HOW THE BRITISH SHIPS RAN FROM CHARLESTON HARBOR
ON the 9th of November, which was but a few days previous to Tom
Deering’s adventure with the British, the Provincial Congress of South
Carolina resolved “by every military operation to oppose the passage
of any British armament”; and this order was issued to the commandant
at Fort Johnson, Colonel Moultrie. The fort itself was strengthened,
more men were enlisted, and bills of credit were issued. The blow for
which all had been waiting seemed now about to be struck; the redcoats
and patriots were about to grapple in that fierce struggle which was to
last eight long years and set a continent free.
Colonel Moultrie had taken up his headquarters at Haddrill’s Point,
which was being fortified; it was here that the training of his
men was going forward, and the place had the appearance of quite a
formidable camp.
The eastern sky was beginning to gray under the hand of approaching
morning, when the sentinel on guard at the upper road caught the sound
of flying hoofs rapidly approaching him. His musket quickly came around
and he stood ready to receive friend or foe.
“Halt!” he cried.
The galloping horse was pulled up so quickly as to almost throw him
back upon his haunches.
“Who goes there?” demanded the sentry.
“A friend,” came the voice of Tom Deering.
“Advance, friend, with the countersign.”
Tom walked his snorting horse forward.
“I have not received the countersign,” said he. “But I have urgent
business with Colonel Moultrie, and must see him at once.”
“Against orders,” said the sentry. “I’ll call out the sergeant of the
guard, though, and leave him to settle it with you.”
In a few moments the sergeant had presented himself. Tom was led
forward into the light of a camp-fire, where the sergeant carefully
questioned him.
“I can answer no questions,” said the boy, “unless asked by Colonel
Moultrie or----”
“Captain Marion, perhaps,” said a voice behind him.
Tom turned quickly; within a foot of him was the small, dark officer
with the aquiline nose and the burning black eyes, whom he had carried
across the river in his skiff on the night when Fort Johnson was taken.
Francis Marion was, at this time, past his fortieth year. He had been a
planter, his only previous military experience having been in the war
with the Cherokees some years before; in this he had gained some fame
as a leader of a “forlorn hope” at the battle of Etchoee, in which the
Carolinians had defeated the French and Indians. Then he had been a
lieutenant in the regiment of Middleton. Colonel Moultrie, who was in
command of the patriot forces, had been captain of the company in which
Marion served at that time.
“So,” said Marion, “you would like to see Colonel Moultrie, would you,
my lad?”
Tom, holding the bridle of his horse with one hand, raised the other in
salute.
“Yes, captain,” answered he promptly.
“Well,” said Marion, “I owe you something for your service that night
on the river.” He laughed lightly. “You see, I have not forgotten
it; nor have I forgotten the fact that you, single handed and alone,
captured a fortified position.”
Captain Marion was pleased to regard Tom’s errand lightly, it seemed;
a boy must always prove that his doings are worth the consideration of
his elders. In spite of the fact that he recognized in Tom Deering no
ordinary lad, Marion could not accept his word that his business with
Colonel Moultrie was not some hair brained freak. Tom saw all this in
the dark, smiling face of the soldier before him; and he recognized
the fact that he must come down to plain dealing and take him into the
matter before he could hope to see the colonel.
“Captain Marion,” said Tom, with a glance at the sergeant and his file
of listening men, “can I have a word in private with you?”
Still smiling, Marion led the boy a little way apart, but well out of
earshot.
“Now,” said he, “tell me all about it.”
“Would you consider it a serious matter,” asked Tom, looking him
candidly in the eye, “if the British ships came up and bombarded the
city in the night?”
Marion’s face grew grave, and he glanced keenly at the boy’s intent
face, an alert look stealing into his eyes.
“I would consider it very serious,” said he, in reply, his voice sober
and low.
“There is to be such an attack to-night,” said Tom. He drew the
captured despatches from his boot leg, and held them out. “This packet
I took from an officer of Tarleton’s dragoons two hours ago, some
distance below here.”
“Have you examined them?”
“I have, in order to make sure that I was not at fault. I did not wish
to come here with nothing to substantiate my statement.”
Marion took the packet and glanced hurriedly through the papers. After
a moment’s examination he said, quietly:
“Come with me.”
Within a quarter of an hour a dozen officers were gathered in Colonel
Moultrie’s cabin in the center of the encampment. The captured papers
were before them; Tom Deering stood at the table answering the
questions with which they plied him.
“This attempt seems mere madness,” said Colonel Moultrie, at length.
“How do they hope to get their vessels past the fortified points
without danger of being destroyed?”
[Illustration: _MARION TOOK THE PACKET_]
This seemed to be the general opinion of the council; but Marion,
who happened to glance at Tom at that moment, saw an eager light in his
eyes.
“Speak out, lad,” said he, kindly. “If you have anything to say upon
this question I have no doubt but that Colonel Moultrie will be glad to
hear it.”
“Of course,” said the colonel. “You have done us too great a service
already, my boy, for us to refuse to listen to you.”
“I just wanted to say, sir,” exclaimed Tom, eagerly, “that the British
ships can get up to the city, and without the slightest danger to
themselves.”
The colonel looked startled.
“You are sure of what you say?” he demanded.
“I am positive. They can come up by way of Hog-Island channel.”
“But that is not deep enough for their heavy vessels,” cried an officer.
“At high water,” said Tom Deering, calmly, “there is water enough to
float the largest ship in their fleet, providing they have a man at
the wheel who knows the course. I have come through the channel many a
time with my uncle, Captain Deering, of the schooner Defence.”
This information set the council in a state of great excitement; Tom
was thanked over and over for what he had done.
“You have, without doubt,” said Colonel Moultrie, “saved us from making
a fatal mistake.”
Before the sun was three hours high a plan of action had been
formulated and was in progress of execution. Captain Deering was
summoned in hot haste from his schooner, which lay in the river, and
ordered to cover and protect a party detailed to sink a number of
stone-laden hulks in the narrow Hog-Island channel. The Defence, some
weeks before, had been fitted up with carronades and a long thirty
pounder cannon, and she was just the ready, quick-sailing craft for the
work.
By early afternoon the hulks were being floated into the channel,
the Defence hovering about them like a great bird watching over its
young. The work had scarcely begun, however, when the British lookouts
discovered it, and the Tamar bore down upon the hulks, firing from her
bow guns as she came. The Cherokee was only a little behind her sister
craft in promptness of action, and opened with her lighter guns, also.
The Defence answered with her carronades, but their range was not great
enough, and she did but little damage; the guns from Fort Johnson
opened; a few shots were effective; but the firing was discontinued as
soon as the British war-ships showed signs of hesitation. Meanwhile the
alarm was beat at Charleston, where the troops stood to their arms. But
the time was not yet; the Tamar and Cherokee, seeing that they could
not frighten the blockading party off, went about and retreated beyond
range.
From this time on the local patriots began to proceed vigorously.
Ships were impressed and armed like the Defence, and they were badly
needed, for the British in the harbor became more and more troublesome.
Captain Thornborough, the officer in command of them, began to seize
all vessels within his reach, entering or coming out of the port.
Of the newly-gathered fleet of the Americans Captain Deering was placed
in charge. Heavy artillery was mounted on Haddrill’s Point and the work
of fortification at the same place was hurriedly completed. A new fort
was raised on Jones’ Island and another one begun on Sullivan’s Island,
some distance below the city; the volunteers were constantly coming
in, swelling the ranks of the patriots both ashore and afloat. Among
these latter was Tom Deering’s father; the planter armed a small sloop
and manned it with a crew of slaves, who gladly offered to follow him
against the British.
But Tom, to his father’s surprise, refused to join him.
“Is it possible, Tom,” demanded he, sternly, on the morning upon which
he formally took charge of the sloop as an officer of the colony, “that
you have suddenly grown faint-hearted?”
“Faint-hearted! I!” Tom looked at his father reproachfully. “You don’t
think that, father, surely! Have I not done some service, already, for
the cause of liberty?--not much, of course, but still, enough to prove
that I am ready to go to any length against oppression.”
“You have done some things,” said Mr. Deering, his eyes alight with
pride, “that have made me thank the good God who had given me such a
son. But,” and his face grew grave once more, “it seems strange that
you will not enter the service of the colony, now that she needs you.”
“I have thought the matter over very carefully,” answered Tom, “and
have concluded that I shall be better as I am.”
“Tom!” his father’s face grew white. “What do you mean?”
“If I enlist,” returned Tom, “I shall be forced to march in the ranks
and obey orders. If I remain free, I can do as I will; and by so doing
I can render much more effective service. Those despatches which
I captured are not the only ones that will be carried through the
outlying districts under the cover of night; there is information to be
gained of the enemy’s movements and plans, by one who knows the roads,
the cane-brakes and swamps, and has the courage to dare the British
dragoons. This is the work that I have laid out for myself, father, in
this fight. And this is the work, I think, that I can best do.”
“Tom!” The planter clasped his hand and threw one arm about him;
“forgive me for what I have said. I might have known, my lad--I might
have known.”
The whole of the long winter and spring passed; the British had all
retreated to their ships; while the colonists were deeply absorbed
in preparations for the defence of the city. Inland, parties of
loyalists, or Tories, had risen and were slaying and burning, but their
ravages were confined to a small district as yet. Jasper Harwood, Tom’s
half-uncle, and his son Mark, were at the head of a band of these
partisans, and they were carrying terror wherever they went. Moultrie
sent small parties in pursuit, now and then; but these only served to
check the outrages for a space; when the patriots once more returned to
the city the slaying and burnings were at once renewed.
Tom did splendid service against these desperate bands. In company
with Cole, his giant servant, he penetrated very frequently into their
districts, and often gained information that saved both lives and
property. During this time, Marion, now a major, was in command of the
depot of supplies at Dorchester and it was with his small force that
Tom was most frequently in touch. In this way he came to realize the
genius and resolution of this small, kindly man with the burning,
deep-set, black eyes; for at no time was he unready to spring into the
saddle and dash at the head of his men to the rescue of some imperiled
section; at no time was his invention at fault for a plan of onset or
ambush.
But the constant rumors of the coming of a strong fleet to reinforce
the Cherokee and Tamar caused Marion to ask for a change of post
to Charleston, where he would be more actively engaged. This was
granted him; he was once more appointed to the Second Regiment under
Colonel Moultrie and stationed at Fort Sullivan, on the island of that
name which stands at the entrance to Charleston harbor and within
point-blank shot of the channel. Tom, during the long months at
Dorchester had become devoted to Marion and this, together with the
expectation of a battle, caused him to follow him to Fort Sullivan--or
Fort Moultrie as it was then called, in honor of its commandant.
Tom helped to build the fort; for when he arrived there it was scarcely
more than an outline. It was constructed of palmetto logs, a simple
square, with a bastion at each angle, sufficient to cover a thousand
men. The logs were laid one upon another in parallel rows, at a
distance of sixteen feet, bound together with heavier timbers which
were dovetailed and bolted into the logs. The work of constructing
this fort was a good preparatory lesson for the great conflict that
was to follow. Tom grew brown and tough and sinewy with the long days
of labor in the sun; the wonderful strength of Cole, the dumb-slave,
was a constant source of astonishment to both officers and men; to the
amazement of all he would lift, unaided, a great piece of massy timber
to crown an embrasure and set it in place, or, when horses were scarce,
go down on the beach and drag the ponderous tree trunks from the water.
At sight of the open-eyed astonishment of those about him he would
throw back his head, his white teeth shining in two even rows, and
laugh with the perfect glee of a child.
In spite of the incessant labor of the soldiers the fort was still
unfinished when the recently arrived and powerful British fleet
appeared before its walls. Colonel Moultrie’s force consisted of four
hundred and thirty-five men, rank and file, comprising four hundred
and thirteen of the Second Regiment, and twenty-two of the Fourth
Artillery. The fort at this time mounted thirty-one guns; nine were
French twenty-sixes; six, English eighteens; the remainder were twelve
and nine pounders.
The day before the British hove in sight, Tom Deering was witness to an
exciting scene which took place between General Charles Lee, whom the
Continental Congress at Philadelphia had recently sent to take command
of the Army of the South, and Colonel Moultrie. The two officers were
standing upon a bastion, looking seaward; Tom and Cole were bolting
some timbers together, near at hand.
“It is madness to attempt a defence of this point,” said General Lee.
“The fleet is even now in the roadstead and the works, here, are far
from being finished.”
“I disagree with you, general,” returned Colonel Moultrie.
“But, Colonel Moultrie,” cried General Lee, not seeming to relish
having his opinion so candidly opposed, “how are you going to defend
yourself?”
“With the guns of the fort,” said the colonel; “and the brave men who
will be behind them.”
“All very well, my dear sir, if it were Frenchmen or Spaniards who
manned the attacking fleet; but they are British ships, sir! British
ships, and sailed by British tars!”
General Charles Lee had been trained in the English army, and he had,
perhaps, naturally enough, an overweening respect for the prowess of an
English fleet. It is fortunate that this feeling of awe was not shared
by Colonel Moultrie and his men.
“Let them once get within range of my heavy guns,” said the colonel,
“and it will make no difference as to what nation they belong. We shall
make them run from Charleston harbor, just the same.”
“Your fort presents, at present, little more than a front to the
sea,” protested General Lee. “Once let them get into the position for
enfilading and you cannot maintain your position.”
“I will risk it,” said Colonel Moultrie. His officers were with him
in this; and Lee’s authority was not great enough to force them to
evacuate their position against their will.
On the 20th day of June, 1776, the British ships of war, nine
in number, and consisting of two vessels of fifty guns, five of
twenty-eight, one of twenty-six, and a small bomb-vessel, sailed up the
harbor under the able command of Sir Peter Parker. They drew abreast
of the fort, let go their anchors with springs upon their cables, and
began a terrible bombardment. They strove, after a time, to gain a
position for the destructive enfilading fire which General Lee so
feared; but the Defence, the Tartar sloop, commanded by Tom’s father,
and several other small vessels, came down boldly and maintained such a
stubborn resistance, that Sir Peter quickly displayed signals ordering
the attempt to be abandoned.
Fort Moultrie at the beginning of the fight had but five thousand
pounds of powder; this small supply had to be used with great care.
“Not a shot must be wasted,” cried Colonel Moultrie; “every one must do
execution. Let each officer in command of a gun aim it in person.”
This command was obeyed, and its results were frightfully fatal to
the British and their ships. In the battle the Bristol, Sir Peter’s
flag-ship, lost forty killed and wounded; Sir Peter himself lost one of
his arms; the Experiment, another fifty gun vessel, lost about twice
as many. The fire of the fort was directed mainly at the heavy craft.
Tom Deering, as he toiled with rammer and sponge at one of the French
twenty-six pounders, of which Marion had charge, heard that little
officer constantly call to his brother gunners:
“Look to the Commodore--look to the heavy ships; they can do us most
damage!”
In the heat of the action the Acteon, one of the smaller of the enemy’s
ships, being hard pressed by the Defence and Tartar, ran aground and
immediately took fire. At this point the British Commodore would have
been forced to strike his colors, or be destroyed, but suddenly the
powder ran out and the fire of the fort slackened and finally ceased
altogether.
Struck with astonishment at this the British also ceased their fire,
thinking the fort had been abandoned.
“We must secure ammunition,” cried Colonel Moultrie, his face ashen.
Here was victory all but in his grasp, and to have to give it up would
be almost fatal in its effect upon his men.
“The schooner Defence has a large supply,” said Marion, to his
commander, as he wiped the black powder stains from his face.
“But she is nowhere in sight,” said Moultrie, sweeping the harbor with
his glass.
Tom stepped forward, his hand at the salute.
“Well,” demanded the colonel.
“I saw the Defence chased into Stone Gap Creek awhile ago,” stated the
lad eagerly. “She is safe, though, for see,” and he pointed shoreward,
“there are her topmasts above the trees.”
“Good,” exclaimed Marion, his face lighting up.
“But how can we reach her? The enemy’s vessels will not allow her to
come out,” said the colonel.
“We can go to her,” ventured Tom, hesitatingly, for it seemed
presumptuous for him to offer a suggestion to his commander. “The
Tartar is lying under the guns of the fort. We could reach the Defence
in her. The British could not follow us up the creek; they draw too
much water.”
The ammunition that remained on board the Tartar, save a few rounds,
Tom’s father gladly gave up to Colonel Moultrie, and a few guns resumed
service from the fort, but firing slowly. Under mainsail and jib the
gallant little sloop then stood out, in the teeth of the British,
heading for the creek where the Defence was lying. Major Marion, Tom
Deering and Cole stood upon her deck, watching a brig-of-war which had
just started to head them off.
“She’s a fast sailer,” said Mr. Deering, a shade passing over his face,
after he had watched the quality of their pursuer for a few moments.
“Do you think she can overhaul us?” asked Major Marion.
“There is no question about it,” returned the planter, “if she is given
time enough. But the distance to the creek is short; we may reach
there. Then, with the help of the Defence, we can fight her off on the
return run.”
The Tartar had arrived within hailing distance of the mouth of the
creek, when the brig suddenly discharged a lucky shot from a long bow
gun that splintered the sloop’s mast and left her lying a helpless hulk
upon the waters.
“It’s all over,” said Marion, quietly.
“The boat remains,” said Mr. Deering. “Quick. You have still time to
gain the Defence.”
“And you, father?” said Tom.
“I remain with the sloop,” answered the planter.
“But you will be taken prisoner!”
“I will not leave my crew,” said his father, firmly. “There is not room
for us all in the single yawl.”
“Then I will remain, also,” said Tom.
“You will join Major Marion in the boat,” commanded the planter,
evenly. “Carolina has need of all her youth. It would be a needless
sacrifice for you to throw yourself into the hands of her enemies.”
Despite the boy’s protests, his father remained firm; so with a heavy
heart Tom climbed into the boat with Marion. Cole would have remained
behind with his master; but the planter, who recognized the great
attachment of the giant black to his son, and saw how valuable he would
be during these dangerous times, promptly ordered him, also, into the
yawl.
They were just pulling into Stone Gap when a small boat with an armed
crew left the British brig and pulled for the wrecked Tartar. So it
happened that Roger Deering was one of the first prisoners of war taken
in Carolina.
Apparently the British skipper did not realize the significance of the
sloop’s errand; for after taking her crew from her she set fire to the
hull and sailed back to rejoin the other vessels in the line of battle.
An hour later the Defence crept out of Stone Gap Creek and headed for
Fort Moultrie. She was a swift sailer, and the old salt who commanded
her knew how to make her do her best. So, in spite of pursuit and
flying shot, she anchored under the guns of the fort and quickly
transferred her powder. The British, during the protracted lull in the
fort’s fire, had drawn closer; but now, under the brisk and accurate
cannonade they withdrew again to their first position. The fight then
continued, hotter than ever; shortly afterward the fort received
another supply of powder from the city, which did much to encourage the
defenders.
The cheers, however, that greeted the arrival of the ammunition had
scarcely died away when a distant roar of voices raised in exultation
came from the British fleet.
“Look; the flag,” cried some one.
A solid shot from one of the flag-ship’s heavy guns had carried away
the flag and it fell, fluttering like a wounded bird, outside the walls
of the fort. In an instant Tom Deering, who was once more helping to
serve the gun, threw his rammer to Cole and leaped upon the wall. A
storm of canister swept about him and a hundred voices shouted for him
to return; but, without hesitation he leaped to the sandy beach below,
between the ramparts and the enemy, seized the fallen colors, stuffed
them into his bosom and then with the help of the mighty, outstretched
arm of Cole, scrambled back inside.
Again the flag was run up to the top of the staff, by means of fresh
halyards; the sight of it seemed to give the colonists renewed
courage, for they turned to the conflict with a resolution that was
unconquerable. The British ships were fast becoming mere wrecks, so
seeing that a continuation of the combat would be mere folly, the
signal flags were flown at the masthead of Commodore Parker’s vessel
to cease firing. Ten minutes afterward a fleet of ships, with sails
hanging from the rigging in shot-rent rags, and with hulls battered,
leaking and torn with canister, ran out of Charleston harbor in
disorder.
“They carry your father with them, a prisoner,” said Major Marion, to
Tom Deering, as they leaned, watching, upon a hot gun.
“But they shall not keep him,” cried the lad, “to die in their prison
hulks! He shall be free! I am only a boy; but the whole British navy
shall not keep me from him. It may be a month, a year, or even more,
but he shall be free in spite of all the fleets and armies they can
send!”