In the beginning of 1747 Wesley tells us of a journey from London to the North, which will give you a little idea of what it was to be a Methodist preacher. “The rain and hail,” he says, “drove through our coats—great and small—boots, and everything, and yet froze as it fell, even upon our eyebrows, so that we had scarce strength or motion left when we got to our inn at Stilton.” They then started afresh, through deep snow drifts, cold and weary, to a little town which they reached at dark. Next day they were told that they were snowed up—the roads were impassable for riders. “At least,” said Wesley, “we can walk twenty miles a day, leading our horses.” The north-east wind had so drifted the snow, however, that the main road was entirely blocked. But still they found a way to get on, sometimes walking, sometimes riding, and, after two more days, arrived at Epworth. They had had to ford the dykes, breaking the ice, which would not bear, and, moreover, to find the fords in a trackless waste of snow which covered the fens. When I add to this that Wesley had had a bad toothache during this weary journey, you will understand that the life of a wandering preacher was by no means an easy one, if people cared about being comfortable. It was a cheering thing to find that the Lincolnshire people now seemed glad to hear the gospel which had reached them through such difficulties.
Some time before it had been otherwise. John Nelson had had anything but a peaceful visit to Grimsby, where Wesley was now well received. Perhaps it was John Nelson’s preaching which had prepared the way. When Nelson had arrived there the clergyman had gone through the town, followed by a man beating the town drum, in order to collect a rabble, to whom the clergyman gave a good supply of drink, that they might fight, as he said, for the Church. He then ordered this drunken mob to pull down the house in which Nelson was preaching. They proceeded so far as to break every pane of glass in the house, but then fell upon one another, and fought, till the clergyman again supplied them with ale, and led them on to a fresh attack upon the house. This time they further demolished it; broke the furniture to pieces with paving-stones, which they tore up and threw in at the windows, the clergyman shouting, “If they will not turn out the villain, that we may put him in the black ditch, pull down the house.” The drummer, meantime, beat loudly on his drum, accompanied by the cursing and swearing of the mob. One terrified man, who was not a Methodist, ran to an alderman of the town to entreat his help in quelling the riot. The alderman however said he would do nothing but lend them his mash-tub to pump the preacher in. The riot, therefore, continued till twelve at night, and then the clergyman engaged the drummer to be on the spot again at five next morning, “for the villain,” he said, “will be preaching again by that time.”
At five, as the clergyman supposed, Nelson was there, and began to preach. The drummer was there too, beating on his drum. After three quarters of an hour, however, the poor drummer took a rest, and began to listen to the preaching. As he stood there, the tears ran down his cheeks, and he went to Nelson as soon as it was over to beg his pardon. Scarcely had he done so, when the clergyman came up. “Be sure,” he said to the drummer, “you are here again by seven.” “No sir,” said the drummer, “I will never beat a drum to disturb you people any more while breath is in my body.” And from this time the Grimsby riots were at an end, and Wesley’s visit proved to be a peaceful one.
We should fervently thank God that we live in times when such terrible scenes are things of the past; but we should remember that the work done by the Methodists has been, under God’s ordering, perhaps the chief reason why England is, in these respects, a country changed for the better. The preaching and the prayers of those whom God awakened in those days served as a barrier against the awful tide of ungodliness which had well-nigh quenched the last spark of light in England. The clergyman of Grimsby did not then stand alone. Let us be thankful that in these acts of violence he has none to follow in his steps in our days.
Grimsby had not been the only place where John Nelson had nearly caused the house in which he was preaching to be pulled down. Wesley had had a letter from him not very long before, in which he described a similar scene at Nottingham. On this occasion the constable had carried off John, to take him before the mayor of Nottingham for making a riot. A bystander, however, had advised the constable not to take him to the mayor, who was a friend of the Methodists, but to a certain alderman, to whom, accordingly, the constable went, saying, “Sir, I have brought you another Methodist preacher.” The alderman said to John, “I wonder you can’t stay at home; you see the mob won’t suffer you to preach in this town.” John replied, “I did not know this town was governed by the mob; most towns are governed by the magistrates.” The alderman looked very red, and accused Nelson, and the Methodists in general, of having caused the invasion of England by Prince Charles. John, having denied this charge, spoke solemnly to the alderman about the sin of rejecting the gospel. It would seem the poor man was so far struck by John’s words that he dismissed him without punishment.
The retreat of Prince Charles and his defeat at Culloden, had caused many attacks upon the Methodists in other places, for it was by pelting and beating the preachers, and the listeners also, that the rabble in the English towns expressed their joy for the victories gained by the king’s troops.
Charles Wesley, just at the time when John was at Grimsby, had a narrow escape of his life from the mob at Devizes. The mob, headed by the curate and two Dissenting ministers, first flooded the house in which Charles was with a fire-engine, seized one of the leaders of the Methodists and threw him in a horse-pond, and then attacked the house, some battering at the doors, others climbing on the roof to pull off the tiles. The mayor’s wife managed to send Charles a message, begging him to escape in women’s clothes. Charles, however, and his friends were kept by the Lord from any feeling of fear, though they knew if the house were entered they would be killed at once.
Mr. Meriton, a preacher, who traveled about with Charles, hid his money and watch. “They shall have nothing of me but my carcass,” he said. Just as the mob were rushing in, the constable made his way through the crowd, and told Charles he would take him safely out of the town if only he would promise never to preach there again. “I shall promise no such thing,” replied Charles. “I will not give up my birth-right, as an Englishman, of visiting what part I please of His Majesty’s dominions.”
The constable then entreated Charles to say he would not come again immediately. “I cannot come immediately,” said Charles, “because I have business in London next week; but, observe, I make no promise of not preaching here when I see it to be a fit time, and don’t you say I do.” With this answer the constable had to be satisfied, and with much difficulty he succeeded in conveying Charles and Mr. Meriton through the raging mob to a safe distance from the town; but not before Mr. Meriton had been dragged from his horse, thrown on his back in the crowd, and fastened upon by two bulldogs. The only means he and Charles had taken to secure their lives, was prayer to God.
This riot lasted all night. Meanwhile, John Wesley was traveling northwards, and after a visit to Newcastle, he again turned south.