“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.