From across the bright stretch of water between them and the shore came a drum beat; the evening sun slanted down upon the white crests and upon the meadow-lands below the city. No one was in sight, but the hollow rub-a-dub of the drum continued. Seeing his master had caught the sound Cole turned and silently pointed out into the bay.
Two armed vessels, flying the British flag, were standing on and off Sullivan’s Island. From where he sat in the stern of the skiff, Tom’s keen eyes noticed that an unusual air of alertness hung about the vessels; and the wind now and then carried toward them the sound of an officer’s command sharply spoken through a trumpet.
“It’s the Tamar and the Cherokee,” said Tom. “They’ve been lying in Rebellion Roads for the last couple of days. When I saw them up anchor an hour ago I thought something was going to happen, and I was right. Perhaps Colonel Moultrie is going to strike a blow for liberty and South Carolina at last.”
It was the fourteenth of September, in the year 1775. Because of the oppressive acts of the mother country, the British colonies in North America had risen in protest. But their words had been mocked and jeered at by King George and his counselors; and the heavy burdens of the afflicted colonies were only added to. This was more than a spirited people could stand; so from words the colonists proceeded to deeds; in the April before the first shot of the Revolution had been fired at Lexington; and now South Carolina was about to follow the glorious example of her sister state in New England.
If the people of Boston had a “tea party” in Massachusetts Bay, so had the residents of Charleston one in the Cooper river. The public armory of the town was broken open during one dark night and eight hundred stand of arms, two hundred cutlasses, besides cartouches, flints and other material of war were seized by the patriots. Another party possessed itself of the powder at a town near by; while still another emptied Cochran’s magazine.
An army of two thousand infantry and four hundred horse had been raised by the colony. This force was divided into three bodies; the second regiment was placed under the command of Colonel Moultrie, a gallant Indian fighter who had served with credit in the campaigns against the Cherokee nation.
The tap of the drum from the town came to the boys’ ears every little while; the wind was blowing freshly and the sail of the heavy skiff bellied to it, causing her bow to cut through the water at a great rate.
“We’ll soon be on the ground, Cole,” said Tom, peering under the boom to see how far they were away from their usual mooring-place when they sailed up to Charleston. “If it’s Colonel Moultrie’s men being summoned together for service perhaps the hour is at hand when you can settle your account with those who treated you so inhumanly.”
The giant held up one great arm, its huge muscles standing out in knots; the fist clinched and was shaken at Fort Johnson, on James Island, whose guns grinned wickedly across the calm water and whose sentries could be seen pacing backward and forward on the bastions. There was an expression of hate in the face of the slave; he turned to Tom, a strange sound coming from his throat, the forefinger of his left hand pointing to his open mouth. Tom reached forward and pressed Cole’s hand and his dark eyes glowed as he swept his glance toward the British flag which flowed from the tall staff at Fort Johnson.
Cole, by a horrible act of brutality, had been rendered dumb!