# Records of the Life of the Rev. John Murray/Chapter V.

CHAPTER V.
Death's sable pall o'er all my pleasures thrown, My native isle to me a desert grown; Sad and forlorn, to the new world I fled, Amid its wilds to shield my widowed head.
HAVING, as has been described, laid the companion of my youth, the wife of my bosom, in the grave; my spirit still hovered round her tomb. It has been seen, that my life seemed devoted to misery; that I wept at all times, except when I turned my attention to that bright world, upon which, I imagined, I was verging; that I wished the act of putting a period to a weary life had ranked among the Christian virtues; that I never more passionately longed for any good, than for the period, which was to put an end to my existence; that I had but few acquaintance, that I wished not to form new connexions; that I was sick of the world, and all which it could bestow; that the retirement of my lonely dwelling was most acceptable to me; that I abhorred the thought of expecting any thing like happiness in this world; and, that I thus passed weeks and months, verily believing, that I should thus finish days, which, I cherished a soothing hope, would soon be numbered.
Through those sad scenes of sorrow, to which I was condemned, I had one friend, one earthly friend, from whom I derived real consolation. This friend was Mr. James Relly, the man who had been made ​an instrument, in the hand of God, of leading me into an acquaintance with the truth, as it is in Jesus. This kind friend often visited me; and in conversing with him, I found my heart lightened of its burden; I could better bear the pitiless storm, that beat upon me, when strengthened by the example of this son of sorrow; we frequently conversed upon the things of the kingdom, and Mr. Relly, observing my heart much warmed and enlarged by these subjects, urged me to go forth, and make mention of the loving-kindness of God. No, no, I constantly replied, it is not my design again to step forth in a public character. I have been a promulgator of falsehood. "And why not," he would interrupt, "a promulgator of truth? Surely you owe this atonement to the God, who hath irradiated your understanding by the light of his countenance." But no argument, he made use of, was sufficiently strong to excite in my bosom a single wish, that I had either inclination or capability, for a character so arduous; my heart's desire was to pass, through life, unheard, unseen, unknown to all, as though I ne'er had been. I had an aversion to society, and, since I could not be permitted to leave the world, I was solicitous to retire from its noise and its nonsense; I was indeed a burden to myself, and no advantage to any body else; every place, every thing served to render me more miserable, for they led my mind to the contemplation of past scenes, of scenes never more to return. Such was the situation of my mind, when, at the house of one of Mr. Relly's hearers, I accidentally met a gentleman from America. I listened with attention to his account of the country, in which he had so long resided; I was charmed with his description of its extent, its forests, its lakes, its rivers, its towns, its inhabitants, the liberty they enjoyed, and the peace and plenty, which they possessed; I listened to every thing with astonishment; and I turned toward the new world my most ardent wishes. I communicated my desire to visit America to my mother, to my brethren. I was ridiculed for entertaining a project so chimerical. What, cross the Atlantic! For what purpose? To whom would I go? What could I do? What object could I have in view? I was unable to answer any of these questions; I had not a single acquaintance in America, indeed I had no wish to make acquaintance; I had nothing in prospect, but a kind of negative happiness; I did not mean to commence a voyage in pursuit of bliss, but to avoid, if possible, a part of my misery.
My mind for a considerable time laboured with my purpose; many difficulties interposed; I would infinitely have preferred entering that narrow house, which is appointed for all living, but this I was not ​permitted to do; and I conceived, to quit England, and to retire to America, was the next thing to be desired. Nights and days of deliberation at length convinced my judgment, and I was determined to depart for the new world. My few friends urged me most earnestly to let them apply to those, who had connexions in America, for letters of introduction, or recommendation. No, by no means, this would most effectually defeat my purpose; I would rather not go, than go thus. My object was to close my life in solitude, in the most complete retirement; and with those views I commenced preparations for my voyage. I visited the brother of my departed wife, and I beheld both him, and his children, with the same eyes a dying person would have beheld them; tears frequently stole down my face, and a thousand thoughts, that served to harrow up my soul, crowded upon me. I was determined not to repeat this scene, and I bid them adieu; could I have done this upon a bed of death, how much happier should I have been!
The place I now occupied, to which I had recently removed, was extremely beautiful; it was in the vicinity of London. I had a fine garden, and a delightful prospect; but my better self had fled this globe, and with her fled my soul's calm sunshine, every heart-felt joy. I was, as I have frequently said, extremely wretched; I spake to the master of a vessel, bound to New-York; I agreed for my passage, my heart trembled, it was worse than death. He fixed the time for my departure; every arrangement was made. My brother, my widowed mother, I met them in my parlour; it was torturing. "Sit down, my son," said my weeping parent; my brother appeared a silent spectacle of sorrow: "I know you, my child, too well to expect I can alter your resolution; it is now too late to beseech you to reflect; I know you have long reflected, and I am astonished to find you still determined. You have a charming situation; your prospects are good; could you but make your mind easy, you might still be happy; why, then, this aversion to life?" I interrupted her, by declaring, that the whole world would not, could not detain me longer in England; yet I passionately loved my country, and my few remaining friends shared the best affections of my heart. This voluntary exile was worse than death; but I was impelled to go, and go I must. My poor mother threw her fond arms about my neck: "Once more," said she, "you leave me, but not now, as before; then you left me in my native place, among my natural connexions; then too, I had hope you would again be restored to me—but now—" and she burst into tears; my heart was agonized. I entreated her to consider me, as on the bed of death, ​nor again to think of me, as of a living son. Be thankful, my mother, be thankful it is no worse; be thankful I have not fallen a victim to the despondency of my spirit. I leave you with your children, with children kind, and dutiful; and, what is better than all, I leave you in the hands, and under the care of a kind God, who hath said, I will never leave you, nor forsake you. "But shall I hear from you, my son?" Do not, I entreat you, think of me, as living; I go to bury myself in the wilds of America; no one shall hear from me, nor of me. I have done with the world; and, prostrating myself in the presence of my mother and my God, with streaming eyes, and supplicating hands, I commended my soul, and all who were connected with me, or allied to me, to that Being, who orders all things according to his own good pleasure.
I left my mother in an agony of affliction, and retired, but not to rest. My baggage had been sent on board ship in the morning, and, accompanied by my brother, we took a boat and passed down to Grave's-End, where I entered on board the vessel, that was to convey me to America, which, in my then judgment, was tantamount to quitting the world.
The vessel, however, did not sail immediately; I had an opportunity of going on shore again, and spending some time at Grave's-End. Fond of being alone, I ascended a lofty eminence, and sat me down under the shade of a wide spreading tree; here I had leisure, and inclination for reflection. On one hand, I beheld the wide ocean, my path to the new world; on the other, the Thames, upon the silvery surface of which, many were passing to London. My mind rapidly ran over the various scenes I had witnessed, since my arrival in that great city. I dwelt upon the good I had lost, never more to be recovered. My soul sickened at the recollection of my heavy bereavement, of the solitary situation, to which I was reduced. I was going from a world, in which I had some associates, and some friends, into a country where every individual was unknown to me! I was going on board a vessel, to the crew of which I was an utter stranger—all gloomy—truly gloomy. One idea, however, continued my abiding consolation; I might soon finish my course, and bid an eternal adieu to sorrow of every description. Yet I trembled at what was before me; I was fearful I was wrong. Just at this period the wind shifted, the signal was made for sailing; but before I descended the eminence, I once more threw my eyes upon the surrounding scenes. I felt destitute, and forlorn; tears gushed in my eyes. My domestic felicity, my social connexions, the ​pleasure I had derived from listening to the testimony of truth, these all rushed upon my recollection, with subduing power; I prostrated myself upon the ground, with streaming eyes exclaiming: Oh, thou dear parent earth, thou much loved native soil, why not open and give me a quiet resting place in thy bosom. Oh! thou dear, departed friend of my soul, hast thou no power to loose these chains, that bind me to this state of being. Is there no eye to pity, no hand to help a wretched outcast? can I not be indulged with death? But death comes not at call. In this situation I continued, bedewing the earth with my tears, until it pleased the kind God to speak peace to my tortured heart, and I seemed to hear a voice calling unto me, Be of good cheer, your God is with you, He will never leave you, nor forsake you; He is in the wide waste, as in the full city. Be not afraid, when thou passest through the waters; I will be with thee, fear no evil; the friend of sinners will be with thee, and make thy way plain before thee; He will cause the desert to blossom, as the rose. The young lions cry, and thy heavenly Father feedeth them. Thou art nearer and dearer to thy heavenly Father, than all the inhabitants of the deep, than all the tenants of the forests. Thus did the spirit of grace and consolation comfort my afflicted heart, so that, after bidding an affectionate adieu to the scenes of the morning and meridian of my days; after taking what I believed an eternal leave of my native soil, of my friends, and relatives; after dropping many tears to the memory of each; and, last of all, to the ashes of my dearer self; with an aching head, a pained heart, and eyes swelled by weeping, on Saturday evening, July twenty-first, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy, I hastened on board the brig "Hand in Hand;" and, upon the ensuing morning, as we passed round Beachy Head, I beheld the white cliffs of Albion. No language can describe my sensations, as those white cliffs receded from my view, as I took a last look of England! I retired to my cabin, covered my face, and wept until I was completely exhausted. But God was pleased to lift up the light of his countenance upon me; my voyage passed more pleasantly, than I had calculated, and I was the happy instrument of contributing to the comfort of many on board. I was not sick upon the passage, I became more than reconciled to my circumstances, and I almost dreaded the thought of reaching our destined port.
I did not anticipate my fate upon my arrival; I had determined upon nothing, and yet I was not distressed; a perfect indifference pervaded my soul. I had in my trunks many articles of clothing, ​more than I should want; for I did not calculate upon being many years an inhabitant of this globe. I had some money, I had my Bible, and a very large collection of the letters of my Eliza, in which I took much delight; and, upon the whole, I fancied myself rather rich, than otherwise. In this state of resignation, indifference, or insensibility, I passed the greater part of the voyage.
As we drew near the coast of America, I experienced none of those delightful sensations, which swelled my bosom, a few years before on returning to England from Ireland; neither did I experience those terrifying apprehensions, for which there was such abundant reason, on advancing to an unknown country, without patron, or friend. My mind was calm and unruffled, neither elated by hope, nor depressed by fear. I had obtained precisely that situation, for which I had supplicated heaven, when entering upon this untried state of being, humbly depending upon that God, who was in every place the same unchanging friend of the creature, whom he had made. I was, as it were, between two worlds; one I had tried, and, finding it contained more of bitter, than of sweet, I had turned from it with disgust. I advanced toward the other, without high-raised expectations, without fearful apprehensions. I was pleased with the wonders of my God, as I beheld them in the great deep; I was amazed at the variety of its inhabitants, yet how small a part could I trace. I was astonished at the number of birds, flitting over the ocean; and I thought, if provision was made for them, I had no reason for fear. On a brilliant moonlight evening, our ship struck on something, which threw us off our seats! What could it be? we were in the centre of the Western ocean. We soon discovered it was a sleeping whale; we also beheld the water-spout, so often described, as a surprising phenomenon. Thus was my wondering mind beguiled of its sorrows. We saw a number of vessels on our way, some passing to the country we had left; my heart sighed, as they pursued their course, and I frequently, and audibly exclaimed, Dear native country, never more to be seen by me! nor was the exclamation unaccompanied by a tear.
We were, as it was supposed, within three days sail of New-York, when we met a vessel, bound for England. Our merchant questioned the captain, respecting the state of public affairs in America. The Americans had, some time before, entered into the non-importation agreement, and our merchant was anxious, on account of the goods he had on board. The captain assured him, they had given up the agreement in Philadelphia, but that they zealously adhered to it in ​New-York. Our captain, therefore, received immediate orders, to change the course of the vessel for Philadelphia; but when we had got near enough to this harbour to take a pilot, the pilot informed us, the reverse of the information we had received was the truth; upon which the merchant determined to go as far as the city, there obtain a certainty, and if so, to proceed to New-York, with all possible dispatch. We were a considerable time passing up the Delaware, and, upon a fine day, while we lay at anchor, the merchant proposed going on shore, for the purpose of obtaining corn and fruit.
It was in the month of September, when we arrived in the Delaware; the country, upon the banks of this fine river, exhibited a most enchanting appearance, especially to those, who had been for many weeks out of sight of land, and had never seen those shores before. As we drew near the land, the woods, seeming to grow out of the water, had to me a very uncommon appearance; but every thing, in this country, was uncommon. We went on shore, and ascended a gentle acclivity, when, entering into a small log-house, I was astonished to see a woman preparing some excellent wild ducks for dinner; live in a log-house, and feed upon ducks! We passed into her garden, where, amid its rich variety, my attention was arrested by a large peach-tree, loaded with the best fruit, bending to the earth! I was beyond expression charmed, and delighted, and my heart bent with grateful affection to the universal Parent, for giving the inhabitants of this new world thus liberally to enjoy. When we reached Philadelphia, I was amazed to behold a city of such magnitude, in a country, which I had considered, as a wilderness. The captain supposed it a disappointment to me, that we had not put into New-York, as that was the place of my destination; I requested him, to make himself easy, as it was a matter of perfect indifference to me upon what part of the country I landed; and, if he could procure me a private lodging, I would go on shore in this city. This he told me he would do, but this he found he could not do, at least in the circle of his connexions. He then proposed my going, by land, to New-York. This also I was willing to do, if he would let me know how. He would send and take me a place in the stage. The stage had been gone some time. He then proposed I should tarry in the vessel, and set out with him the next morning for New-York, to which arrangement I agreed. The other passengers left us in Philadelphia. The water was smooth, and our passage pleasant, until we were, as was supposed, near Sandy-Hook; a dense fog then arose, which was sufficiently thick to prevent our seeing the end of our bowsprit. A sloop ​shot past us, and we inquired how far we were from Sandy-Hook? The answer was seventy miles, but we understood seven, and we pressed on, and in a few moments were in the midst of the breakers; the vessel struck upon the bar, but passed over, into a place we afterwards learned was called Cranberry Inlet. The fog now dispersed, and we discovered we were nearly on shore; our anchors, however, saved us; but we were greatly alarmed, and never expected to get off again. The sloop, with which we had spoken, entered this inlet before us, and was light. The captain proposed to engage this sloop to receive on board as much of our cargo, as she could contain; thus, by lightening his vessel, to give himself the only probable chance of getting off. This was effectuaed, and night coming on, the captain, with many apologies, requested me to lodge on board the sloop, inasmuch as there were many valuable articles, which he was afraid to trust, without a confidential person. To this I readily consented, and taking my Bible, and my purse, I went on board the sloop. The plan of the captain was, supposing the morning should present no prospect of getting off, to deposit the remainder of his cargo upon the beach; but, if they should get off, we were immediately to follow; the goods were to be replaced; and the sloop dismissed. I went not to bed, and when the morning dawned, just at high water, the wind blowing from the shore, they got off, making a signal for us to follow; and with all possible dispatch we prepared to obey, but the wind instantly shifting, drove us back, and they proceeded on to New-York, leaving us in the bay.
It proved upon examination, we had no provisions on board; we were, therefore, necessitated to lock up the vessel, and go on shore, in search of sustenance. It was the after part of the day before we could effectuate our purpose, when I went with the boatmen to a tavern, and leaving them there, pursued a solitary walk through the woods, which seemed to surround this place. My mind was greatly agitated; I was now in the new world; and in just such a part of this new world, as had appeared so desirable in prospect. Here I was as much alone, as I could wish, and my heart exclaimed: O, that I had, in this wilderness, the lodging place of a poor way-faring man; some cave, some grot, some place where I might finish my days in calm repose. As thus I passed along, thus contemplating, thus supplicating; I unexpectedly reached a small log-house, and saw a girl cleaning a fresh fish; I requested she would sell it to me. "No, sir, you will find a very great plenty at the next house; we want this." The next house, what this? pointing to one in the woods. "O no, sir, that is a meeting-house." A ​meeting-house here in these woods? I was exceedingly surprised. "You must pass the meeting-house, sir; and a little way farther on, you will see the other house, where you will find fish enough." I went forward, I came to the door; there was indeed a large pile of fish of various sorts, and at a little distance stood a tall man, rough in appearance and evidently advanced in years: Pray, sir, will you have the goodness to sell me one of those fish? "No, sir." That is strange, when you have so many, to refuse me a single fish! "I did not refuse you a fish, sir; you are welcome to as many as you please, but I do not sell this article; I do not sell fish, sir, I have them for taking up, and you may obtain them the same way." I, thanked him: "But," said he, "what do you want of those fish?" I informed him, that the mariners, who belonged to the sloop at a distance, were at the tavern, and would be glad, if I could procure them something for supper. "Well, sir, I will send my man over with the fish; but you can tarry here, and have some dressed for yourself." No, sir, it is proper I should see how they are accommodated. "Well, sir, you shall do as you please; but, after supper, I beg you would return, and take a bed with us, you will be better pleased here, than at a tavern." I gratefully thanked him, and cheerfully accepted his offer. I was astonished to see so much genuine politeness and urbanity, under so rough a form; but my astonishment was greatly increased on my return. His room was prepared, his fire bright, and his heart open. "Come," said he, "my friend, I am glad you have returned, I have longed to see you, I have been expecting you a long time." I was perfectly amazed. What do you mean, sir? "I must go on in my own way, I am a poor ignorant man, I neither know how to read, nor write; I was born in these woods, and my father did not think proper to teach me my letters. I worked, on these grounds, until I became a man, when I went coasting voyages from hence to New-York. I was then desirous of becoming a husband, but, in going to New-York, I was pressed on board a man of war, and I was taken, in admiral Warren's ship to Cape-Breton. I never drank any rum, so they saved my allowance; but I would not bear an affront, so if any of the officers struck me, I struck them again, but the admiral took my part, and called me his new-light man. When we reached Louisbourg, I ran away, and travelled barefooted through the country, and almost naked, to New-York, where I was known, and supplied with clothes and money, and soon returned to this place, when I found my girl married; this rendered me very unhappy, but I recovered my tranquillity and married her sister. I sat down to work; got forward very fast; ​constructed a saw-mill; possessed myself of this farm, and five hundred acres of adjoining land. I entered into navigation, became the owner of a sloop, and have got together a large estate. I am, as I said, unable either to write or read, but I am capable of reflection; the sacred scriptures have been often read to me, from which I gather, that there is a great and good Being, to whom we are indebted for all we enjoy. It is this great, and good Being, who hath preserved, and protected me, through innumerable dangers, and, as He had given me a house of my own, I conceived I could not do less than to open it to the stranger, let him be who he would; and especially, if a travelling minister passed this way, he always received an invitation to put up at my house, and hold his meetings here. I continued this practice for more than seven years, and, illiterate as I was, I used to converse with them, and was fond of asking them questions. They pronounced me an odd mortal, declaring themselves at a loss what to make of me: while I continued to affirm, that I had but one hope; I believed, that Jesus Christ suffered death for my transgressions, and this alone was sufficient for me. At length my wife grew weary of having meetings held in her house, and I determined to build a house for the worship of God. I had no children, and I knew that I was beholden to Almighty God for every thing, which I possessed; and it seemed right, I should appropriate a part, of what he had bestowed, for His service. My neighbours offered their assistance. But no, said I; God has given me enough to do his work, without your aid, and, as he has put it into my heart to do, so I will do. And who, it was asked, will be your preacher? I answered, God will send me a preacher, and of a very different stamp from those, who have heretofore preached in my house. The preachers, we have heard, are perpetually contradicting themselves; but that God, who has put it into my heart to build this house, will send one, who shall deliver unto me his own truth; who shall speak of Jesus Christ, and his salvation. When the house was finished, I received an application from the Baptists; and I told them, if they could make it appear, that God Almighty was a Baptist, the building should be theirs at once. The Quakers, and Presbyterians, received similar answers. No, said I, as I firmly believe, that all mankind are equally dear to Almighty God, they shall all be equally welcome to preach in this house, which I have built. My neighbours assured me, I never should see a preacher, whose sentiments corresponded with my own; but my uniform reply was, that I assuredly should. I engaged, the first year, with a man, whom I greatly disliked; we parted, and, for some years, we have had no stated ​minister. My friends often ask me, "Where is the preacher, of whom you spake?" And my constant reply has been, He will by and by make his appearance. The moment I beheld your vessel on shore, it seemed as if a voice had audibly sounded in my ear: There, Potter, in that vessel, cast away on that shore, is the preacher, you have been so long expecting. I heard the voice, and I believed the report; and when you came up to my door, and asked for the fish, the same voice seemed to repeat: Potter, this is the man, this is the person, whom I have sent to preach in your house!"
I was astonished, immeasurably astonished at Mr. Potter's narrative; but yet I had not the smallest idea it could ever be realized. I requested to know, what he could discern in my appearance, which could lead him to mistake me for a preacher? "What," said he, "could I discern, when you were in the vessel, that could induce this conclu-clusion? No, sir, it is not what I saw, or see, but what I feel, which produces in my mind a full conviction."
But, my dear sir, you are deceived, indeed you are deceived; I never shall preach in this place, nor any where else.
"Have you never preached? can you say, you have never preached?"
I cannot, but I never intend to preach again.
"Has not God lifted up the light of his countenance upon you? Has he not shown you his truth?"
I trust, he has.
"And how dare you hide this truth? Do men light a candle to put it under a bushel? If God has shown you his salvation, why should you not show it to your fellow men? But I know, that you will; I am sure, God Almighty has sent you to us for this purpose; I am not deceived, I am sure I am not deceived."
I was terrified, as the man thus went on; and I began to fear, that God, who orders all things according to the council of his own will, had ordained, that thus it should be, and my heart trembled at the idea. I endeavoured, however, to banish my own fears, and to silence the warm-hearted man, by observing, that I was in the place of a supercargo; that property to a large amount had been entrusted to my care; and that, the moment the wind changed, I was under the most solemn obligations to depart.
"The wind will never change, sir, until you have delivered to us, in that meeting-house, a message from God.
Still I was resolutely determined never to enter any pulpit, as a preacher; yet, being rendered truly unhappy, I begged I might be ​shown to my bed. He requested I would pray with them, if I had no objection. I asked him, how he could suppose I had any objection to praying? The Quakers, he said, seldom prayed; and there were others, who visited him, who were not in the habit of praying. I never propose prayer, sir, lest it should not meet with the approbation of those, with whom I sojourn; but I am always pleased, when prayer is proposed to me. I prayed, and my heart was greatly enlarged, and softened. When we parted for the night, my kind host solemnly requested, that I would think of what he had said. Alas! he need not to have made this request; it was impossible to banish it from my mind. When I entered my chamber, and shut the door, I burst into tears; I would have given the world, that I had never left England. I felt, as if the hand of God was in the events, which had brought me to this place, and I prayed most ardently, that God would assist and direct me by his counsel. I presented myself before Him, as a man bowed down by calamity; a melancholy outcast, driven by repeated afflictions of body and of mind to seek refuge in private life; to seek solitude amid the wilds of America: Thou knowest, said my oppressed spirit, thou knowest, O Lord, that, if it had pleased thee, I would have preferred death, as the safest, and most sure retreat; but Thou hast not seen fit to indulge my wishes in this respect. In thy providence, thou hast brought me into this new world; thou seest how I am oppressed by solicitations to speak unto the people the words of life; thou knowest, that I am not sufficient for these things; thou God of my fathers, thou God of the stranger, look with pity upon the poor, lonely wanderer, now before thee: O thou, that sittest in the heaven, and rulest in the earth, and who assurest us, that a hair of our head cannot fall, unnoticed by thee; O thou, who kindly directest us, thy poor dependent creatures, to acknowledge thee in all their ways, and to make their requests known unto thee in every time of affliction, behold thy poor dependent, supplicating thee for thy kind direction and protection; if thou hast indeed put it into the heart of thy servant to demand of me, the meanest and weakest of all, to whom thou didst ever give power to believe in the name of thy Son, to declare unto him, and the people of this place, the gospel of thy grace; O God! in mercy prepare me, prepare me for so vast an undertaking, and let thy presence be with me; strengthen me, O Lord, by thy mighty spirit. And if it be not thy pleasure thus to employ me,—for thou, O God, wilt send, by whom thou wilt send,—graciously manifest thy will, that so I may not by any means be drawn into a snare. Thou art the sinner's friend, ​thou art the only friend I have. To thee, O thou compassionate Father of my spirit, encouraged by thy gracious promises, I make application. Pity, O pity the destitute stranger; leave me not, I most earnestly entreat thee, to my own direction.
Thus did I pray, thus did I weep through the greater part of the night; dreading more than death, even supposing death an object of dread, the thought of engaging, as a public character. On the one hand, I discovered, that if there be a ruling power, a superintending providence, the account, given by the extraordinary man under whose roof I reposed, evinced its operation; that, if the heart of the creature be indeed in the hand of the Creator, it was manifest, that God had disposed the heart of this man to view me as His messenger, sent for the purpose of declaring the counsel of his peace to his creatures. On the other hand, I recollected, that the heart is deceitful, above all things; that the devices of the adversary are manifold; and that, had it been the will of God, that I should have become a promulgator of the gospel of his grace, he would have qualified me for an object of such infinite magnitude. If I testified of Jesus according to the scriptures, I well knew upon what I must calculate; the clergy, of all denominations, would unite to oppose me. For I had never met with any individual of that order, either in the Church of Rome, or elsewhere, who were believers of the Gospel, that God preached unto Abraham, that, in Christ Jesus, all the families of the earth should be blessed; nor did they, as far as I had known, embrace the ministry of reconciliation, committed unto the Apostles, namely, that God was, in Christ, reconciling the world unto Himself, not imputing unto them their trespasses; nor did they acknowledge the restitution of all things, testified by all God's holy prophets ever since the world began. To these doctrines I supposed clergymen in this, as well as in the country I had left, united in their opposition; and, convinced that there were no enemies in the world more powerful, than the clergy, I trembled at the thought of stemming the full tide of their displeasure. I was persuaded, that people in general, being under the dominion of the clergy, would hate where they hated, and report what they reported. Acquainted in some measure with human nature, and with divine revelation, I was certain, that, if I appeared in the character of a real disciple of Christ Jesus; if I dared to declare the whole truth of God, all manner of evil would be said of me; and, although it might be falsely said, while the inventor of the slander would be conscious of its falsehood, the majority of those who heard would yield it credit, and I should become the victim of their credulity.
​I knew how Mr. Relly had suffered in England, and the Apostles in Judea; and being a believer in the testimony of God, I was assured, if my doctrines were the same, my treatment would be similar. All this rose to my view, and the prospect was tremendous. Thus I passed the night, and the ensuing morning witnessed my indisposition both of body, and mind. My good friend renewed his solicitations. "Will you, sir, speak to me, and to my neighbours, of the things, which belong to our peace?" Seeing only thick woods, the tavern across the field excepted, I requested to know what he meant by neighbours? "O sir, we assemble a large congregation, whenever the meeting-house is opened; indeed, when my father first settled here, he was obliged to go twenty miles to grind a bushel of corn, but there are now more than seven hundred inhabitants within that distance." I was amazed; indeed every thing I saw, and every thing I heard, amazed me; nothing, except the religion of the people, resembled what I had left behind.
My mind continued subjected to the most torturing reflections. I could not bring myself to yield to the entreaties of Mr. Potter, and still I urged the necessity of departing, the moment the wind would answer. Mr. Potter was positive the wind would not change, until I had spoken to the people. Most ardently did I desire to escape the importunities of this good man. The idea of a crowd, of making a public exhibition of myself, was, to my desolate, woe-worn mind, intolerable; and the suspense, in which I was held, was perfectly agonizing. I could not forbear acknowledging an uncommon coincidence of circumstances. The hopes and fears of this honest man, so long in operation, yet he evinced great warmth of disposition, and was evidently tinctured with enthusiasm; but, after making every allowance for these propensities, it could not be denied, that an over-ruling Power seemed to operate, in an unusual, and remarkable manner. I could not forbear looking back upon the mistakes, made during our passage, even to the coming in to this particular inlet, where no vessel, of the size of the brig "Hand-in-Hand," had ever before entered; every circumstance contributed to bring me to this house. Mr. Potter's address on seeing me; his assurance, that he knew I was on board the vessel, when he saw her at a distance: all these considerations pressed with powerful conviction on my mind, and I was ready to say, If God Almighty has, in his providence, so ordered events, as to bring me into this country for the purpose of making manifest the savour of his name, and of bringing many to the knowledge of the truth; though I would infinitely prefer ​death, to entering into a character, which will subject me to what is infinitely worse than death; yet, as the issues of life and death are not under my direction, am I not bound to submit to the dispensations of providence? I wished, however, to be convinced, that it was the will of God, that I should step forth in a character, which would be considered as obnoxious, as truly detestable. I was fully convinced, it was not by the will of the flesh, nor by the will of the world, nor by the will of the god of this world; all these were strongly opposed thereto. One moment, I felt my resolution give way; the path, pointed out, seemed to brighten upon me: but the next, the difficulties, from within and without, obscured the prospect, and I relapsed into a firm resolution to shelter myself, in solitude, from the hopes, and fears, and the various contentions of men.
While I thus balanced, the Sabbath advanced. I had ventured to implore the God, who had sometimes condescended to indulge individuals with tokens of his approbation, graciously to indulge me, upon this important occasion; and that, if it were his will, that I should obtain the desire of my soul, by passing through life in a private character. If it were not his will, that I should engage as a preacher of the ministry of reconciliation, he would vouchsafe to grant me such a wind, as might bear me from this shore, before the return of another Sabbath. I determined to take the changing of the wind for an answer; and, had the wind changed, it would have borne on its wings full conviction, because it would have corresponded with my wishes. But the wind changed not, and Saturday morning arrived. "Well," said my anxious friend, "now let me give notice to my neighbours." No, sir, not yet; should the wind change by the middle of the afternoon, I must depart. No tongue can tell, nor heart conceive, how much I suffered this afternoon; but the evening came on, and it was necessary I should determine; and at last, with much fear and trembling, I yielded a reluctant consent. Mr. Potter then immediately dispatched his servants, on horseback, to spread the intelligence far and wide, and they were to continue their information, until ten in the evening.
I had no rest through the night. What should I say, or how address the people? Yet I recollected the admonition of our Lord: "Take no thought, what you shall say; it shall be given you, in that same hour, what you shall say." Ay, but this promise was made to his disciples. Well, by this, I shall know if I am a disciple. If God, in his providence, is committing to me a dispensation of the gospel, He will furnish me with matter, without my thought, or care. If this thing be ​not of God, He will desert me, and this shall be another sign; on this, then, I rested. Sunday morning succeeded; my host was in transports. I was—I cannot describe how I was. I entered the house; it was neat and convenient, expressive of the character of the builder. There were no pews; the pulpit was rather in the Quaker mode; the seats were constructed with backs roomy, and even elegant. I said there were no pews; there was one large square pew, just before the pulpit; in this sat the venerable man and his family, particular friends, and visiting strangers. In this pew sat, upon this occasion, this happy man, and, surely, no man, upon this side heaven, was ever more completely happy. He looked up to the pulpit with eyes sparkling with pleasure; it appeared to him, as the fulfilment of a promise long deferred; and he reflected, with abundant consolation, on the strong faith, which he had cherished, while his associates would tauntingly question, "Well, Potter, where is this minister, who is to be sent to you?" "He is coming along, in God's own good time." "And do you still believe any such preacher will visit you?" "O yes, assuredly." He reflected upon all this, and tears of transport filled his eyes; he looked round upon the people, and every feature seemed to say, "There, what think you now?" When I returned to his house, he caught me in his arms, "Now, now, I am willing to depart; Oh, my God! I will praise thee; thou hast granted me my desire. After this truth I have been seeking, but I have never found it, until now; I knew, that God, who put it into my heart to build a house for his worship, would send a servant of his own to proclaim his own gospel. I knew, he would; I knew the time was come, when I saw the vessel grounded; I knew, you were the man, when I saw you approach my door, and my heart leaped for joy." Visitors poured into the house; he took each by the hand. "This is the happiest day of my life," said the transported man: "There, neighbours, there is the minister God promised to send me; how do you like God's minister?" I ran from the company, and prostrating myself before the throne of grace, besought my God to take me, and do with me, whatever he pleased. I am, said I, I am, O Lord God, in thine hand, as clay in the hand of the potter. If thou, in thy providence, hast brought me into this new world to make known, unto this people, the grace and the blessings of the new covenant; if thou hast thought proper, by making choice of so weak an instrument, to confound the wise; if thou hast been pleased to show to a babe, possessing neither wisdom nor prudence, what thou hast hid from the wise and prudent,—be it so, O Father, for so it seemeth good in thy ​sight. But, O my merciful God! leave me not, I beseech thee, for a single moment; for without thee, I can do nothing. O, make thy strength perfect in my weakness, that the world may see that thine is the power, and that, therefore, thine ought to be the glory. Thus my heart prayed, while supplicating tears bedewed my face.
I felt, however, relieved and tranquillized, for I had power given me to trust in the name of the Lord; to stay upon the God of my salvation. Immediately upon my return to the company, my boatmen entered the house: "The wind is fair, sir." Well, then, we will depart. It is late in the afternoon, but no matter, I will embark directly; I have been determined to embrace the first opportunity, well knowing the suspense the captain must be in, and the pain attendant thereon. Accordingly, as soon as matters could be adjusted, I set off; but not till my old friend, taking me by the hand, said: "You are now going to New-York; I am afraid you will, when there, forget the man, to whom your Master sent you. But I do beseech you, come back to me again as soon, as possible." The tears gushed into his eyes, and, regarding me with a look, indicative of the strongest affection, he threw his arms around me, repeating his importunities, that I would not unnecessarily delay my return. I was greatly affected, reiterating the strongest assurances, that I would conform to his wishes. Why should I not? said I; what is there to prevent me? I do not know an individual in New-York; no one knows me; what should induce me to tarry there? "Ah, my friend," said he, "you will find many in New-York, who will love and admire you, and they will wish to detain you in that city. But you have promised you will return, and I am sure you will perform your promise; and in the mean time, may the God of heaven be with you." Unable to reply, I hurried from his door; and, on entering the vessel, I found the good old man had generously attended, to what had made no part of my care, by making ample provision, both for me and the boatmen, during our little voyage.
I retired to the cabin; I had leisure for serious reflections, and serious reflections crowded upon me. I was astonished, I was lost in wonder, in love, and in praise; I saw, as evidently as I could see any object, visibly exhibited before me, that the good hand of God was in all these things. It is, I spontaneously exclaimed, it is the Lord's doings! and it is marvellous in my eyes. It appeared to me, that I could trace the hand of God, in bringing me, through a long chain of events, to such a place, to such a person, so evidently prepared for my reception; and, while I acknowledged the will of God, manifested respecting my ​public character, I at the same moment distinguished the kindness of God, evinced by his indulging me with a retirement so exactly suited to my wishes. The house was neat, the situation enchanting, it was on the margin of the deep, on the side of an extensive bay, which abounded with fish of every description, and a great variety of water fowl. On the other side of this dwelling, after passing over a few fields, (which at that time stood thick with corn,) venerable woods, that seemed the coevals of time, presented a 'scene for contemplation fit, towering majestic, and filling the devotional mind with a religious awe.' I reflected, therefore, with augmenting gratitude to my heavenly Father, upon the pressing invitation, he had put it into the heart of his faithful servant to give me; and I determined to hasten back to this delightful retreat, where nothing, but the grandeur of simple nature, exhibited in the surrounding objects, and the genuine operations of the divine spirit on the heart of the hospitable master, awaited my approach.
I had not the least idea of tarrying in New-York a moment longer, than to see the captain, deliver up my charge, and receive my baggage, and I resolved to return, by the first opportunity, to my benevolent friend. And thus did I make up my mind: Well, if it be so, I am grateful to God, that the business is thus adjusted. If I must be a promulgator of these glad, these vast, yet obnoxious tidings, I shall however be sheltered in the bosom of friendship, in the bosom of retirement. I will employ myself on the grounds of my friend, thus earning my own support, and health will be a concomitant; while I will preach the glad tidings of salvation, free as the light of heaven. The business, thus arranged, I became reconciled to the will of the Almighty, and I commenced, with tolerable composure, another, and very important stage of my various life.