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!”