But it is time to return to John Wesley, whom we left at Bristol. Up to this time, though Nelson, Whitefield, and Charles Wesley had often been ill-treated, and terrible riots had been caused by their preaching, John Wesley had escaped with an occasional blow from a stone or a turnip, and had never been at any time in danger of his life. The Cornish people who had listened so quietly to him had risen in fury against Charles only a few weeks before John went amongst them. Terrible disturbances had taken place in other parts, especially in Staffordshire, where Charles had just been. “Hell from beneath,” wrote Charles, “was moved to oppose us.” So it was in Yorkshire, and so it was again in Cornwall shortly after John had left. Many Methodists were severely hurt, women especially, who were dragged about and trampled on by the mob. In various places the buildings where meetings were held were torn down. In the parish accounts of some places we can still read the entry of “expenses for drink at the village inn for those who drove out the Methodists.” Too often a drunken clergyman or churchwarden headed the mob of ruffians, thinking they were defending the cause of the church. It was perhaps from hearing of the Staffordshire riots that John Wesley determined to go there on leaving Bristol. About this time we find an entry in his journal that he feared his strength would only admit of his preaching four times each day; and thus, preaching as he went, he arrived one morning in October at Wednesbury, in Staffordshire. At noon he preached in the town to a large crowd, who behaved quietly. He then went to the house of a good man, Mr. Francis Ward, with whom he was to lodge. In the afternoon, as he was busy writing, an alarm was raised that the mob had attacked the house. Wesley and his friends joined in prayer that the Lord would send them away, and in half-an-hour’s time all had dispersed. “Now,” said Wesley, “is the time to go in peace.” But his friends were so anxious he should stay longer, that he at last consented to do so, and, as he foresaw, the mob collected again in greater force, so that by five o’clock the house was surrounded by a furious crowd, who shouted wildly, “Bring out the minister! We will have the minister!” Wesley desired someone to bring in the leader of the mob that he might speak to him alone. After a few words had passed between them the enraged man became quite meek and quiet. Wesley then asked him if he would kindly bring in one or two more of the most angry of his companions. The man went out, and returned with two, who were storming with rage. In a few minutes, however, they were quiet as lambs. Wesley then asked his three new friends to make a way for him into the thick of the mob. Having followed them into the midst, he called for a chair, and, standing up, said, “What do any of you want with me?” “We want you to go with us to the justice!” called out some of the crowd. “That I will, with all my heart,” said Wesley, and, having added a few more friendly words, some of the mob began to take a new view of the case, and shouted loudly, “The gentleman is an honest gentleman, and we will spill our blood in his defense.” “Shall we go to the justice tonight, or in the morning?” asked Wesley. “Tonight! tonight! “cried out a number of voices. “Come along, then,” said Wesley, and, leading the way, he was followed by two or three hundred of the crowd, the rest returning to their homes. It now began to get dark, and to rain heavily; but the justice, Mr. Lane, lived at Bentley Hall, two miles off, and this journey had to be performed in spite of darkness and wet. Two or three ran on in front to tell Mr. Lane they were bringing Wesley. Mr. Lane was greatly puzzled as to what he should do. He dreaded the thought of rescuing Wesley from a mob, who would then, he thought, vent their rage upon himself. At the same time, for what could he punish him? It was an awkward position for the poor justice. “Go and take Mr. Wesley back again,” he said, “it is no concern of mine.” By this time, however, the whole mob had arrived before the door. Mr. Lane sent out a servant to tell them he was in bed, which they must have thought strange as it was only about six o’clock. Young Mr. Lane, the son, then came out, and asked what was the matter. “An’t please you, sir,” said one, “they sing psalms all day, and make folks get up at five in the morning. What would your worship advise us to do?” “To go home,” said young Lane, “and be quiet.” And so saying the door was shut. What was to be done next? “Let us go to Justice Persehouse, at Walsall!” called out one. All agreed to this, and the march began again. About seven they reached the house of the second justice. But Mr. Persehouse had hit upon the same plan as Mr. Lane, and sent out word that he too was gone to bed. After a short consultation they decided all to go home. About fifty of them undertook to convey John Wesley safely back. These fifty friends were headed by a valiant woman, who swore that no one should touch the good gentleman to hurt him. Scarcely however had they gone many yards on their homeward way, when a raging crowd rushed out of the streets of Walsall. “They poured in,” Wesley says, “like a flood—bearing down all before them.” The brave woman, seeing her followers give way, rushed into the thickest of the enemy, and after knocking down three or four men was overpowered, and would probably have been killed by three strong men, who fell upon her with their fists, but the captain of the first mob, who still remained true to Wesley, came to the rescue, and the poor woman was left to crawl home as best she could. The remainder of the fifty now fled for their lives. Four Methodists alone remained to defend Wesley, or rather to share his fate. One of these was a woman called Joan Parks. It was no use to attempt to speak, as the noise of the furious crowd drowned the loudest voice. Some dragged Wesley along by the collar, or by the long flap of his waistcoat; some tried to throw him down on the slippery, downhill path, hoping to trample him to death. Some hit him on the head, yelling, in their fury, “Away with him! Kill him at once!” Thus they entered the town of Walsall, where, seeing a door open, Wesley made for it, hoping to find a refuge. He was dragged back by the hair, and thus forced along the main street to the other end of the town. Here he made a rush at another open door, but a gentleman in the shop came out saying he must stay outside, or the house would be pulled down. Wesley then called out to his persecutors, “Are you willing to hear me speak?” “No! no! Knock his brains out. Down with him! Kill him at once!” shouted the mob in reply. In vain Wesley asked “Why? What evil have I done?” In vain he endeavored, for a quarter of an hour, to make his voice heard. At the end of that time he could speak no more, and the yells and shouts rose louder. “Bring him away! bring him away!”
Wesley now used the means which would at first have been the most effectual, as he himself remarks in his journal, he turned to the Lord and prayed. And now the leader of the mob suddenly exclaimed, “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 others gathered round their leader to share in his defense of Wesley. The gentleman at the shop door, who turned out to be the Mayor of Walsall, now also interposed, and said, “For shame, for shame; let him go.” A butcher in the crowd joined in the cry of “shame,” and, rushing forward, dragged off four or five men who were preparing to seize Wesley and tear him from the doorstep. By the help of the butcher and the other three or four who had now taken up his cause, he was carried off through the crowd, who fell back to right and left, and only began their shouts again when they saw their victim led towards the bridge. Here they made a stand, intending to seize him and throw him into the river. Wesley here, for the first time, felt a shadow of fear, not for himself, for he could swim well, and would readily have crossed the river had they thrown him in; but he had some papers in his pocket which would have been spoiled. His friends, seeing the bridge blocked, carried him over the mill-dam, and through the meadows, so that a little before ten he got safe to Wednesbury, having lost only one flap of his long waistcoat, and some skin off one hand. The other side of his waistcoat, which was but half torn off, contained in the pocket a bank note, which would have been a serious loss to him had it fallen into the hands of the mob. The rest of his clothes were torn in many places, but of all the blows aimed at him, only two had hurt him, and that slightly. Joan Parks, who had been dragged away in the crowd, got safely back. It was reported she had fought for Wesley, but she said she had no fear for him, nor for herself, for she knew God would fight for His children, and she had no need to do so” Next morning Wesley rode on to Nottingham, where Charles was preaching. “He looked,” says Charles, “like a soldier of Christ. His clothes were torn to tatters.” But nothing daunted by John’s ragged appearance, Charles shortly after went to Wednesbury to cheer and encourage the little Methodist band, and preached boldly in the town on the text, “Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer.” Amongst those who asked Charles to receive them into the Methodist Society, was the captain of the mob who had rescued John. He had been a prizefighter, and this perhaps was one reason why he was allowed to carry John away without resistance. “What do you think of my brother John?” inquired Charles. “Think!” said the penitent man, “that he is a man of God, and God was on his side, when so many of us could not kill one man.” As soon as the two justices, Mr. Lane and Mr. Persehouse, knew that John Wesley was safe out of the county they published the following notice, for most likely they feared lest their zeal against Methodists might be considered so doubtful as to provoke the mob to attack their houses—
“Staffordshire:
“To all high constables, petty constables, and others of His Majesty’s peace officers within the said county, &c.
“Whereas, we his Majesty’s justices of the peace for the county of Stafford, have received information that several disorderly persons, styling themselves Methodist preachers, go about raising routs and riots to the great damage of his Majesty’s liege people, and against the peace of our sovereign lord the king,
“These are, in his Majesty’s name, to command you, and every one of you, within your respective districts to make diligent search after the said Methodist preachers, and to bring him or them before some of us, his said Majesty’s justices of the peace, to be examined concerning their unlawful doings.
“Given under our hands and seals, this day of October, 1743.
“T. LANE.
“W. PERSEHOUSE.”
Thus ended for a short time the Staffordshire riots. During that one year (1743) we find it recorded by one who was by no means a friend to the Methodists, that these harmless people, in Staffordshire alone, had their property destroyed to the amount of £504. When we consider that such a loss at that time would amount to about twice the value of the same sum in 1876, and when we also consider that almost all these Methodists were working-men who could ill afford the loss, we can understand that it was no small stand for Christ, which they were called upon to make. But they seem for the most part to “have taken joyfully the spoiling of their goods,” and their numbers increased in spite of persecution. The following year the Staffordshire mobs, especially those of Wednesbury, rose again in greater fury. Houses were plundered, the windows broken, the furniture dashed in pieces or torn to rags, the Methodists beaten and wounded and forced to fly for their lives, the women and children dragged through the gutters, and, lastly, the Methodists themselves accused to the Government as having been the rioters, and having themselves committed these outrages. The magistrates refused to defend them, although not one Methodist had been known to offer violence in return for the ill-treatment they had received.