Of a sudden I heard to left, “Halt, there!” I saw a long rifle covering me, and above the brush a man’s face. Then stepped out to right, as I obeyed the order, a fellow in buckskin shirt and leggings, with a pistol. I cried out, “I surrender;” for what else could I do? Instantly a dozen men, all armed, were in the road, and an ill-looking lot they were. The leader, a coarse fellow, was short and red of face, and much pimpled. He had hair half a foot long, and a beard such as none wore in those days. I had but time to say meekly, “Why dost thou stop me, friend?” when he jerked off my sack and, plunging a hand inside, pulled out a pistol. “A pretty Quaker! Here,” and he put back the pistol, crying, as the men laughed, “sergeant, strap this on your back. Quick! fetch out the horses; we will look him over later. Up with him behind Joe! Quick--a girth! We have no time to waste. A darned rebel spy! No doubt Sir William may like to have him.” In truth, no time was lost nor any ceremony used, and here was I strapped to the waist of a sturdy trooper, behind whom I was set on a big-boned roan horse, and on my way home again. “Which way, Captain Fitz?” said the sergeant. “The ford is high.” In a moment we were away, in all, as I noted, about a score. The famous Tory chief--he was no better than a bold thief--made no reply, but rode northwest with his following for a lower ford, as I fancied. He went at speed through the open pine forest, I, my hands being free, holding on to my man as well as I could, and, as you may suppose, not very happy, A mile away we came out on a broad road. Here the captain hesitated, and of a sudden turned to left toward the river, crying loudly, with an oath, “Follow me!” The cause was plain.