Read Ebook: Fighting King George by McIntyre John T John Thomas Graeber J A Illustrator

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Ebook has 1554 lines and 61474 words, and 32 pages

"Which of you is Mr. Moultrie?"

The question was greeted with dead silence. The governor's face lit up with triumph; their leader was afraid to proclaim himself; it would be an easy task to put them down.

"I have had information," cried he fiercely, "that this insurrection is under the leadership of a Mr. Moultrie. Let him stand forth."

A small, dark officer of infantry stepped forward.

"In this command," said he, "I will venture to say that there is no Mr. Moultrie. But," he paused and looked the wrathful governor in the eye with great coolness, "there is, however, a Colonel Moultrie."

"Ah!" Lord Campbell stared at the speaker with a bitter sneer. "Then will Colonel Moultrie have the goodness to step forward?"

The officer who had answered him in the first instance, advanced, a quiet smile upon his handsome face.

"Colonel Moultrie," blazed forth the angry king's man, not giving the other a chance to speak, "do you or do you not intend to disperse this gathering?"

"It is not in my power," answered Colonel Moultrie.

"Do you not command them?"

"I do; under the Council of Safety."

"Bah!" The governor's teeth snapped in a fury of rage at this. "That is all one hears these days--the Provincial Congress, the Committee General, the Council of Safety. I know nothing and care nothing for these rebels against the king and their usurped authority. I recognize none but you in this matter. You are here at the head of an armed force, in open rebellion; and I call upon you to lay down your arms and unconditionally surrender yourself, in the king's name. Refuse and you must take the consequence of your folly."

Tom Deering, with a thrill at his heart, saw the small, dark officer, who had spoken so coolly to Lord Campbell, step back and give a command to his company in a low voice. The line of the militia closed in a resolved fashion and the ducking guns were held in instant readiness for use. Lord Campbell saw it, also; and he saw the determined faces of those before him; a glance at his own slender company showed him that smart and soldier-like though they were, they were not a match for the assembled patriots. He turned to Colonel Moultrie, who still stood quietly watching him.

"You refuse?"

"Can you doubt it?"

Without a word the governor wheeled his horse and rode back to his men; another moment and they were going down the river road at the same sharp gallop with which they had arrived.

Dusk had thrown its shadows across the waters of the river; the lights at Fort Johnson began to twinkle. Colonel Moultrie and his officers consulted together. The sharp businesslike departure of Lord Campbell and his men was not at all to their liking. In a few moments they had summoned Captain Deering, of the Defence, and after a few questions the latter turned and beckoned to Tom.

"Captain Deering," said Colonel Moultrie, smilingly, "tells us that you are a patriot and a native son of the colony."

"I am both, sir," answered Tom, gravely.

"Good! You saw the Cherokee and Tamar under sail in Rebellion Roads a while ago, I understand."

"I did, sir," said the boy.

"Did they seem as though they intended to ascend the river?"

"No, sir." Tom answered the question quickly enough; then the actions of the two vessels came back to him, and he added, a light breaking upon him: "But they seemed as though they'd like to; it was just as though they were waiting for a signal."

"And that," cried Colonel Moultrie, "is just exactly what they are waiting for. And Lord Campbell is now on his way to give it. Gentlemen," turning to his officers, "we must cross the river and make the attempt upon the fort at once; otherwise we will have two war vessels scattering cannon shot among us in our passage."

The orders were quickly given; the patriot force was soon at the water's edge, embarking in the boats which Captain Deering had collected. Small as their numbers were, the boats were too few to accommodate them, and a good quarter were forced to remain behind. The attacking party had pushed off and was already pulling toward the fort through the quickly gathering darkness, when the small, dark officer who had spoken so coolly to Lord Campbell, came hurrying along. He had been making a disposition of the companies remaining behind and now seemed destined to be left also. He dashed out waist deep in the river in an effort to catch the last galley, but too late. At that moment Tom Deering's skiff passed slowly by; there was room for another, and Tom called eagerly:

"Climb in, captain. We're going, too; and we'll land you there ahead of any of them."

With a hasty word of thanks the officer scrambled into the boat and took up a position in the bow, from which point he could see all that was going forward.

This was Tom Deering's first meeting with Francis Marion, afterward to become the great partisan chief of the Revolution and be known to the world as the Swamp-Fox.

Within an hour the attacking party had arrived at James Island and deployed in the darkness before the walls. Marion had sprung ashore as soon as the prow of the skiff grated upon the sand; Tom and Cole were left alone, for they had touched at a point slightly further down than Colonel Moultrie's men.

"I'm glad Uncle Dick did not cross in our skiff," said Tom to Cole, as they drew the boat up on the sand. "Now we can look into things on our own account."

While the militia was arranging, front and rear, for the attack, the boy and his companion were stealing through the bush that grew thickly about the walls of the fort, and wondering at the silence within. It required a half hour for Moultrie to get everything in readiness; and at last, just as he was about to give the word for the attack to begin, two figures bounded upon the walls from inside the fort; one was a handsome youth of seventeen; the other was a giant negro slave. Each waved a blazing torch above his head exultantly.

"Colonel Moultrie," cried Tom Deering, "the place belongs to you. The British have fled to their ships."

It was true; the creaking of blocks and the dark loom of a mainsail showed them a vessel scudding down the river. Fort Johnson had fallen without firing a shot.

HOW TOM DEERING MADE A NAME

TOM DEERING and Monsieur Victor St. Mar, late of the French army, lowered the small swords and stood panting and smiling at each other, in the orchard one afternoon, not long afterward.

"You grow proficient," said St. Mar in very good English, considering that he had been in the colonies but a few years, "your guard is excellent and your thrust, monsieur, is growing formidable."

Praise from the French soldier was praise indeed, for he had been a master of the sword in the regiments of King Louis, among which were the greatest swordsmen in the world. He had paused for a time at Charleston on his way from New Orleans to Philadelphia; and during his stay he taught the use of his favorite weapon to the young men of the city. Tom was the youngest and most apt of his pupils; the youth's strength, length of arm and sureness of eye made him a natural swordsman. At the French soldier's praise he flushed with pleasure.

"I am glad, monsieur," said he, as he wiped his brow, "that you think I am progressing. I like the practice of sword play."

"The rapier," said the Frenchman, "is a grand weapon--a gentleman's weapon. I have taught many persons, and have studied the use of the cutlass, the broadsword, the pike, bayonet and dagger; but the rapier is the king of them all; with three feet of bright steel in his hand the master of the sword should fear the attack of nothing that breathes."

He began buckling the long, slender weapons into their leather case, but paused and looked up at Tom, seriously.

"Study--practice steadily--experiment. That is the way to become a master. You have the material in you for a swordsman; but you must see to the defence--the parry--the guard. You Americans, I find, think the attack is everything. But it is not so. Study the guard. Some day you may meet a foe who has a thrust which you have never seen before. If you have not the parry to meet it your skill in attack will be like that."

He snapped his fingers and puffed out his cheeks; then he buckled up his sword-case and took his leave with many bows.

Tom Deering had long been a good horseman, a dead-shot with rifle or pistol; but sword-practice was new to him and he threw himself into the art with all the ardor of his seventeen years. Trouble was brewing between the king and his colonies, that was evident, and he was anxious to prepare himself for the struggle, for he had firmly made up his mind that, should the dark cloud of war that he saw gathering burst, he would be one of the first to offer himself for service.

For the capture of Fort Johnson was not immediately followed by open war, as all had expected. For some reason the British did not make any movement. Lord Campbell, the governor, had fled to the Tamar, which still lay in the harbor along with the Cherokee, but, except for sending his secretary to protest he took no steps. The patriots still had a lingering hope that all might yet be well; there were many that clung to the belief that a reconciliation might yet be effected between king and colonies. The proceedings of the people of Charleston still wore, however loosely, a pacific aspect. Though actively preparing for war, they still spoke the language of loyalty, still dealt in vague assurances of devotion to the crown.

But Tom Deering was wide awake; he had a brain and he used it. The hesitation of the colonists would not last long he felt confident; and when they once cast it aside the storm would come in earnest--the sword would be drawn to be sheathed no more until the struggle was lost or won.

After St. Mar, the sword-master, had taken his departure, Tom took his customary afternoon plunge into the river, after which he was ready for a visit which he had planned. Cole brought his best horse, a powerful, intelligent looking chestnut with strong lines of speed and bottom, around to the front of the house and Tom vaulted lightly into the saddle. Cole mounted another horse, a great bay, and followed his youthful master, as was his custom. There were not many horses upon the Deering plantation capable of supporting the great weight of the giant slave for any length of time and still make speed. But the bay carried him as though he were a feather, hour after hour, sometimes, and never showed more than ordinary weariness.

Tom's father, a tall, dignified gentleman, with the appearance more of a scholar than a planter, and bearing scarcely any resemblance to his brother, the skipper of the schooner Defence, met them on the road near the house.

"Are you going up to the city?" asked he, drawing rein.

"No, sir," replied his son. "I'm going over to the Harwood plantation. I have not been there for some weeks."

"You have not been there, I suppose, since the taking of Fort Johnson?"

"No, sir."

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