sum you see." It was a singular fact, that this gentleman, though rich, was notorious for a penurious disposition. During his stay in Plymouth, Whitefield's usefulness daily increased. The ferry-men, who obtained their living by carrying persons between Plymouth and Dock, refused to take money from his hearers, saying, "God forbid that we should sell his word!" The evangelist exclaimed, "Oh, the thousands that flock to the preaching of Christ's gospel!" In the midst of these scenes, the convoy arrived, and in delicate health he embarked for America. CHAPTER IX. WHITEFIELD'S SECOND VISIT TO NEW ENGLAND. 1744, 1745. Mr. Whitefield commenced his third voyage to America in August, 1744. His health while crossing the Atlantic became worse, rather than better, the voyage lasting eleven weeks. He had set out in company with about one hundred and fifty ships, attended by several men-of-war as convoys, which, however, they lost by storms separating them on the way. It was more than six weeks, owing generally to want of wind, before they reached any of the western islands. When the wind again sprung up, one of the vessels, which missed stays, drove upon the ship in which Whitefield was, striking her mainsail into the bowsprit. The alarm was very great, but no lives were lost. He had been singing a hymn on deck when the concussion took place; this fact, together with that of the concussion itself, was communicated to the convoy, and led to the use of much violent and wicked language. But the good man was not intimidated. He says, "I called my friends together, and broke out into these words in prayer: 'God of the sea, and God of the dry land, this is a night of rebuke and blasphemy. Show thyself, O God, and take us under thine own immediate protection. Be thou our convoy, and make a difference between those who fear thee, and those that fear thee not.'" A difference was soon made. Next day a heavy storm arose, which "battered and sent away our convoy, so that we saw him no more all the voyage." Whitefield at first did not at all regret the loss, but when two strange sails appeared in the distance, and preparation was made for action by mounting guns, slinging hammocks on the sides of the ships, and encircling the masts with chains, he being, as he says, "naturally a coward," found it formidable to have no convoy. The vessels, however, proved to be only a part of their own fleet. This was a pleasant discovery to them, especially to Whitefield. "The captain, on clearing the cabin, said, 'After all, this is the best fighting.' You may be sure I concurred, praying that all our conflicts with spiritual enemies might at last terminate in a thorough cleansing and an eternal purification of the defiled _cabin_ of our hearts."