IN April, 1747, we find Wesley at Osmotherly, in Yorkshire, where he preached on a tombstone, the text being, “The Lord is risen indeed.” This was on Easter Monday, late in the evening. Amongst the congregation, Wesley was happy to see his old friend, John Nelson. Poor John had a great wound in his head, and looked otherwise as though he had been in the wars. And so he had, though to endure, not to fight. He related to Mr. Wesley the events of the last few days. He had first been attacked by a mob when at his breakfast at a friend’s house at Kirkheaton, in Yorkshire. The mob besieged the house, and called for the Methodist dog, as they meant to drown him in the river. They had brought with them a lunatic, who was a powerful man about six feet high. They had agreed that the lunatic, who was provided with a halter, should fasten it on John’s neck, and a butcher had undertaken to drag him by a rope to the river.
When John attempted to speak to the furious crowd, they rang large bells to drown his voice. Just as John was attempting to hold back the lunatic, who had rushed upon him with the halter, a constable came up, and proceeded to threaten John. John, however, ordered the constable to do his duty—namely, to rescue him from the mob, and if he had done wrong, take him before a magistrate. The constable turned pale, and, without further threats, fetched John’s horse out of the stable, helped him on, and told him to ride away, which he gladly did.
But John’s troubles were not yet at an end. From Kirkheaton he had journeyed to York, and there gave notice that he would preach on the morning of Easter Sunday, on Hepworth Moor, outside the town.
When the time came, be found two parties assembled on the moor—the one to listen, the other to make a riot. This last party was headed by a Roman Catholic gentleman. Scarcely had Nelson begun to preach, when the gentleman shouted, “Knock out the brains of that mad dog!” whereupon a volley of stones showered upon John and upon those who were listening. Soon all his hearers had fled in dismay, but John, nothing daunted, continued to preach to the mob. Not a stone hit him of the many hurled at his head, and having finished his preaching he walked away. A man then threw a brick at the back of his head, which stunned him completely, and he fell on his face. When two men went to lift him up, the blood streamed even into his shoes. After a few moments he was able to walk on, followed by the mob through the streets of York.
As he prayed to the Lord for help, a gentleman came up, and asked how he had been hurt. Some of the mob said, “This is but little to what we will do to him.” The gentleman threatened the mob that some of them should be locked up in York Castle before an hour was over, unless they went home at once. He then sent for a surgeon, who bandaged up John’s head, and John rode off to Acomb, near York, to preach again. He was followed, however, by a coach full of half-drunken young gentlemen, who had provided themselves with bad eggs to throw at the preachers. As John, having dismounted, was crossing a field, one of his enemies rushed at him, and after several vain attempts to throw him down, at last succeeded. This man, who was strong and heavy, then jumped upon him till he was breathless, and till the blood again rushed from the wound on his head. Thinking he had killed John, which was what he desired, he flew at another Methodist, and broke two of his ribs by hurling him against the wall. He then informed the party of gentlemen that he had killed the preacher; “he lies dead,” said he, “in the Croft.” The gentlemen said they would make sure of the matter, and went to see, but John was now beginning to move, and when they helped him up, he demanded to be taken before the mayor, that he might be judged according to law. “I am a subject,” he said, “of King George, and to his law I appeal.” They replied, however, only by cursing him and the king too, because he had not hanged all the Methodist dogs long ago. One said, “If the king were here we would serve him as bad as you.” “We will kill you as fast as you come!” shouted another, who was the clergyman’s brother; “for, according to your preaching, our ministers are blind guides.” “If Wesley come,” called out a third, “he shall not live another day in this world.”
John meantime made his way into the street, where he was speedily knocked down by a blow on the head. Eight times he got up and eight times he was again hurled to the ground, and at last he was unable to get up any more. Some seized him by the hair and dragged him upon the stones for nearly 20 yards, others kicking him vigorously all the way. Six, at last, began to trample on him, “to tread,” as they said, “the Holy Spirit out of him.” As last one said to the other, “We can’t kill him I have heard that a cat has nine lives, but he has nine score!” Another shouted, “If he has he shall die this day.” One of them proposed to bring his horse to take him out of the town, but as John was aware they meant to follow him, he said, “No, if you do murder me, it shall be here in public, and it may be the gallows may bring you to repentance, and your souls may be saved from the wrath to come.” One of them then swore if he did not go he would put him down the well. Some lifted the lid of the well, whilst others dragged him towards it. A friend now appeared in the shape of a poor woman who reached the well first, and threw down several of the gentlemen as they came up dragging John after them.
During this scuffle two ladies, who came from York, drew near, and spoke to the gentlemen by their names and called them away. The gentlemen looked much ashamed of themselves, and returned to the coach in which they came. The mob dispersed, singing wicked songs. The last words John heard the gentlemen say were, “It’s impossible he can live, and if John Wesley comes we’ll kill him, then we shall get rid of the Methodists forever!”
John then went to a house for the night, covered with blood and bruises; but the next morning he set off again on horseback, rode 40 miles to Osmotherly, and arrived in time to hear Wesley preach on the tombstone on that Easter Monday evening. He thanked the Lord for all that he had got, which made such troubles of no account to him; he had felt neither fear nor anger, but had been kept in perfect peace. He and Wesley joined that evening in praising God for all His goodness.
It is well for us to think, in reading these histories, whether we know by experience what it is to have a treasure which could well repay us for such ill-treatment and suffering. Those who have never possessed the unsearchable riches of Christ would do well to consider what it was which made John and Charles Wesley and John Nelson think it worthwhile thus to risk their lives day by day, thus to spend weeks, months, and years in unceasing labor, for which they had no reward as far as this world goes, but shame, contempt, and suffering. And for those who are God’s people it is well, too, to consider whether their desire for the glory of Christ and for the salvation of souls is leading them thus to make Him known, day after day, as the one great object for which they are left down here.
There are many who have had better teaching and greater light than John Nelson, but who are more afraid of one contemptuous look or speech than he was of the dangers and suffering he passed through, as a matter of course. He knew it signified not, if only Christ were known where before He was never thought of. And God, who gave His servant faith and courage thus to serve Christ, had not only a reward awaiting him when He should welcome him into the glory, but He gave him a reward down here, which far outweighed his suffering. From one end of the land to the other, souls were being awakened from the sleep of sin, and were in their turn arousing others.
There were by this time very many Methodist preachers traveling over the length and breadth of England besides Whitefield, the Wesleys, and Nelson. Several of these were clergymen, such as Mr. Grimshaw, of whom you will hear more by-and-bye, and Daniel Rowlands, in Wales, and Mr. Ingham, Wesley’s old Oxford friend.
Mr. Ingham had married Lady Margaret Hastings some years before (in 1741), but he was still an unwearied preacher of the gospel.
Mr. Hervey, who had been in the Holy Club, was preaching, too, with the Methodists. Though, perhaps, awakened in his Oxford days through George Whitefield, he had remained very much in the dark about the gospel till towards the year 1741. It is said he was first led into a clearer knowledge of Christ when talking to a plowman, with whom he was walking after the plow. “It is a hard thing to deny sinful self,” said Mr. Hervey, thinking he might instruct the plowman a little. “It is harder to deny righteous self, sir,” said the plowman. And these few words were blessed by God to open Mr. Hervey’s eyes more fully. He had seen the worthlessness of sinful self, he now saw that before God righteous self is worthless too, and Christ alone the One with whom God is or can be satisfied.
It will be easier for you to imagine, than for me to relate, how Wesley continued his ceaseless journeys. Day by day, and we may almost say night by night, we find him on foot or on horseback traversing the country from Newcastle to the Land’s End. In summer he would start at three in the morning, and constantly preach at five to crowds of every description. Sometimes, he tells us, they were “quiet and loving,” sometimes “earnest and well-behaved,” sometimes “civil and senseless,” sometimes “fierce and furious.” Sometimes the fire-engines were brought out to drench the preacher; sometimes dirt and stones flew in a shower around him; sometimes the house in which he lodged would be surrounded for hours by a yelling crowd who “fought valiantly,” as he says, “with the doors and windows till their strength was exhausted.” His general practice was then to walk in amongst the crowd and talk to them, shaking hands with the leaders of the riot. This had often the effect of quieting them.