Fighting King George

by John T. McIntyre

“Faint-hearted! I!” Tom looked at his father reproachfully. “You don’t think that, father, surely! Have I not done some service, already, for the cause of liberty?—not much, of course, but still, enough to prove that I am ready to go to any length against oppression.”

“You have done some things,” said Mr. Deering, his eyes alight with pride, “that have made me thank the good God who had given me such a son. But,” and his face grew grave once more, “it seems strange that you will not enter the service of the colony, now that she needs you.”

“I have thought the matter over very carefully,” answered Tom, “and have concluded that I shall be better as I am.”

“Tom!” his father’s face grew white. “What do you mean?”

“If I enlist,” returned Tom, “I shall be forced to march in the ranks and obey orders. If I remain free, I can do as I will; and by so doing I can render much more effective service. Those despatches which I captured are not the only ones that will be carried through the outlying districts under the cover of night; there is information to be gained of the enemy’s movements and plans, by one who knows the roads, the cane-brakes and swamps, and has the courage to dare the British dragoons. This is the work that I have laid out for myself, father, in this fight. And this is the work, I think, that I can best do.”

“Tom!” The planter clasped his hand and threw one arm about him; “forgive me for what I have said. I might have known, my lad—I might have known.”

The whole of the long winter and spring passed; the British had all retreated to their ships; while the colonists were deeply absorbed in preparations for the defence of the city. Inland, parties of loyalists, or Tories, had risen and were slaying and burning, but their ravages were confined to a small district as yet. Jasper Harwood, Tom’s half-uncle, and his son Mark, were at the head of a band of these partisans, and they were carrying terror wherever they went. Moultrie sent small parties in pursuit, now and then; but these only served to check the outrages for a space; when the patriots once more returned to the city the slaying and burnings were at once renewed.

Tom did splendid service against these desperate bands. In company with Cole, his giant servant, he penetrated very frequently into their districts, and often gained information that saved both lives and property. During this time, Marion, now a major, was in command of the depot of supplies at Dorchester and it was with his small force that Tom was most frequently in touch. In this way he came to realize the genius and resolution of this small, kindly man with the burning, deep-set, black eyes; for at no time was he unready to spring into the saddle and dash at the head of his men to the rescue of some imperiled section; at no time was his invention at fault for a plan of onset or ambush.

But the constant rumors of the coming of a strong fleet to reinforce the Cherokee and Tamar caused Marion to ask for a change of post to Charleston, where he would be more actively engaged. This was granted him; he was once more appointed to the Second Regiment under Colonel Moultrie and stationed at Fort Sullivan, on the island of that name which stands at the entrance to Charleston harbor and within point-blank shot of the channel. Tom, during the long months at Dorchester had become devoted to Marion and this, together with the expectation of a battle, caused him to follow him to Fort Sullivan—or Fort Moultrie as it was then called, in honor of its commandant.

Tom helped to build the fort; for when he arrived there it was scarcely more than an outline. It was constructed of palmetto logs, a simple square, with a bastion at each angle, sufficient to cover a thousand men. The logs were laid one upon another in parallel rows, at a distance of sixteen feet, bound together with heavier timbers which were dovetailed and bolted into the logs. The work of constructing this fort was a good preparatory lesson for the great conflict that was to follow. Tom grew brown and tough and sinewy with the long days of labor in the sun; the wonderful strength of Cole, the dumb-slave, was a constant source of astonishment to both officers and men; to the amazement of all he would lift, unaided, a great piece of massy timber to crown an embrasure and set it in place, or, when horses were scarce, go down on the beach and drag the ponderous tree trunks from the water. At sight of the open-eyed astonishment of those about him he would throw back his head, his white teeth shining in two even rows, and laugh with the perfect glee of a child.