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C h a p t e r 9 A Messenger Sent from the Almighty: England and Death I have looked at the smallpox as a messenger sent from the Almighty to be an assistant in the cause of virtue, and to incite us to consider whether we employ our time only in such things as are consistent with perfect wisdom and goodness. —John Woolman, Journal, chapter 6 Woolman monitored his health closely and in the late 1760s, to ward off illness, he started to avoid many foods.1 Under ordinary circumstances, his diet was “plain, chiefly consisting of bread and milk or butter &c.”2 During his voyage across the Atlantic in 1772, he was reduced almost entirely to eating bread, though he sometimes indulged in a wayward snack. Samuel Emlen sailed with him and reported that he “kept I think much within his usual [dietary ] restrictions on board, though [he was] not so confined as to be unwilling to partake of some parts of our stores.”3 During the storm in the first week of the voyage, at least five of the Quaker passengers became nauseous, but Woolman’s stomach remained calm. He recorded in his journal that “through the tender mercies of my Heavenly father I have been preserved” from seasickness , but he also noted ominously that he suffered from afflictions “of another kind.” Woolman felt trapped in the cabins and below deck by the “rainy weather and high winds.” Being “shut up in a close, unhealthy air” weakened him. He found breathing so difficult that he stood through the nights near a crack by the hatchway door to catch what he could of a fresh breeze. His appetite failed him. He struggled to be patient, and after several miserable nights 200 Chapter 9 the weather broke. “A clear pleasant morning,” he wrote, “and as I sat on the deck I felt a reviving in my nature.” He interpreted this experience as a lesson, “bringing me to feel that which many thousands of my fellow creatures often suffer.”4 The physical strain of the voyage made it easier for him to identify with sailors and slaves. Although eager to disembark, Woolman stayed on board the Mary and Elizabeth after most of the Quaker passengers landed at Dover. The others intended to proceed to London by stage coach, but Woolman had resolved not to travel that way out of concern for the welfare of the horses.5 Crossing the ocean had taken a toll on his health, but those who knew him well were neither surprised nor alarmed by his appearance when he arrived in London. He had been prone to mild illness for many years, and when his cousin William Hunt saw him he gave this vaguely ambiguous assessment of his health: Woolman was “as well as usual.”6 Sensing that he had been “mercifully helped to bear the difficulties of the sea,” Woolman went “strait from the waterside” to Devonshire House, the gathering place for London Yearly Meeting. The ministers and elders had already assembled there for a morning session when he arrived.7 Woolman reported that his heart was “enlarged” when he entered the meeting, and his mind was “united in true love to the laborers . . . gathered from the several parts” of Britain.8 Forty Quarterly Meetings had sent approximately 140 representatives to the sessions. Along with the British delegates there were a number of American Quakers in attendance. Some observers thought that it was the largest group of American traveling Friends ever assembled in London.9 With several adjournments, the meeting would last nearly a week. From the start, the event captivated Woolman. It was only after a full day of worship and business that he set out in search of the lodgings that had been prepared for him. An unusually frank letter of introduction had crossed the ocean with Woolman on the Mary and Elizabeth. Woolman himself might have carried it, though given its contents it is possible that he knew nothing about it.10 In the letter, John Pemberton warned a Quaker in London named Joseph Row that Woolman would appear “singular” when he met him. Woolman followed “a straighter path than some other good folks are led or do travel in.” Pemberton advised Row that it would be “safest for Friends . . . to leave him much to his own feelings,” and avoid “arguments or persuasion” with him, because Woolman would “do nothing knowingly against the Truth.” For accommodation he wanted “simplicity and plainness.” “Little will...

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