“Now,” said he, “tell me all about it.”
“Would you consider it a serious matter,” asked Tom, looking him candidly in the eye, “if the British ships came up and bombarded the city in the night?”
Marion’s face grew grave, and he glanced keenly at the boy’s intent face, an alert look stealing into his eyes.
“I would consider it very serious,” said he, in reply, his voice sober and low.
“There is to be such an attack to-night,” said Tom. He drew the captured despatches from his boot leg, and held them out. “This packet I took from an officer of Tarleton’s dragoons two hours ago, some distance below here.”
“Have you examined them?”
“I have, in order to make sure that I was not at fault. I did not wish to come here with nothing to substantiate my statement.”
Marion took the packet and glanced hurriedly through the papers. After a moment’s examination he said, quietly:
“Come with me.”
Within a quarter of an hour a dozen officers were gathered in Colonel Moultrie’s cabin in the center of the encampment. The captured papers were before them; Tom Deering stood at the table answering the questions with which they plied him.