Two or three of his companions said almost the same, and surrounded Mr. Wesley to protect him. Then four or five rough men set upon them, and tried to drag Mr. Wesley away; but a butcher, who was a little further off, shouted, "Shame! shame!" and pulled them back one after another. Some one else shouted, "For shame! For shame! let the good man go!" Then, just as if they had been struck by magic, all the people drew back right and left, and Mr. Wesley was carried safely through. [Illustration: "'Knock him down! Kill him at once!' cried hundreds of voices."--_Page 114._] But the danger was not quite over even yet. On the bridge which they had to cross, the mob assembled again; but Mr. Wesley's protectors took him across a mill-dam and then through some fields, and at last brought him safe into Wednesbury, with no other damage than a torn coat and a little skin scraped off one of his hands. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XXVII. Mr. Wesley's story of the Wednesbury riot.--How he felt.--The right pocket.--Beautiful hair.--The prize-fighter a good protector.--A brick, a stone, and two hard blows.--Daniel vi. 22. AFTER reading the last exciting chapter, you will all exclaim, "Well, Mr. Wesley _was_ a brave man!" and I am sure you will like to hear what he himself said about his adventures. These are the very words he wrote after the Wednesbury riots: "From the beginning to the end, I felt as calm as if I had been sitting in my study at home. Once it did come into my mind, that if they threw me into the river, it would spoil the papers I had in my pocket. I was not afraid for myself, for I did not doubt but I could swim across to the opposite bank. "Thinking about it all now, I notice some remarkable circumstances. One was, that though several tried to get hold of me, it seemed as if they could not, and when at last one did get hold of my coat and tore the pocket off, it was the right pocket for him to get, for it contained nothing of importance; whereas if he had torn off the other he would have got a bank-note with it. "Another was, a big strong fellow just behind struck at me several times with a large oak stick. One blow had it hit me would have killed me, but somehow every time he struck, the blow was turned aside. I don't know how, for I could not move either to the right hand or to the left. "Another man came rushing through the crowd and raised his arm to strike me. Suddenly he let his arm drop, and only stroked my hair, saying: 'What beautiful hair he has!' "It was strange too, that the very first men whose hearts were softened were always the leaders of the mob--one of them had been a prize-fighter. So that when they took my part I was well protected. "Again, from first to last I heard no one give me a reviling word, or call me by any insolent or disgraceful name whatever. The cry of one and all was: 'The Preacher! The Preacher! The Parson! The Minister!'"