"No," said Mr. Wesley, "I've promised to preach at St. Ives, and I must keep my promise. Take the sea! Take the sea!" he shouted, putting his head out of the carriage window.
In a moment, Peter whipped the horses, and dashed into the waves. The wheels of the carriage kept sinking in the deep pits and hollows in the sand, while the horses, swimming in the water, snorted and reared with fright, and every moment poor Peter expected to be drowned.
Just at this terrible moment, Mr. Wesley put his head out of the carriage window; his long white hair—for he was an old man when this happened—was dripping with the salt water, which ran down his venerable face. He was calm and fearless, unmoved by the roaring of the waves or the danger of the situation.
"What is your name, driver?" he shouted.
"Peter, sir," shouted back the man.
"Peter," Mr. Wesley called out again, "fear not; thou shalt not sink."
With spurring and whipping, the poor frightened, tired horses at last brought them safely over.
When they reached St. Ives, Mr. Wesley's first care was to see to the comfort of his horses and driver. He got warm clothing, and refreshments at the inn for Peter, and comfortable stabling for his weary horses; then, quite forgetting himself, wet through with the dashing waves, he went off to the chapel to preach.
While Mr. Wesley was in Cornwall he paid a flying visit to the Scilly Isles. He went over in a fisherman's boat, and sang to the rising and falling of the waves:
"When passing through the watery deep,
I ask in faith His promised aid;
The waves an awful distance keep,
And shrink from my devoted head.
Fearless, their violence I dare;
They cannot harm,—for God is there."