“Are they here?” inquired Wills.
“They are, general,” replied Sir Henry. “And so is their pastor, the Reverend James Woods.”
“I will see him at once,” replied Wills.
He then went forth with Sir Henry, and in front of the old house, where he had fixed his quarters, he found a large party of stalwart-looking young fellows, armed with the weapons described. At their head was a sturdy-looking individual, of middle age, clad in a suit of black, and having a well-powdered wig on his head. Notwithstanding his decidedly clerical appearance, he had a brace of pistols in his belt, and a sword girt by his side.
General Wills could not help smiling when he beheld him. Still, he perceived at a glance that the parson would prove serviceable, and he therefore gave him a hearty welcome.
“I am very glad to find, Mr. Woods,” he said, “that you have come to assist the Government at this crisis. Rest assured your conduct will be appreciated in the right quarter.”
“I and a portion of my flock have come to fight for the king, general,” replied the minister. “We will uphold him against a Popish Pretender. We are ready to take any part you may be pleased to assign us, and I promise you the rebels shall meet with a stout resistance from us.”
“They shall,” cried the men, brandishing their scythes and bill-hooks.
“I thankfully accept your offer,” said Wills, “I am sure you promise no more than you will perform. Tomorrow morning, at an early hour, I shall march to Preston to give battle to the rebels, and you shall go with me, or rather shall march on before me—so that you can take up a position before I come up. Do you know Penwortham—about two miles below the bridge over the Ribble?”
“I know the place well, general,” replied Woods. “It is on the south bank of the river, which is there fordable.”