Despite the boy’s protests, his father remained firm; so with a heavy heart Tom climbed into the boat with Marion. Cole would have remained behind with his master; but the planter, who recognized the great attachment of the giant black to his son, and saw how valuable he would be during these dangerous times, promptly ordered him, also, into the yawl.
They were just pulling into Stone Gap when a small boat with an armed crew left the British brig and pulled for the wrecked Tartar. So it happened that Roger Deering was one of the first prisoners of war taken in Carolina.
Apparently the British skipper did not realize the significance of the sloop’s errand; for after taking her crew from her she set fire to the hull and sailed back to rejoin the other vessels in the line of battle.
An hour later the Defence crept out of Stone Gap Creek and headed for Fort Moultrie. She was a swift sailer, and the old salt who commanded her knew how to make her do her best. So, in spite of pursuit and flying shot, she anchored under the guns of the fort and quickly transferred her powder. The British, during the protracted lull in the fort’s fire, had drawn closer; but now, under the brisk and accurate cannonade they withdrew again to their first position. The fight then continued, hotter than ever; shortly afterward the fort received another supply of powder from the city, which did much to encourage the defenders.
The cheers, however, that greeted the arrival of the ammunition had scarcely died away when a distant roar of voices raised in exultation came from the British fleet.
“Look; the flag,” cried some one.
A solid shot from one of the flag-ship’s heavy guns had carried away the flag and it fell, fluttering like a wounded bird, outside the walls of the fort. In an instant Tom Deering, who was once more helping to serve the gun, threw his rammer to Cole and leaped upon the wall. A storm of canister swept about him and a hundred voices shouted for him to return; but, without hesitation he leaped to the sandy beach below, between the ramparts and the enemy, seized the fallen colors, stuffed them into his bosom and then with the help of the mighty, outstretched arm of Cole, scrambled back inside.
Again the flag was run up to the top of the staff, by means of fresh halyards; the sight of it seemed to give the colonists renewed courage, for they turned to the conflict with a resolution that was unconquerable. The British ships were fast becoming mere wrecks, so seeing that a continuation of the combat would be mere folly, the signal flags were flown at the masthead of Commodore Parker’s vessel to cease firing. Ten minutes afterward a fleet of ships, with sails hanging from the rigging in shot-rent rags, and with hulls battered, leaking and torn with canister, ran out of Charleston harbor in disorder.
“They carry your father with them, a prisoner,” said Major Marion, to Tom Deering, as they leaned, watching, upon a hot gun.
“But they shall not keep him,” cried the lad, “to die in their prison hulks! He shall be free! I am only a boy; but the whole British navy shall not keep me from him. It may be a month, a year, or even more, but he shall be free in spite of all the fleets and armies they can send!”