HOW THE BRITISH LOST SOME PRISONERS
DOWN the road, like the wind, raced the band of Marion’s men; Laura,
under escort of Nat and David Collins, rode well ahead, as Tom knew
that they would not meet any of the enemy in that direction. The road
skirted the bay, and from across the quiet waters could be seen the
lights of the British ships.
Tom had expected pursuit to be hotly made, but to his surprise there
was no evidence of it. A little reflection told him the reason for
this. The plantation was a considerable distance below the city, and
the officers attending the masque had, for the most part, come in
carriages. Therefore no chargers were available for a chase, at least
not sufficient to mount a force capable of coping with our adventurers.
No sound was heard by Tom or Cole, who rode behind, alert for anything
that might happen; the ringing hoof-beats of their own party were the
only noises that disturbed the silence.
But, at length, even this ceased; the cavalcade had been brought to a
sudden halt, and Tom and Cole rode forward to learn the cause of it.
Nat and Dave Collins were waiting for him; Laura, patting her pawing
horse’s neck, was beside them.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom.
“As we rounded the bend in the road,” said David Collins, “I thought I
saw a sudden gleam of light from the water, close to shore.”
“I saw it, too,” said Nat, his brother. “It seemed as though it was
from a boat.”
“It was in a boat,” put in Laura. “I saw it plainly. And the boat was
full of men.”
“Remain where you are,” directed Tom. “Nat, I leave you in charge.
Dave, you and Cole come with me; we’ll see what all this means. It may
be a boat’s crew from one of the vessels of war which has been somehow
signaled that we are coming by this road.”
They left their horses in care of their comrades and cautiously
advanced; as they neared the beach they could hear the water lapping on
the sand--yes, and now they caught the undoubted murmur of voices.
“We’ll have to put the boats’ noses up on the beach and wait for them,”
said a voice.
Tom nudged his companions and they returned it. “Without question,”
they thought, “they have been warned, and are waiting for us to put in
an appearance.”
“I expected them to pass, long before this,” spoke another voice, “and
keel haul me if I understand the delay.”
“Oh, give them time,” said the first speaker, “we have all night before
us.”
“No, souse my tops if we have; the tide changes at two o’clock, and we
want to take advantage of it.”
Here followed the sound of keels grating upon the sand. Through the
gloom Tom could discern two large boats, in each of which were a half
dozen men, armed to the teeth. Somehow, the voice of the last speaker
sounded strangely familiar; Tom, who, like his two companions, lay
flat upon the sand, crawled forward for a space in order that he might
obtain a better view. As it chanced, in his path were a quantity of dry
shells; and as he drew himself over these, they made a crackling noise.
“What’s that!” whispered one of the men in the boat nearest Tom.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear a sound from the beach over there?”
A laugh followed this.
“You thought you heard hoofs awhile ago,” said the second voice, from
the other boat. “It’s all your imagination.”
“Well, tar my old rigging!” cried the other, obstinately. “I heard
something just then, and I’m going to see what it was.”
The speaker leaped out upon the sand, a cutlass in his right hand and
a lantern in his left. He slowly advanced, his lantern flashing this
way and that, until at last its rays rested upon a bronzed, youthful,
smiling face gazing calmly, from the sand, into his own.
“Tom Deering,” he almost shouted, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Uncle Dick!” cried Tom in return, and in a moment he had sprung to his
feet and gripped the old sea-dog in a hug like that of a cinnamon bear.
“Easy, lad, easy!” gasped Uncle Dick. “If you grip me any tighter
you’ll smash my hull and bring the masts by the board.”
He wrung his nephew’s hand warmly, his weather-beaten face all wrinkled
with smiles, his long gray cue almost bristling from pure joy.
“I thought you were one of the enemy’s spies,” said he at last after he
had greeted the grinning Cole, and had had Nat presented to him. “But
what in old Neptune brings you here? Tell me all about it.”
In a few moments Tom had acquainted him with the facts of his
expedition to Charleston. The old man wrung his hand once more as he
finished.
“Brave boy,” cried he, delighted beyond measure. “So you saved Laura
from that swab, Harwood, did you! Well, you’ll never do a better thing
in your life! And you have a company of friends back there a piece, did
you say?”
“Yes, there are a round score of us, all told.”
“You are not too much done up to take a hand in another little
enterprise before the night’s over, eh, lad?”
“No,” cried the young scout, eagerly. “I can speak for all my friends,
I know. What is it, Uncle Dick?”
“Down there,” and the old seaman pointed to the water’s edge, “I have
two boats, and in them is the biggest part of the crew of the four-gun
schooner, Defence.”
“Then your schooner was not taken by the enemy when they captured
Charleston!”
“Nothing like it. And she’s been doing good work for Congress ever
since, even if I do say it myself. But, to come back to the present:
Some time ago I learned that your father was still held a prisoner in
the hulks there,” pointing to some heavy, unpainted and unseaworthy
craft that were anchored off a sandy headland and whose lights could be
plainly seen.
“My father!” There was a sharp note of pain in Tom’s voice. “Then he
has not been sent to the English prisons; he has been detained here in
one of those hulks all this time, as I supposed. What a fate!”
The lad would have broken down had not Captain Deering made haste to
reassure him.
“There, there, boy! don’t take it so hard. He’s done very well,
considering. The party who brought me the news of him says he’s in good
health.”
“Even if that be so,” broke in Tom, his eyes burning as they fastened
themselves upon the hulks, “even if that be so, how long can it last?
If he remains there he will break down both in health and spirit.”
“He’ll not be there long,” said Uncle Dick, quietly.
Tom looked at him quickly, eagerly.
“What do you mean by that,” seizing his uncle by the arm; “do you mean
that----”
“That is just exactly what I do mean,” said the seaman. “Inside of an
hour your father is to be transferred from the hulk in which he is
held prisoner to the frigate Benbow, which you see lying over there,”
pointing to the vessel of war nearest the shore. “She is to sail
to-morrow for England, and Lord North has issued orders for the captain
to bring your father and some other wealthy prisoners with him.”
“Yes, yes,” said Tom, his voice husky with anxiety. “And your plan
is----”
“To attack the boat that carries them from the hulk to the frigate. I
have, as I said before, almost the entire crew of the Defence here in
her pinnace and gig; and each man of them is armed for desperate work.
There is room in the boats for some of your friends if they care to
join us in this little affair; we cannot have too many, as there is no
knowing what sized crew will man the boat; and with, perhaps, a marine
or two for good measure.”
Tom despatched Cole back to bring up the remainder of his band; and
when they advanced and learned what was going forward they, to a man,
volunteered to help. The first thing to do was to see to Laura’s
safety; Captain Deering sent one of his men for a fisherman’s yawl
which he knew was drawn up on the sand a short distance below. The
fisherman was an ex-member of the Defence’s crew and a stout friend of
his old captain; so when he and one of his grown sons appeared with the
yawl he readily agreed to row Laura to the schooner, the whereabouts of
which was carefully explained to him.
Tom, after the boat containing the girl and the two friendly fishermen
had pulled away in the direction of the schooner, detailed two of his
men to lead the horses to a point some miles below on the shores of
the bay. Then he and the others placed themselves under the orders of
Captain Deering and his first mate, who was in command of the second
boat.
“Now, lads,” spoke the skipper of the Defence, “I guess there’s no use
telling you that you are bound on a dangerous cruise--not a very long
one, but such a one as will need us to keep the starboard and larboard
watch both on deck all the time.”
“Douse the lantern!” said the mate, gruffly. He was a thick-set, hardy
looking man, about his captain’s age; he had an eye like a hawk and
a way of casting it about every now and then that at once dubbed him
sailor. The captain instantly blew out the lantern.
“Anything moving, Mr. Jackson?” asked he.
“I heard a creaking of blocks from the hulks,” returned the mate. “They
are lowering the boat, skipper, I think.”
“Then we’d best be afloat!” exclaimed Captain Deering. “Tumble in, my
hearties, and push off.”
The sailors of the Defence and the swamp-riders were soon evenly
distributed between the gig and the pinnace; the former was under the
command of Captain Deering in person, and in the bows sat Tom and Cole;
Nat and David Collins were in the mate’s boat; all were silent as the
boats shoved off from the beach; the lapping of the water against their
sides and the long, soft strokes of the oars were the only sounds that
could be heard.
“They’ve launched a boat,” said the mate in a low tone. The gig and
pinnace still pulled side by side, a double length of oar between them.
“Yes, and there goes another one, and another.”
“Stiff work,” growled the captain, as he strove to follow the mate’s
pointing finger. “I can just about make them out, Mr. Jackson, and they
seem to be full of men.”
“Let’s hope they’re mostly prisoners,” said the mate.
“Have your cutlasses ready, men,” said Captain Deering, softly. “We
can’t use the pistol until we’re sure of where we are firing.”
The three boats had pushed off from the hulk by this time; one was a
galley, pulled by at least a dozen men and carrying as many marines in
her bow, another was a small jolly-boat, and the last a ship’s gig in
the stern of which were to be seen several officers.
“Don’t bother the galley,” said Uncle Dick. “It holds only a guard. The
prisoners are in the gig or the small boat.”
“There seem to be only three of them,” said Tom, straining his eyes
through the darkness. “But I can’t make out my father among them.”
“He’s there, fast enough,” said the captain, encouragingly.
The pinnace and gig lay directly in the paths of the advancing boats;
Captain Deering had given orders to cease rowing, and they lay
silently upon the water, rising and falling with the slight swell.
The others had not yet seen them, for they showed no lights, but kept
swinging steadily along with their sweeps. The galley was first and the
skipper passed the word, hoarsely:
“We’ll have to give her a volley, after all. Ready, lads, and shoot
low.”
He had scarcely spoken the words when a marine in the bow of the
approaching galley discovered them and gave the alarm.
“Pull hard,” roared Captain Deering. The oarsmen obeyed, and the gig
shot forward. The swamp-riders knelt or stood in the bow, their muskets
ready. “Fire,” cried the skipper of the Defence.
A shower of musket balls swept into the galley; the marines in her
were too surprised to make a quick recovery; but their officers were
shouting angry commands and hot words of reproof at them, and they
at last succeeded in discharging their pieces in a half-hearted way;
but before they could reload the gig of the Defence was alongside
them, and cutlass and sabre were at their deadly work. Tom fought with
desperation; the galley must be beaten off before he could hope to get
alongside the British gig, which held the prisoners. But the marines
had recovered from their surprise by this time and were battling
determinedly.
“We must end this,” Tom heard Captain Deering growl, “the gig is
pulling away to save the prisoners.” The old sea-dog was slashing right
and left with a cutlass as he spoke, with Tom and Cole at his side.
Back and forth they swayed; the gunwales of the gig and galley ground
together, the sword-blades flashed up and down; the pistols barked
gruffly through the din of shouts and the clash of steel on steel.
Cole had lost his sabre overboard, and, clutching his rifle-barrel with
both hands, was doing frightful execution among the enemy with the
brass-bound butt. At the words of Captain Deering, the giant slave’s
eyes darted toward the British gig; its seamen were pulling lustily
toward the frigate, its officers urging them to increased exertion
with every stroke. Without a moment’s hesitation Cole sprang into the
galley, clearing a space before him with his clubbed musket. Then once,
twice, thrice the heavy butt of the weapon rose and fell; there was a
splintering of wood, a sudden shout of rage and fear, and the galley,
her bottom stove in, sank in the waters of the bay.
As she went down Cole clutched at the stern of the gig and was hauled
on board by Tom and the skipper. The latter, as cool and collected as
though he sat on his own after-deck, gave the word.
“Give way, lads; and pull hearty.”
The gig bounded through the waters like a thing of life; the creaming
waters were dashed from her sharp bow; the men pulled with skill and
good will, and Tom noted, as he stood in the bow, that they gained upon
the British boat. The pinnace, under Mr. Johnson, had grappled with
the galley on the other side, and had not cleared the wreck so quickly.
But she now was bounding after the gig under the impulse of her crew’s
brawny arms.
“They are going to reach safety under the frigate’s guns before we
overhaul them,” said Captain Deering. “I’m afraid it’s hopeless, lad.”
“No, no,” cried Tom, desperately; “don’t give up the chase. I’ll reduce
their speed a trifle.”
He picked up his rifle as he spoke, placed it to his shoulder, ran his
eye along the barrel and pulled the trigger. A cry came from the flying
boat; one of the oarsmen dropped his sweep and tumbled into the bottom.
This, of course, caused much confusion; the wounded man was dragged
forward and another man took his place. But the gig of the Defence had
made a clear gain upon them of fifty yards.
“Good lad!” cried the captain. “Try it again.”
Tom did not stop to reload his rifle, but picked up one belonging to
one of his companions. He leveled the piece with great care. Once more
the shot rang out, and once more an oarsman fell. The British officers
in the stern now began firing, but as they did not take careful aim
their shots did no harm. By this time, however, those on board the
frigate had received the alarm; lanterns flashed upon her decks and
a drum rolled sullenly. The boat containing the prisoners was almost
within range of her guns when the gig of the Defence overhauled her.
They grappled instantly and the fight raged with the utmost fury.
Without a moment’s hesitation Tom, followed by Cole, sprang into the
enemy’s boat among the cutlasses and pistols of the British tars.
“Father,” he cried, “I am here! I have come to save you.”
But he could not pause to look about, for the enemy had flown at him
with great determination. Shrieks of pain and shouts of rage mingled
with the clash of steel and the spiteful explosions of the firearms.
But in the heat of the conflict the pinnace with Mr. Johnson and his
crew arrived, and in a very few moments the British sailors were forced
to surrender their arms.
“Now,” cried Tom, his tones full of joy, “the prisoners.”
A number of white, worn-looking patriots were helped into the gig.
Tom’s heart sank when he looked at them. His father was not among them!
“Are these all the prisoners?” he cried, addressing one of the
white-faced men who sat in the stern of the Defence’s gig. “Was there
not another named Deering?”
“I do not know,” returned the man.
Tom, with despair in his eyes turned to the British officers in the
other boat. With one accord they burst into a laugh.
“Ah!” exclaimed one; “so it was he that you were after. Well, you’ve
failed, for you attacked the wrong boat.”
“He was not in the galley,” gasped Tom, his face going white.
“No; he was in the jolly-boat.” The speaker pointed to a dark speck
alongside the frigate. “See, there she is; she has made safety.”
“He is there,” shouted Tom to Captain Deering. “Pull for the frigate.”
“Sit down,” said the old sailor quietly. Then he gave the word to shove
off.
“You are not going to desert him!” Tom was beside himself. “You are not
going to leave him behind!”
“Give way,” ordered Captain Deering.
The men bent to their oars, and the gig bounded over the short waves,
putting more and more water between them and the frigate at every
stroke. Mr. Johnson had issued the same command and the bow of the
pinnace was but a few yards from the gig’s stern. Tom’s burning eyes
were fixed upon the frigate; somewhere in the dark loom of its hull was
his father--the father whom he so longed to see and whom he had vowed
to liberate. Each stroke of the oars that carried him from him cut him
like a knife.
“One dash,” he implored his uncle. “One swift dash and we can save him.”
“The frigate has lowered her boats,” said the skipper of the Defence.
“It would be certain death to attempt it.” Then to the sailors he cried
encouragingly, “Pull hard, my lads, show the British what American
muscle can do!”
The two boats shot away under the compelling force of the sturdy arms
at the oars.
“It’s a good four knots to the schooner,” said the mate, from the
pinnace. “And their men are fresh.”
This was true; for a long time the men bent to their oars, but the
schooner was still too far off to be seen, while the steady stroke of
the frigate’s boats could be heard astern in the darkness, each moment
growing nearer. And the other war vessels in the bay had sounded the
alarm by this time; signal rockets were flaring across the sky, and
the light of lanterns was to be seen on every hand, while the throbbing
of drums was faintly borne to their ears.
“Looks like desperate work,” said the captain. His tones were grave and
his eyes were straining through the gloom. “Oh, if we only stood on the
decks of the old schooner I would not care for them all.”
As though in answer to his words Tom suddenly sprang to his feet.
“Look!” shouted he. “Look there!”
“The Defence!” exclaimed the skipper, joy in his voice, “and bearing
down to hunt for us.”
Like a great bird the schooner loomed up through the darkness; her
mainsail, topsails and jib were set and bellying to the breeze; the
ripple of the water at her foot could be plainly heard, for she was
almost upon them when Tom discovered her.
“Ahoy!” shouted the skipper. “Schooner, ahoy!”
A prompt response came from the Defence’s deck; she swept about with
the grace of a hawk; and all hands were soon on board and the gig and
pinnace swung up after them.
“Make all sail,” said Captain Deering to Mr. Johnson. The mate’s deep
tones rang through the schooner; blocks creaked, ropes were manned, and
seamen swarmed into the rigging. Then like a great, white ghost the
Defence fell into the breeze and swept out of the harbor, leaving the
pursuing boats to return to the frigate with the news of the prisoners’
escape.
As Tom leaned on the quarter-rail and gazed eagerly back over the
schooner’s white track he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Come, lad, forgive me,” said his Uncle Dick; “you see for yourself,
don’t you, that it was useless to go nearer the frigate?”
Tom gripped his uncle’s hand. “Yes,” he said, “you were right, of
course, uncle. But it’s pretty hard to have been so near, and, and----”
He could not finish the sentence, but turned away abruptly, and for
many a day Tom had a heavy heart.