“But she is nowhere in sight,” said Moultrie, sweeping the harbor with his glass.
Tom stepped forward, his hand at the salute.
“Well,” demanded the colonel.
“I saw the Defence chased into Stone Gap Creek awhile ago,” stated the lad eagerly. “She is safe, though, for see,” and he pointed shoreward, “there are her topmasts above the trees.”
“Good,” exclaimed Marion, his face lighting up.
“But how can we reach her? The enemy’s vessels will not allow her to come out,” said the colonel.
“We can go to her,” ventured Tom, hesitatingly, for it seemed presumptuous for him to offer a suggestion to his commander. “The Tartar is lying under the guns of the fort. We could reach the Defence in her. The British could not follow us up the creek; they draw too much water.”
The ammunition that remained on board the Tartar, save a few rounds, Tom’s father gladly gave up to Colonel Moultrie, and a few guns resumed service from the fort, but firing slowly. Under mainsail and jib the gallant little sloop then stood out, in the teeth of the British, heading for the creek where the Defence was lying. Major Marion, Tom Deering and Cole stood upon her deck, watching a brig-of-war which had just started to head them off.
“She’s a fast sailer,” said Mr. Deering, a shade passing over his face, after he had watched the quality of their pursuer for a few moments.
“Do you think she can overhaul us?” asked Major Marion.