The time from dinner to four we spent in reading to those whom each of us had taken in charge,
or in speaking to them severally, as need required. At four were the evening prayers; when either
the second lesson was explained (as it always was in the morning), or the children were catechized
and instructed before the congregation. From five to six we again used private prayer. From six to
seven I read in our cabin to two or three of the passengers (of whom there were about eighty English
on board), and each of my brethren to a few more in theirs.
At seven I joined with the Germans in their public service, while Mr. Ingham was reading
between the decks to as many as desired to hear. At eight we met again to exhort and instruct one
another. Between nine and ten we went to bed, where neither the roaring of the sea nor the motion
of the ship could take away the refreshing sleep which God gave us.
Friday, 31.—We sailed out of the Downs. At eleven at night I was waked by a great noise. I
soon found there was no danger. But the bare apprehension of it gave me a lively conviction what
manner of men those ought to be who are every moment on the brink of eternity.
Saturday, November 1.—We came to St. Helen’s harbor, and the next day into Cowes road.
The wind was fair, but we waited for the man-of-war which was to sail with us. This was a happy
opportunity of instructing our fellow travelers.
Sunday, 23.—At night I was awakened by the tossing of the ship and roaring of the wind, and
plainly showed I was unfit, for I was unwilling, to die.
Wednesday, December 10.—We sailed from Cowes, and in the afternoon passed the Needles.
Here the ragged rocks, with the waves dashing and foaming at the foot of them, and the white side
of the island rising to such a height, perpendicular from the beach, gave a strong idea of “Him that
spanneth the heavens, and holdeth the waters in the hollow of His hand!”
Memorable Atlantic Storms
Friday, 23.—In the evening another storm began. In the morning it increased so that they were
forced to let the ship drive. I could not but say to myself, “How is it that thou hast no faith?” being
Journal of John Wesley John Wesley
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still unwilling to die. About one in the afternoon, almost as soon as I had stepped out of the great
cabin-door, the sea did not break as usual, but came with a full, smooth tide over the side of the
ship. I was vaulted over with water in a moment, and so stunned that I scarcely expected to lift up
my head again till the sea should give up her dead. But thanks be to God, I received no hurt at all.
About midnight the storm ceased.
Sunday, 25.—At noon our third storm began. At four it was more violent than before. At seven
I went to the Germans. I had long before observed the great seriousness of their behavior. Of their
humility they had given a continual proof by performing those servile offices for the other passengers,
which none of the English would undertake; for which they desired and would receive no pay,
saying, “it was good for their proud hearts,” and “their loving Saviour had done more for them.”
And every day had given them an occasion of showing a meekness which no injury could move.
If they were pushed, struck, or thrown down, they rose again and went away; but no complaint was
found in their mouth. There was now an opportunity of trying whether they were delivered from
the spirit of fear, as well as from that of pride, anger and revenge.
In the midst of the psalm wherewith their service began, the sea broke over, split the mainsail
in pieces, covered the ship, and poured in between the decks, as if the great deep had already
swallowed us up. A terrible screaming began among the English. The Germans calmly sang on. I
asked one of them afterward, “Were you not afraid?” He answered, “I thank God, no.” I asked,
“But were not your women and children afraid?” He replied, mildly, “No; our women and children
are not afraid to die.”
Friday, 30.—We had another storm, which did us no other harm than splitting the foresail. Our
bed being wet, I laid me down on the floor and slept soundly till morning. And, I believe, I shall
not find it needful to go to bed (as it is called) any more.
Sunday, February 1.—We spoke with a ship of Carolina; and Wednesday, 4, came within
soundings. About noon, the trees were visible from the masts and in the afternoon from the main
deck. In the evening lesson were these words: “A great door, and effectual, is opened.” Oh, let no
one shut it!
Thursday, 5.—Between two and three in the afternoon, God brought us all safe into the Savannah
river. We cast anchor near Tybee Island, where the groves of pines, running along the shore, made
an agreeable prospect, showing, as it were, the bloom of spring in the depth of winter.
