This was plaguy awkward, but yet more so when, as I drew nearer, they spread themselves across the road, and I made out they were armed with muskets. Still, there was nothing for it save to put a bold face on the matter; so, bringing Kitty to a walk, I went forward whistling carelessly, and had come within fifty yards of them, when one, who seemed to be a leader, stepped out, and holding up his hand, cried: "Stop! Thy name and business, friend!" At that I pulled up the mare, and shouted back: "What’s that you say?" Fingering his musket-lock, he came a few steps nearer me, and bawled: "Thou’rt somewhat hard of hearing, friend. I said, Thy name and business? Prithee, give both quickly." "My name is of small account," I answered; "and for my business, know that it concerns one Robert Ferguson." That name had done so well for me before, that I could think of nothing better; but, alack! it failed me this time. "That will not serve thee, friend. ’Tis not sufficient," quoth the man sternly. "If thy business indeed concerns our chaplain, show thy pass, or give the watchword." "Aye, verily! thy pass or watchword," sang another who had now come up with him. Here, truly, was an ugly state of things. To turn and flee might mean a musket-ball for me or Kitty. I thought a moment. Yes, to surprise them was my only chance. "The watchword, say ye? Yes, with all my heart." So saying, I bent forward in the saddle, and, pressing my knees upon the mare’s flanks, spoke softly to her. She gave an angry snort, down went her ears, and next instant she was rushing forward like a mad thing. ’Twas all so sudden that, for the nonce, those valiant keepers of the road were utterly confounded. With startled cries, they broke and fled towards the banks. Yet barely was I past them ere a musket-shot rang out, and a ball sang dangerously near my head. Another and another followed, but by that time I was beyond their reach. Not till I was well past Uplime did I draw rein; then, pulling up beside a little wood, I stopped to breathe and think. Truly, my mare and I had already had a taste of what rebellion meant. A few short hours had made our quiet roads unsafe for honest men. "’Tis a pretty thing," I muttered, "if a fellow cannot ride home peacefully without the danger of a pistol bullet through his head. If this be the way of ’honest Protestants’, then give me Popery! The sooner I am at The Havering, the better." With that I turned my horse, and, entering a lonely lane, which, as it seemed, was certain to prove empty, cantered on my way. But I had not gone far before I overtook some half-score fellows who were hurrying Lymewards. As they drew aside to let me pass, I reined up suddenly and scanned their faces. They were heavy, lumbering yokels, farm hands for the most part, and several were known to me. "Well, and whither go you?" I asked. "Up over, into Lyme," said they, "to join the Duke o’ Monmouth. Hast not heard the news, sir?"