Again his journeys through Wales and England continued without ceasing. In the August of this year, 1748, he was again in danger of his life in a special manner. I have told you before that a Yorkshire clergyman, Mr. Grimshaw, had become a Methodist preacher in and around his own parish of Haworth. Mr. Grimshaw was a strange man, and Haworth was a strange place. It was a wild, dreary looking village, far away on the high Yorkshire Moors. Far away from everything, and everybody, so that the people had lived on for many long years, knowing nothing of the world beyond. You can imagine this, when I tell you, that the first time a cart with wheels made its appearance at Haworth (which was about the same time that Mr. Grimshaw made his appearance there), the village people brought hay to feed it, thinking it to be some kind of strange animal. People so unlike the rest of the world, needed someone who was unlike people in general to understand them and to teach them. And very unlike the world in general was Mr. Grimshaw. In the first place, he seems to have been given up, heart and soul, to the service of Christ. That, alas, is very unlike the men and women we commonly behold. “All seek their own, not the things which are Jesus Christ’s.” This was true in Paul’s time—in Mr. Grimshaw’s time—and is true in our time too. Mr. Grimshaw’s ways and habits too were peculiar, they shocked and astounded the neighboring clergymen and gentlemen. He went by the name of Mad Grimshaw. A greater than Grimshaw was called mad too. You will wish to know what some of his strange customs were. He would preach not only in his church and church-yard, but he would go all over the country, and preach anywhere and everywhere, generally about thirty times a week. Sometimes before preaching he would go through the streets and into the alehouses, hunting out the idle people from every corner, and would drive them before him to the place of preaching. This seems a strange plan to us, but perhaps Mr. Grimshaw understood the best way of dealing with these wild people on the moors. In any case, multitudes listened to him, and multitudes, too, appear to have been saved. He would open his house to the Methodist preachers, whether they were clergymen or poor men like John Nelson. They were free to come and lodge there at any time, as they went about preaching the gospel. Sometimes a number would arrive at once, and then Mr. Grimshaw would give up to them every bed in the house, and go and sleep on the straw in the barn. At five in the morning, they would hear Mr. Grimshaw’s cheerful voice, singing hymns, whilst he was hard at work cleaning their shoes. He thought it an honor to do this for them. He built a room in the village for them to preach in, as it was unlawful for them to preach in the church, and he would listen to them with overflowing delight. “The Lord bless thee,” he would say to one of these poor men who had been preaching in his simple way, “this is worth a hundred of my sermons!” Though he was careful to pay his debts, he never kept a penny, but gave away all he had, living himself on the commonest food. It was in August, 1748, that John Wesley went for a few days to Haworth. A neighboring clergyman, Mr. George White, who resembled the vicar of Grimsby more than he did Mr. Grimshaw, took the occasion of preaching two sermons against the Methodists. He warned his people against them as rebels, who disobeyed all laws of God and man, ruined trade, and caused riots wherever they went. This last accusation was the more remarkable from the fact, that as soon as he had preached this sermon, Mr. White sent round the neighborhood the following notice, in order to collect a mob: “Notice is hereby given, that if any men be mindful to enlist into His Majesty’s service under the command of the Rev. George White, Commander-in-chief, and John Banister, Lieutenant-General of His Majesty’s forces for the defense of the Church of England and the support of the manufactures in and about Colne, both which are now in danger, let them now repair to the Cross, when each man shall have a pint of ale in advance, and other proper encouragements.”
This notice had the desired effect, and on the 24th of August, when Wesley and Grimshaw were preaching near Colne, the mob came “pouring down the hill like a torrent.” They were headed by Mr. Banister, and the ale and other proper encouragements had, as Mr. White expected and hoped, made them very noisy and very furious. They rushed upon Wesley with clubs and staves, and told him they would drag him away to Mr. White. One man struck him a violent blow in the face with his fist, another hurled a stick at his head, and the rest, brandishing their clubs, shouted, “Bring him away!” Thus was he dragged into Colne, preceded by a drummer to collect a further rabble. Mr. Grimshaw and two others were also taken to Mr. White’s house, where for three hours Mr. White and his friends endeavored to force them to promise that they would preach there no more. None of them would promise this. Wesley made vain attempts to leave the house. The mob forced him back with oaths and curses, and beat him to the ground. This was also the fate of Mr. Grimshaw, who was not only knocked down, but loaded with dirt and mire. The other Methodists were trampled in the mud, dragged by the hair, beaten with clubs, and one was compelled to leap from a rock, ten or twelve feet high, into the river. All this while Mr. White sat “looking on, well pleased,” as Wesley says in his letter of remonstrance, written to him afterward. But three years later, when Mr. White was laid upon his dying-bed, he was far from being well pleased at the remembrance of that sinful day. The thought of all that he had then looked upon with satisfaction filled him with grief and horror, and in the agony of his mind he sent for Mr. Grimshaw to come to him. How remarkable it is that we thus often see those who have scoffed at God’s people, turning to them in the hour of death, when the secrets of their heart are beginning to be brought to light in the dawn of approaching judgment. We can be sure that Mr. Grimshaw spoke to this poor trembling sinner of Christ and His precious blood, and it may be that, in God’s exceeding mercy, we may meet in the glory a saint washed in the blood of the Lamb, who was once the persecuting, blaspheming vicar of Colne. Wesley escaped at last from the mob unhurt, and before many days were over, the fearless Mr. Grimshaw was preaching again at Colne. Wesley meanwhile was again on his travels, finding everywhere crowds who listened to the blessed gospel. “People talk,” he said, “of the indecency of field preaching; but if they would go to a place where things are not done decently and in order, let them go to St. Paul’s Cathedral, where the people either sleep or talk during the sermon.” At the field preaching the multitudes would listen for their lives, “Behaving often,” says Wesley, “as if God Himself were before their eyes.” Those who would not listen made violent opposition—but at least none slept.