismissed me with many blessings.” The following
Tuesday, many who came into the Foundery like lions were quickly
subdued. Tears trickled down the faces of those who had just
before blasphemed and contradicted. On the Thursday a great
number of men got into the Foundery and disturbed the service;
but they were soon silent, and did not hear in vain. “I
wonder,” Wesley says, “that the devil has not wisdom
enough to discern that he is destroying his own kingdom. I believe
he has never yet, any one time, caused this open opposition
to the truth of God without losing one or more of his servants,
who were found of God while they sought Him not.” A fortnight
later these scenes were repeated, but Wesley’s tact and
self-possession secured a complete victory. Experience gave
him perfect facility in handling disturbers. In October, 1740,
a London crowd came to drown his voice by shouting. No sooner
had they begun than he turned upon them, “and offered
them deliverance from their hard master. The word sank deep
into them, and they opened not their mouth.”
On December
3 1st, 1741, Sir John Ganson, the chairman of the Middlesex
bench, called upon Wesley, and said, “Sir, you have no
need to suffer these riotous mobs to molest you, as they have
done long. I and all the other Middlesex magistrates have orders
from above to do you justice whenever you apply to us.”
Two or three weeks later the Methodists did apply for redress.
Justice was done, though not with rigour, and from that time
the persecuted people had peace in London. Sir John referred
to George II. when he spoke of “orders from above.”
Wesley told Henry Moore, late in life, that one of the Oxford
Methodists, who had become a Quaker, settled at Kew. He was
rich and much respected. Permission was given him to walk in
the royal gardens, where he often had conversation with the
King. One day the monarch asked him if he knew the Wesleys when
he was at Oxford, adding, “They make a great noise in
the nation.” The Quaker replied, “I know them well,
King George, and thou mayst be assured that thou hast not two
better men in thy dominions, nor men that love thee better,
than John and Charles Wesley.” When the troubles of the
Methodists were discussed by the Council, the King took a firm
stand: “I tell you, while I sit on the throne, no man
shall be persecuted for conscience’ sake.” t
Wesley had
been in considerable peril at Long Lane, Southwark, in February,
1741, where the mob threw many large stones, one of which went
just over his shoulder. On January 25th, 1742, whilst speaking
from the words, “He that committeth sin is of the devil,”
the rabble made all the noise they could, and pushed violently
against the hearers. They struck some of them, and broke down
part of the house. Wesley had instructed the Methodists to keep
their seats and not answer the disturbers. They carefully observed
his counsels. When, however, their enemies began to throw large
stones, which forced their way through the roof, and fell with
the tiles among the people, Wesley saw that the people were
really in peril of their lives. He then told the rioters, “You
must not go on thus; I am ordered by the magistrate, who is,
in this respect, to us the minister of God, to inform him of
those who break the laws of God and the King. And I must do
it if you persist herein; otherwise I am a partaker of your
sin.” This appeal only made them more outrageous. Wesley
then said, “Let three or four calm men take hold of the
foremost, and charge a constable with him, that the law may
take its course.” One man was brought in cursing and blaspheming
in a dreadful manner. Five or six men took him to Justice Copeland,
who bound him over to appear at the next sessions at Guildford.
When the rioter was brought into the house some of his companions
shouted, “Richard Smith! Richard Smith!” This man
was one of their stoutest champions. Now, however, he made no
response. He had been deeply convinced of sin, and came into
the room with a woman who also had been actively promoting the
disturbance. This woman fell upon her knees and urged Smith
never to forget the mercy God had shown him. The prosecution
against the man, who had been carried before the magistrate,
was suffered to drop, as he submitted and promised better behaviour.
When Methodism
began to spread over England in 1742, persecution and riot were
the order of the day. Staffordshire has won for itself unenviable
notoriety as the headquarters of opposition. In January, 1743,
Wesley visited Wednesbury, where his brother had spent a few
days. He preached in the Town Hall morning and evening, and
also in the open air. About a hundred members were gathered
into Society, who increased within two or three months to between
three and four hundred. Mr. Egginton, the Vicar, was at first
friendly to the Methodists, and told Wesley that the oftener
they came the better he should be pleased. Wesley heard him
preach a plain, useful sermon, and almost all the congregation
at the church went down to the preaching-place, a large hollow
half a mile from the town, which would hold four or five thousand
people. They stood in a semicircle, tier above tier. The hollow
would not contain the multitude gathered from all parts, so
that they overflowed on all sides. When Wesley returned in April
he found things surprisingly altered. The inexcusable folly
of Mr. Williams, one of Wesley’s preachers, had transformed
the Vicar into a bitter enemy. Williams had abused the clergy
and aroused their hatred by his unworthy spirit. But though
the Vicar was thoroughly enraged, he had not yet won over the
people. They were extremely quiet and attentive to Wesley’s
preaching. On the Sunday he says that he had never heard so
wicked a Sermon, and delivered with such bitterness of voice
and manner, as the Vicar preached. Wesley tried to prepare the
members of Society for the storm which he was sure must soon
break upon them. Whilst he was speaking “a gentleman rode
up very drunk, and after many unseemly and bitter words, lahoured
much to ride over some of the people.” The trouble seemed
nearer when he learned that this man was also a clergyman in
the district. A month later Charles Wesley was with “our
dear colliers at Wednesbury.” He consecrated a piece of
ground given for a preaching-place by singing a hymn upon it,
and ventured to Walsall, where, he says in his graphic way,
the street was full of fierce Ephesian beasts.
In June the
storm burst on the poor Methodists. Wesley received the news
of the terrible six days’ riot on Saturday, June 18th.
It was necessary for him to stay in London for his Sunday services,
but he set out early next morning to assist them as far as he
could. He rode over to Tam-worth to consult Counsellor Littleton
whether his people could be protected from such outrage. This
gentleman told him that there was an easy remedy if the persecutors
were rigorously prosecuted. Three months later Wesley visited
the sufferers once more. He had preached unmolested at mid-day
in the centre of Wednesbury. In the afternoon, whilst he was
busy writing at the house of one of the Methodists, a cry arose
that the mob had gathered before the door. The friends prayed
that God would disperse the mob, and in half an hour all had
melted away. Wesley now said this was the time for him to go,
but the people were so urgent that he sat down again. Before
five o’clock his worst fears were realised. The mob beset
the house in greater numbers than ever. One and all shouted,
“Bring out the minister; we will have the minister.”
Wesley asked some one to take their captain by the hand and
lead him in. After a few words the lion became a lamb. Wesley
now asked him to bring one or two of the bitterest opponents
inside. He soon returned with a couple who “were ready
to swallow the ground with rage; but in two minutes they were
as calm as he.” After such skilful preparation, Wesley
went out, and calling for a chair, asked, “What do any
of you want with me?” They told him that they wanted him
to go with them to the magistrate. “That I will,”
said Wesley, “with all my heart.” The few words
he spoke had such effect that the mob shouted, “The gentleman
is an honest gentleman, and we will spili our blood in his defence.”
Wesley now set out for the magistrate’s house with two
or three hundred rioters; the rest dispersed to their homes.
Darkness and heavy rain came on in less than half an hour, but
they pushed on another mile to the justice’s house at
Bentley Hall. He sent word that he was in bed, and advised them
to go home and be quiet. The charge as stated to the magistrate’s
son was ridiculous enough. “Why, an’t please you,
they sing psalms all day; nay, and make folks rise at five in
the morning.” They now went to another magistrate at Walsall.
He also sent word that he was in bed. These very magistrates
had just issued an order calling all officers of justice to
search for and bring to them any Methodist preacher found in
the district. Fifty of the rioters now undertook to convey Wesley
home. They had not gone a hundred yards, when the mob of Walsall
burst upon them. It was between seven and eIght o’clock.
Wesley’s convoy were weary and greatly outnumbered. They
tried to stand against the new-corners, but many were knocked
down, and the rest ran away, so that Wesley was left in the
hands of his new enemies. The woman who led the first mob, however,
ran into the thickest of the Walsall rioters, and knocked down
three or four of them, but she was overpowered and held down
by three or four men, who beat her with all their might. She
would probably have been killed had not “honest Munchin,”
the leader of the Walsall rioters, interposed. She was then
allowed to crawl home as well as she could.
It was in vain for Wesley to speak, for the noise
was like the raging of the sea. He was dragged along to the
town. When he attempted to enter an open door, a man caught
him by the hair and pulled him back. He was then hurried through
the main street from one end of the town to the other. This
was the town which Charles Wesley had found full of “fierce
Ephesian beasts” five months before. Their hour had now
come. Wesley felt neither pain nor weariness, but continued
to speak to all who could hear. At last he stood at the door
of a shop and gained a hearing. When he asked them to let him
speak, many cried out, “No, no! knock his brains out;
down with him! kill him at once.” Others said, “Nay,
but we will hear him first.” For a quarter of an hour
Wesley spoke. Then his voice failed, and the tumult began once
more. His voice soon returned, and he broke out in prayer. The
man who led the mob now turned and said, “Sir, I will
spend my life for you. Follow me, and not one soul here shall
touch a hair of your head.” Two or three of his companions
confirmed this, and got close to Wesley; the gentleman in the
shop, who had prevented his entranco lest the mob should pull
it to the ground, shouted, “For shame! for shame! Let
him go,” and an “honest butcher” pulled back
four or five of the fiercest rioters. The mob now fell back,
and Wesley passed through them, surrounded by his champions.
On the bridge the opposition rallied again. Wesley and his friends
therefore went down one side, crossed the mill-dam, and a little
before ten o’clock safely reached Wednesbury. During these
five terrible hours Wesley was as selfpossessed as if he had
been in his study. It came into his mind once that if he were
thrown into the river, the papers in his pockets would be spoiled,
but he knew that he could swim across, as he had a thin coat
and light boots. Though he had to go downhill on a slippery
road, he never stumbled nor made the least slip. A lusty man
just behind him struck at the back of his head several times
with a large oaken stick, but every time the stroke was turned
aside. He escaped many blows through his low stature, and his
enemies were knocked down by them. One man raised his arm to
strike, but suddenly dropped it, and stroked his head, saying,
“What soft hair he has!” The gentleman in the shop
where Wesley stopped was the mayor. Wesley, of course, was not
aware of this, but the mob knew the chief magistrate, and were
somewhat checked by his presence. The first whose hearts were
touched were the captains of the rabble, one of whom had been
a prizefighter at the bear-garden of the district.
Four members
of Society—three men and one woman— stood by Wesley
from first to last. None received a blow save William Sitch,
who held Wesley’s arm from one end of the town to the
other. He was knocked down, but soon got to his friend’s
side again. Wesley asked him what he looked for when the mob
came upon them. “To die for Him who had died for us,”
was his noble answer. Joan Parks, the heroic young woman who
shared Wesley’s perils, was as free from fear as if she
had been quietly at home. All through the struggle she felt
a confident persuasion that God would deliver them. Wesley
lost one flap of his waistcoat and a little skin from his hand
in this tumult. The flap of the other pocket, in which was a
bank-note, was only half torn off. Wesley had been hardened
by encounters with the mob. Two years before, he says, a piece
of brick grazed his shoulders; a year later a stone struck him
between the eyes at the Great Gardens; a month before his Walsall
experiences he received a blow in a riot. This night he received
two: one as the rioters bore him into Walsall, the other as
he came out. One man struck him on the breast with all his might,
another hit him in the mouth with such force that the blood
gushed out, yet he felt no more pain from either blow than if,
to use his own illustration, they had touched him with a straw.
When he reached Wednesbury the friends were praying for him
in the house from which he had started. His sufferings awoke
general sympathy. Many whom he had never seen came to rejoice
in his escape. Next morning, as he rode through the town, he
says, “Every one I met expressed such a cordial affection
that I could scarce believe what I saw and heard.” Charles
Wesley met him at Nottingham. He says that his brother “looked
like a soldier of Christ. His clothes were torn to tatters.’
Charles Wesley, who went straight from Nottingham to the scenes
of the rioting, adds some interesting particulars. The greatest
profligate of the country was his brother’s deliverer,
and carded him through the river on his shoulders. This man,
“honest Munchin,” Charles Wesley admitted on trial
into the Methodist Society five days after the riot. Since that
night he had been constantly under conviction of sin. Charles
asked what he thought of his brother. “Think of him?”
was the answer; “that he is a man of God; and God was
on his side, when so many of us could not kill one man.”
The real name of this convert was George Clifton. He died in
Birmingham in 1789, two years before Wesley, at the age of eighty-five.
He was never weary of telling the story of the night when God
saved him from laying his hand on His servant.
Cornwall vied
with Staffordshire in the fierceness of its opposition to the
Methodists. But the brunt of the Cornish opposition was borne
by Charles Wesley. The story of his visit to St. Ives in July,
1743, is one of the most interesting pages of his itinerant
life. The resolute mayor of that town saved the Methodists from
outrages such as their brethren in Staffordshire groaned under.
Wesley, who was at St. Ives two months later, had one brush
with the mob. They rushed into the room where he was preaching,
roaring and striking those that stood in the way. He tried to
inspire his friends with his own calmness, but they were not
so familiar with such scenes. Finding the uproar increase, he
went into the midst and brought the captain of the mob up to
the desk. Wesley received one blow on the side of the head.
He and the leader of the rabble reasoned together, till the
man was quite won over, and undertook to quiet his companions.
When Wesley visited the place again in April, 1744, he found
that the mob had pulled down the preaching-place, “for
joy that Admiral Matthews had beat the Spaniards.” “Such,”
he adds, with his keen satire, “is the Cornish method
of thanksgiving. I suppose if Admiral Lestock had fought too,
they would have knocked all the Methodists on the head.”
For a time there was great peace, but Wesley received news from
Cornwall six months later which made him say that the war against
the Methodists was “everywhere carried on with far more
vigour than that against the Spaniards.”
The riot at
Falmouth in July, 1745, was one of the most serious Wesley ever
faced. His tact and courage were never more conspicuous. He
escaped without the slightest injury. “I never saw before,”
he says—” not at Walsall itself—the hand of
God so plainly as here.” At Bolton, in Lancashire, Wesley
had also to face bitter opposition. But the disturbers came
in for the worst blows themselves. Wesley took his stand at
the Cross in August, 1748, when the great wild mob tried to
throw him down from the steps on which he stood. They pushed
him off once or twice, but he stepped up again and continued
his discourse. Stones now began to fly. Some of the rioters
got behind Wesley on the Cross to thrust him down. They thus
enjoyed the sweets of persecution. One man was bawling at Wesley’s
ear, when a stone struck him on the cheek, and he was still.
Another was forcing his way down to push the preacher off, when
a missile struck him on the forehead. The blood ran down from
the wound, and his course was stayed. A third man had got close
to Wesley and stretched out his hand, when a sharp stone hit
him smartly on the joints of his fingers. He was thus effectually
disabled.
Fourteen months
later Wesley gained a signal victory over the Bolton mob. He
had come from Rochdale, where multitudes of people filled the
streets, “shouting, cursing, blaspheming, and gnashing
upon us with their teeth.” Their rage had compelled him
to abandon his intention of preaching in the street, and to
hold his service in a large room. He found, however, that the
people at Rochdale were but lambs compared with those at Bolton.
“Such rage and bitterness,” he says, “I scarce
ever saw before in any creatures that bore the form of men.”
They followed in full cry to the house where Wesley stayed,
and filled the street from end to end. When there was a slight
lull in the storm, one of the party ventured out, but he was
rolled in the mire by the rioters, so that when he scrambled
into the house again he could scarcely be recognised. The friends
inside heard the ringing of a bell which summoned all the forces
together, and quietly awaited the attack. Wesley was upstairs
when news was brought that the mob had rushed into the house.
Two of his friends were busy reasoning with them. Wesley quietly
walked down into their midst. They had filled every room below.
The scene can only be described in his own words. “I called
for a chair. The winds were hushed, and all was calm and still.
My heart was filled with love, my eyes with tears, and my mouth
with arguments. They were amazed; they were ashamed; they were
melted down; they devoured every word. What a turn was this
! Oh, how did God change the counsel of the old Ahithophel into
foolishness, and bring all the drunkards, swearers, Sabbath-breakers,
and mere sinners in the place to hear of His plenteous redemption.”
Next morning the preaching-place was crowded to excess at five
o’clock. Wesley spoke a good deal longer than he was accustomed
to do. But the people were not satisfied. He therefore promised
to preach again at nine, in a meadow near the town. Hearers
flocked from all sides. Wesley adds, “Oh, how have a few
hours changed the scene. We could now walk through every street
of the town, and none molested or opened his mouth, unless to
thank or bless us.”
The Irish mobs sometimes gave Wesley a warm reception on his
visits to their country. At Cork, in 1750, the mayor sent the
town drummers and his sergeants to disturb the congregation.
They came down to the preaching-place with an innumerable mob.
The drummers were noisy enough, but Wesley continued his discourse.
When he went out he asked one of the sergeants to keep the peace;
but he answered, “Sir, I have no orders to do that.”
The rabble threw whatever came to hand, but nothing hit the
preacher. He walked forward quietly, looked every man in the
face, the rioters opening right and left as he passed along.
When he reached his friend’s house a Papist stood in the
door to prevent his entrance. Just then one of the mob aimed
a blow at Wesley, which knocked this woman down flat. He had
nothing to do but step in. No one followed him. Ten days later
another immense mob assembled near the barracks in Cork, where
Wesley was preaching. When he had done seven or eight of the
soldiers marched in front, and a whole troop behind, so that
he passed safely through the rabble with his military body-guard.
Wesley never failed in tact and resource during his encounters
with the rioters. It was his rule, confirmed by long experience,
always to look a mob in the face. However much the mob threatened,
he never swerved. In Cornwall, in July, 1745, as he stood preaching
on a high wall, the rabble appeared. He kept his eye steadily
on them. Many were softened, and grew calmer and calmer. One
of their champions, however, who feared that all their plans
were going to be defeated, went round and suddenly pushed Wesley
off the wall. He fell on his feet without any hurt, and finding
himself beside one of the warmest opponents, who was on horseback,
took hold of his hand and reasoned with him. The man refused
to be convinced, but he and all the rest grew much milder,
and parted from the preacher with great civility. At Bath, in
February, 1742, many noisy persons were gathered at one end
of the room. Wesley slipped from his place and took up a position
amongst them. Seeing this, the greater part of them stole to
the end from which Wesley came, and began to cry aloud again.
He paused to give them full scope, then began “a particular
application,” which very soon put them to silence. His
Congregations were sometimes disturbed by a single noisy Opponent.
In the market-place at Nottingham a man thus began to contradict
and blaspheme. I le was standing close to the preacher’s
back, but when Wesley turned he slunk behind a pillar and disappeared.
The opposer sometimes played his part so badly that even his
comrades disowned • him or thrust him out of the place.t
As Wesley became known throughout the kingdom, the people themselves
disposed of the disturbers. One man at Lisburn, in July, 1756,
contradicted him while he was preaching, but the mob handled
him so roughly that he was soon glad to hold his peace. A clergyman
at Bandon planted himself near Wesley in the main street, with
a large stick in his hand, and interrupted the service. Before
he had uttered many words two or three women dragged him into
a house and sent him away through the garden. This maudlin opponent
was about to indulge in familiarities with the woman who conducted
him, and she had to cuff him soundly before she could escape.
A young gentleman of the town next presented himself, along
with two companions, who had pistols in their hands, but the
people quietly bore him away. A third disturber was more furious,
but a butcher of the town, who was not a Methodist, effectually
cooled his courage by two or three hearty blows on the head.
At Grimsby a young gentleman and his companions once quite drowned
Wesley’s voice, so that his large audience was kept without
a sermon. A poor woman at last disposed of him by reciting a
few passages of his life so wittily and keenly that the laugh
of his companions was turned against him, and he was only too
glad to slink away. A popish miller at Athione § got up once
to preach just opposite to Wesley, but when some of his comrades
threw a little dirt at him he leaped down to fight them, and
was roughly handled in the fray. A few days later Wesley met
with more noise and stupid, senseless impudence than he had
experienced since he left England; but the chief man of the
town silenced one of the disturbers, and another was knocked
down by a hearer who was not a Methodist, so that the congregation
soon had peace At another place a gentleman gave those who would
not attend to his signs a stroke on the head with his stick,
and thus effectually quieted a congregation that was inclined
to be noisy.t At Burnley in 1784, high and low, rich and poor,
flocked from all quarters to hear Wesley. All were eager to
listen save the town-crier, who began to bawl amain. His wife,
however, ran up, clapped one hand on his mouth, and seized him
with the other, so that he could not utter a word
Wesley’s chaise-boy figures honourably in this record.
His master had preached to a crowded congregation in a colliery
village near Pembroke, when a gentleman broke in and ordered
the people to go home and mind their business. As he used some
bad words, the driver reproved him. He replied fiercely, “Do
you think I need to be taught by a chaise-boy?” The “boy”
had been an apt pupil. “Really, sir, I do think so,”
was the answer. Every form of opposition was tried during Wesley’s
long itinerancy. Mill-dams were let out; church bells were jangled;
¶ drunken fiddlers and ballad_singers tt were hired; organs
pealed out; drums were beaten. From such encounters Wesley generally
came off victorious. Once a man was sent to cry fresh salmon
at a little distance from a multitude of "unawakened"
hearers at Leicester, but no one regarded him. On another occasion
a Papist began to blow a horn as soon as Wesley gave out his
text; but a gentleman stepping up, snatched away his horn, and
without ceremony knocked him down. Wesley’s caution was
not less conspicuous than his courage. A good illustration
of this may be drawn from the account of his visit to Pocklington
in April, 1752. It was fair-day. There was no Society, and scarcely
any one in the town was awakened. The room provided for preaching
was only five yards square, and Wesley was anxious to have a
bigger place. Some one suggested a yard. But when he went to
see it he found that “it was plentifully Furnished with
stones, artillery ready at hand for the devil's drunken companions.”
Fortunately a gentleman Differed a large barn, where the tears
of Wesley’s congregation fell as the rain. His long experience
in such matters had just been supplemented at Hull the previous
day. Clods and stones flew about him on every side, but nothing
touched him. When he finished his sermon he found that his coachman
had driven quite away. A lady kindly Differed Wesley and his
wife a place in her coach. It had nine occupants, three on each
side and three in the middle. The mob formed an escort, throwing
in at the windows whatever came first to hand. Wesley quaintly
adds, “But a large gentlewoman, who sat in my lap, screened
me, so that nothing came near me.” One of Wesley’s
preachers took the mob in hand at Norwich with the best results.
John Hampson was a nan of splendid physique, the very ideal
of a muscular Christian. Once, when Wesley left the preaching-place,
the rioters assumed a threatening attitude. Hampson came forward
as his champion. Wesley wished him to withdraw, but his preacher
answered with a thundering voice, “Let me alone, sir;
if God has not given you an arm to quell this mob, He has given
me one, and the first man who molests you here, I will lay him
dead.” Hampson’s loud voice and big threat answered
the purpose The mob took care to keep at a safe distance.
Wesley’s character and work, joined to the consistent
lives of his members, gradually won happier days for the persecuted
Methodists. Peace was not, however, secured without further
appeals to law. Sometimes a threat was enough. In March, 1745,
as Wesley was walking up Pilgrim Street, Newcastle, a man called
after him. Wesley stood still The fellow came up, used much
abusive language, pushed Wesley once or twice, and then went
away. Wesley found that this man had long annoyed the members
of the Orphan House. Next day, therefore, he sent the following
note
"ROBERT Y0UNG,-I expect to see you between this and Friday,
and to hear from you that you are sensible of your fault; otherwise,
in pity to your soul, I shall be obliged to inform the magistrates
of your assaulting me yesterday in the street.
"I am, your real friend,
"JOHN WESLEY."
Within two or three hours the offender came and gave ample
promise of amendment. In 1751 the Methodists of Wrangle, in
Lincolnshire, were violently assaulted by the mob, their goods
destroyed, and their lives endangered. The magistrate refused
redress. Wesley wrote a calm remonstrance, but “Mr. B—”
was not wise enough to accept advice. The sufferers, therefore,
applied to the Court of King’s Bench, and he was after-wards
glad to let them worship God in their own way. A mob at Staibridge
was effectually quieted by the same means. The rioters got the
hearing of the case postponed for eighteen months on one pretext
after another, but this only increased their bill of costs when
they were found guilty. The Methodists were now left in peace.j
At Faversham, where he was informed that the mob and the magistrates
had agreed to drive Methodism out of the town, Wesley told the
people after his sermon what they had been constrained to do
with the magistrate at Rolvenden, who perhaps would have been
richer by some hundred pounds had he not meddled with the Society.
“Since we have both God and law on our side,” he
concluded, “if we can have peace by fair means, we had
much rather; we should be exceeding glad; but if not, we will
nave peace.”
The journals often allude to the attitude of the magistrates.
Wesley says that the baser sort stood at a distance, but made
no disturbance, when he preached at Colchester in 1758, because
they knew that the magistrates were determined to suffer no
riot4 He gratefully acknowledges the quiet enjoyed at Scarborough,
“since God put it into the heart of an honest magistrate
to still the madness of the people.” § When speaking of
a Gloucester magistrate who had tamed the rioters, he adds,
“So may any magistrate, if he will; so that wherever
a mob continues any time, all they do is to be imputed not so
much to the rabble as to the justices.” fi At Manchester
in 1759 he notes that wretched magistrates, who, by refusing
to suppress, encouraged the rioters, had long occasioned constant
trouble, but some were now of a better mind. In the later years
of Wesley’s itinerancy it was rare to find an unfriendly
magistrate. At Drogheda, in June, 1785, the mayor and several
of the magistrates took care that no one should disturb his
congregation. At Waterford, in May, 1787, a file of musketeers
paraded at the door of the Court House, where he preached, at
the order of the mayor. At Newark, in February of the same year,
Wesley deferred his service for half an hour at the request
of the mayor, who wished to attend with some of the aldermen.
At Congleton, in April, 1790, the minister, mayor, and all the
heads of the town were at the service. The mayor of Bristol
invited Wesley to preach at his chapel and dine with him at
the Mansion House. Everywhere Wesley now found a welcome. The
reproach of the Cross had ceased, for him at least, long before
his itinerancy closed. His visits to all parts of the country
assumed the character of public holidays, when all classes united
to welcome the venerable itinerant. The particulars grouped
together in this chapter illustrate Isaac Taylor’s verdict,
“When encountering the ruffianism of mobs and of magistrates,
he showed a firmness as well as a guileless skill which, if
the martyr’s praise might admit of such an adjunct, was
graced with the dignity and courtesy of the gentleman.”
