Turning the point of the sword

Upon this Mr. B. lost all patience and cried out with all his might, “Seize him, seize him. I say, seize the preacher for his Majesty’s service.” But no one stirring, he rode up and struck several of his attendants, cursing them bitterly for not doing as they were bidden. Perceiving still that they would not move, he leaped off his horse, swore he would do it himself, and caught hold of my cassock crying, “I take you to serve his Majesty.” A servant taking his horse, he took me by the arm, and we walked arm in arm for about three quarters of a mile. He entertained me all the time with the “wickedness of the fellows belonging to the society.” When he was taking breath, I said, “Sir, be they what they will, I apprehend it will not justify you in seizing me in this manner and violently carrying me away, as you said, to serve his Majesty.” He replied, “I seize you! And violently carry you away! No, sir, no. Nothing like it. I asked you to go with me to my house, and you said you were willing; and if so, you are welcome; and if not, you are welcome to go where you please.” I answered, “Sir, I know not if it would be safe for me to go back through this rabble.” “Sir,” said he, “I will go with you myself.” He then called for his horse, and another for me, and rode back with me to the place from whence he took me.

The Journal of John Wesley