"Rebels and traitors yourselves!" thundered the sergeant in reply. "We own no sovereign but King James the Third."
"Out of our way, fellows!" cried Atherton. "We mean to pass the ford!"
Drawing his sword as he spoke, he struck spurs into his steed, and dashed down the bank, followed closely by the sergeant and Holden—the former having likewise drawn his claymore.
The militia-men drew back, but fired at them as they were crossing the river, though without doing them any harm.
Having escaped this danger, they proceeded at the same rapid pace as before, and in the same order, the groom riding about twenty yards in advance. The few travellers they met with got out of their way.
By the time they reached Chat Moss the moon had risen, and her beams illumined the dreary swamp.
The scene looked far more striking than it did by daylight, but Atherton gazed at it with a different eye. Other thoughts now occupied his breast, and he seemed changed even to himself. When he tracked that road, a few hours ago, he was a mere adventurer—without name—without fortune—now he had a title and large estates. Reflections on this sudden and extraordinary change in his position now completely engrossed him, and he fell into a reverie which lasted till he reached Pendleton, and then waking up, as if from a dream, he was astonished to find he had got so far.
From this elevation the town of Manchester could be descried, and as the houses were again illuminated, and bonfires were lighted in different quarters, it presented a very striking appearance.
Just as Atherton crossed Salford Bridge, the clock of the collegiate church told forth eleven; and so crowded were the streets, owing to the illuminations, that nearly another quarter of an hour was required to reach the prince's head-quarters.
Atherton was attended only by the groom, the sergeant having gone to report himself on his return to the Chevalier de Johnstone.