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?”