From the time he left his father and struck across the fields and swamps toward the Harwood place, Tom was deep in thought. Perhaps his father was right. He knew that Jasper Harwood was a harsh, arrogant man, with a violent temper and a great respect for the crown; but that he would let the latter blind him to the blessings of liberty, and turn his hand and tongue against his neighbors and friends was more than Tom, boy like, could realize.
“But even if the master of the plantation himself is a king’s man, there are others there who are not,” mused the boy as he loped along, followed by Cole on the big bay. “Mark will prove true to the colony, I know. And then, there is Laura! Every throb of her heart is of indignation against British oppression. I am confident of that.”
He was still deep in thought, and they were ascending a narrow road that led to the Harwood house before Tom realized it. Suddenly Cole uttered his strange cry and touched his horse with the spur. In a moment he was beside Tom, one hand upon his shoulder, and the other pointing to a small clump of trees by the roadside near the house. A half dozen horses were tied there, and from their trappings Tom knew them to be the mounts of the king’s dragoons. A like visit to their own plantation was still vivid in his mind; its horrible result to Cole caused all sorts of dreadful fears to crowd into his mind, and with beating heart he urged his steed forward at a gallop and threw himself from its back before the door. The sound of the galloping hoofs coming up the graveled path caused a rush to the doors and windows; among a group of red-coated dragoon officers, at the top of the high stone steps leading to the door, Tom recognized the planter, Jasper Harwood. Far from being in any peril, he seemed to be very well content, having a long churchwarden pipe in his hand, and the jovial looks upon the officers’ faces caused the boy to banish his fears for his half-uncle’s safety, at least.
There seemed to be a perfect understanding between the planter and the dragoons, but as he recognized Tom, Harwood’s flush deepened into one of anger.
“Ha, Master Deering, is it?” cried he, loudly. “I thought it was a troop of horse from the way you came charging up the path.”
Tom passed the bridle over his arm, and leaning against the chestnut’s shoulder he stood looking up at the group upon the high steps of the mansion.
“I am very sorry that I startled you,” he said.
At this the dragoons burst into a roar of laughter.
“He’s sorry he startled us,” bellowed one, his face purple with glee. “By the Lord Harry, but that’s good! A snip of a boy startle a lot of king’s officers.”
Once more the laughter rang out. Tom looked at them composedly enough for a time; but suddenly his face paled, his mouth set, and an angry light began to gather in his eyes. He looked about for Cole; but the giant negro was not to be seen; and, after assuring himself of this the lad breathed a sigh of relief. For, among the officers at Jasper Harwood’s door, he recognized the lieutenant whose brutality had deprived Cole of his speech. The sight of the ruffian filled him with indignation; but he knew that it would hardly do to give vent to it at this time, so he held his peace.