Chapter 12

But they changed their minds later on; for they met a Walsall crowd on their way, who attacked Wesley savagely, and those who had been loud in their promises to protect him--fled!

Left to the mercy of the rable, he was dragged to Walsall. One man hit him in the mouth with such force that the blood streamed from the wound; another struck him on the breast; a third seized him and tried to pull him down.

"Are you willing," cried Wesley, "to hear me?"

"No, no!" they answered; "knock out his brains, down with him, kill him at once!"

"What evil," asked Wesley, "have I done? Which of you all have I wronged by word or deed?" Then he began to pray; and one of the ringleaders said to him:--

"Sir, I will spend my life for you; follow me, and no one shall hurt a hair of your head."

Others took his part also--one, fortunately, being a prizefighter.

Wesley thus describes the finish of this remarkable adventure:--

"A little before ten o'clock God brought me safe to Wednesbury, having lost only one flap of my waistcoat, and a little skin from one of my hands. From the beginning to the end I found the same presence of mind as if I had been sitting in my own study. But I took no thought from one moment to another; only once it came into my mind that, if they should throw me into the river, it would spoil the papers that were in my pocket. For myself I did not doubt but I should swim across, having but a thin coat and a light pair of shoes."

At Pensford the rabble made a bull savage, and then tried to make it attack his congregation; at Whitechapel they drove cows among the listeners and threw stones, one of which hit Wesley between the eyes; but after he had wiped away the blood he went on with his address, telling the people that "God hath not given us the spirit of fear".

At St. Ives in Cornwall there was a great uproar, but Wesley went amongst the mob and brought the chief mischiefmaker out. Strange to say, the preacher received but one blow, and then he reasoned the case out with the agitator, and the man undertook to quiet his companions.

Thus Wesley went fearlessly from place to place. He visited Ireland forty-two times, as well as Scotland and Wales. When he was eighty-four he crossed over to the Channel Islands in stormy weather; and there "high and low, rich and poor, received the Word gladly".

He always went on horseback till quite late in life, when his friends persuaded him to have a chaise. No weather could stop him from keeping his engagements. In 1743 he set out from Epworth to Grimsby; but was told at the ferry he could not cross the Trent owing to the storm.

But he was determined his Grimsby congregation should not be disappointed; and he so worked on the boatmen's feelings that they took him over even at the risk of their lives.

At Bristol, in 1772, he was told that highwaymen were on the road, and had robbed all the coaches that passed, some just previously. But Wesley felt no uneasiness, "knowing," as he writes, "that God would take care of us; and He did so, for before we came to the spot all the highwaymen were taken, and so we went on unmolested, and came safe to Bristol".

This immense labour had no ill effect upon his health. In June, 1786, when he was entering his eighty-fourth year, he writes: "I am a wonder to myself. It is now twelve years since I have felt such a sensation as weariness. I am never tired either with writing, preaching, or travelling."

When Wesley was on his death-bed he wrote to Wilberforce cheering him in his struggle against the slave trade.

"Unless God has raised you up for this very thing," writes Wesley, "you will be worn out by the opposition of men and devils, but if God be for you who can be against you?... Go on in the name of God and in the power of His might till even American slavery, the vilest that ever saw the sun, shall vanish away before it."

Wesley died, at the ripe age of eighty-eight, in the year 1791. He had saved no money, so had none to leave behind; but he was one of those "poor" persons who "make many rich".

Amongst his few small gifts and bequests was "£6 to be divided among the six poor men named by the assistant who shall carry my body to the grave; for I particularly desire that there be no hearse, no coach, no escutcheon, no pomp".

SOME CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM.

Shortly after Mwanga, King of Uganda, came to the throne, reports were made to that weak-minded monarch that Mr. Mackay, the missionary, was sending messages to Usoga, a neighbouring State, to collect an army for the purpose of invading Uganda. His mind having thus become inflamed with suspicion, he was ready to believe anything against the missionaries, or to invent something if necessary. Thus he complained that his pages, who received instruction from the missionaries, had adopted Jesus as their King, and regarded himself as little better than a brother.

Not long after, six boys were sent to prison; and, though every effort was made to obtain their release, it was for a time of no avail. At length three were given up, and three were ordered to be executed.

These latter were first tortured, then their arms were cut off; afterwards they were placed on a scaffold, under which a fire was made, and burned to death.

As they were passing through their agony, they were laughed at by the people, who asked them if Jesus Christ could do anything to help them.

But the boys were undaunted; and, in spite of all their pain and suffering, sang hymns of praise till their tongues could utter no more. This was one of their hymns:--

Daily, daily, sing to Jesus, Sing my soul His praises due, All He does deserves our praises, And our deep devotion too.

Little wonder that Mr. Mackay should write: "Our hearts are breaking". Yet what a triumph! One of the executioners, struck by the extraordinary fortitude of the lads, and their evident faith in another life, came and asked that he might also be taught to pray. This martyrdom did not daunt the other Christians. Though Mwanga threatened to burn alive any who frequented the mission premises, or adopted the Christian faith, they continued to come; and the lads at the Court kept their teachers constantly informed of everything that was going on. Indeed, when the king's prime minister began to make investigation, he found the place so honey-combed by Christianity that he had to cease his inquisition, for fear of implicating chiefs, and upsetting society generally.

A BOY HERO.

THE STORY OF JOHN CLINTON.

Lives of great men all remind us We should make our lives sublime, And departing leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.

So sang Longfellow! Yet how difficult is it for most men and women to make their lives sublime, and how much more difficult for a child of ten years! Still it is possible.

John Clinton was born on the 17th January, 1884, at Greek Street, Soho. His father is a respectable carman, who, a year after little Johnnie's birth, moved to 4 Church Terrace, Waterloo Road, Lambeth. When three years old he was sent to the parish schools of St. John's, Waterloo Road (Miss Towers being the mistress). While a scholar there he met with a severe accident on the 27th January, 1890. Playing with other children in the Waterloo Road, a heavy iron gate fell on him and fractured his skull terribly. He was taken to the St. Thomas's Hospital, where he remained for thirteen weeks. At first the doctors said he would not get over it, then that if he got over it he would be an idiot; but finally their surgical skill and careful nursing were rewarded, and he came out well in every respect, except for an awful scar along one side of his head. In due time he moved into the Boys' School at St. John's, Waterloo Road (Mr. Davey, headmaster). In July, 1893, a tiny child was playing in the middle of Stamford Street when a hansom cab came dashing along over the smooth wood paving. Little John Clinton darted out and gave the child a violent push, at the risk of being run over himself, and got the little one to the side of the road in safety. A big brother of the child, not understanding what had happened, gave John Clinton a blow on the nose for interfering with the child, whose life John Clinton had saved. The blow was the cause of this act of bravery becoming known, and the big brother afterwards apologised for his hasty conduct. How many accidents to children are caused by the lamentable absence of open spaces and playgrounds! 460 persons are yearly killed in the streets of London and over 2000 injured there, many of them being children playing in the only place they have to play in.

On Sunday, 26th February, 1893, Johnnie was at home minding the baby. During his temporary absence from the room the baby set itself on fire. When he came back and saw the flames, instead of wasting time calling for help, he rolled the baby on the floor, and succeeded in putting the flames out. The curtain nearest the cot had also taken fire. Johnnie then, though badly burnt, pulled the curtains, valance, and all down on to the floor, and beat out the flames with his hands and feet. The brave little fellow seriously hurt himself, but saved the baby's life, and prevented the buildings catching fire, crowded as they are with other families.

The family then moved to Walworth, 51 Brandon Street, and the boy attended the schools of St. John's, Walworth (Mr. Ward, headmaster). On the 18th July, 1894, he came home from school, had his tea, and about 5:30 p.m. went out with a companion, Campbell Mortimer, to the foreshore near London Bridge. Here the two boys took off their shoes and stockings, and commenced paddling in the stream. Little Mortimer, unfortunately, got out of his depth, and the tide running strongly he disappeared in the muddy water. Directly the boy came to the surface, John Clinton sprang at him, seized him, and, though Mortimer was the heavier lad of the two, succeeded in landing him safely. In pushing the boy on shore, John Clinton slipped back, and, being exhausted with his exertions, the tide caught him and he disappeared beneath the surface, and was carried down stream a few yards under the pier. The river police dragged for him, and the lightermen did all they could for some considerable time, but without success. After fifteen minutes' fruitless search, a lighterman suggested that the boy must be under the pier. He rowed his boat to the other end of the stage, and there saw the boy's hand upright in the water. He soon got the body out, but life was extinct, and the doctor could only pronounce him to be dead. Thus died John Clinton, a boy of whom London ought to be proud, giving his life for his friend. He was buried in a common grave, at Manor Park Cemetery, after a funeral service in St. John's Church, Walworth.

[_For the above account I am indebted to the Rev. Arthur W. Jephson, M.A., Vicar of St. John's, Walworth_.]

POSTSCRIPT.

For those who desire to learn more of the characters mentioned in this work let me mention a few volumes. In _Heroes of Every-day Life_ Miss Laura Lane has told briefly the story of Alice Ayres and other humble heroes and heroines whose deeds should not be forgotten. Further particulars of the careers of Sir Colin Campbell, John Cassell, General Gordon, Sir Henry Havelock, Joseph Livesey, David Livingstone, Robert Moffat, George Moore, Florence Nightingale, Lord Shaftesbury, Agnes Weston, and other men and women whose example has benefited the country, will be found in an attractive series of books issued under the title of _The World's Workers_. Mr. Archibald Forbes' _Life of Sir Henry Havelock_ is one of the most fascinating works of its kind; the Rev. H.C.G. Moule's _Life of the Rev. Charles Simeon_ is delightfully written and full of interest, and the Rev. J.H. Overton's _Life of Wesley_ gives an admirable picture in brief of the great revival preacher. Further particulars of the great and good Father Dainien can be gathered from Mr. Edward Clifford's work; of Elizabeth Gilbert, from the Life by Frances Martin; and of George Müller, from the shilling autobiography he has written, which is worthy of the deepest attention. John Howard's life has been well told by Mr. Hepworth Dixon, Lord Shaftesbury's by Mr. Edwin Hodder, and Mr. Glaisher's career is set forth at large in _Travels in the Air_. Perhaps the largest and best collection of narratives of noble lives is contained in Mr. Edwin Hodder's _Heroes of Britain in Peace and War_, now issued in two cheap volumes; from this many facts have been gathered. In _The Memorials of Captain Hedley Vicars_ will be found a thoughtful picture of that devoted life; whilst in _The Life and Work of James Hannington_, by E.C. Dawson, a graphic narrative is given of the martyr bishop of Central Africa. _Ismailia_ affords a vivid picture of Sir Samuel Baker's life in the Soudan, and few books will give greater pleasure to the reader than General Butler's _Life of General Gordon_. A Life of Mr. W.H. Smith, by Sir H. Maxwell, has been recently published in popular form. _The Lives of Robert and Mary Moffat_, by J.S. Moffat, will afford much enjoyment, as will Miss Yonge's _Life of Bishop Patteson_.

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