“There we are,” said the boy. “Nobody will ever know that is there. The maize will soon grow over the spot, and it will never be noticed.”
They took up spade and mattock, and silently set off for the house; behind them still crouched Mark Harwood, an expression of malignant triumph upon his cold, sly face.
“It’s safe, is it, Tom Deering?” he muttered, below his breath. “That’s all you know about it. Sir Henry Clinton will soon be master of all about here, and father and I will be masters of the Deering plantation. Then we shall see if your chest of gold is safe, or no.” And with a low laugh, he shook his fist after the two retreating forms; then he turned and cut swiftly across the fields, for day was coming fast and it would not do for him to be observed.
CHAPTER V
HOW TOM JOINED MARION’S BRIGADE
Within a week after Tom had hidden his father’s four thousand pounds in the old well Charleston had capitulated, and the army of General Lincoln was in the hands of the British. The dragoons of Lieutenant-Colonel Tarleton overran the whole district between the city and the Cooper River; the patriot bands were broken up and scattered in every direction.
In spite of the peril Tom could scarcely bring himself to leave the city and its neighborhood. It seemed like deserting his task, like seeking safety for himself and leaving his father to his fate. “He may be on board one of those war-ships, Cole,” said he to the slave, as they sat in their saddles prepared to leave the plantation. “It cuts me to the heart to go; but to remain means certain capture, and as a prisoner I could, of course, do nothing. I’ll go,” and he held up his clinched hand as though making a vow, “but I’ll return again. I’ll never rest content till my father breathes free air again.”
For a time South Carolina seemed doomed; defeat followed defeat so rapidly that the hopes of the colonists were paralyzed, their spirits subdued. Moultrie, who might have led them, was a prisoner of war; Governor Rutledge had withdrawn to the North State to stir up the people, and win over recruits to the cause of liberty; even Sumpter, Horry and like bold spirits had to fly for their lives.
During the siege of Charleston, Francis Marion had lain with a broken leg in a little cabin far back in the swamps of the Santee district. Before the arrival of Clinton and his army, the little Huguenot had met with an accident which prevented his taking part in the defence of the city. Now, when Tarleton and his men, and the harsh troopers of Cornwallis, were scouring the country all about, he was still confined to his couch. He was too conspicuous a person, his military talents had been too well proven, for the enemy to have forgotten him. So his only safety was in hiding and watching and waiting for his hour to strike.
It was just the luck of Tom Deering and Cole, after escaping from Charleston, to be pushing through a cane-brake on their way north one afternoon when dusk was about to creep out of the east. The section was well known to the boy and his servant, for they had ridden over it many times in pursuit of Tories during the period after the victory at Sullivan’s Island. Suddenly a series of shots rang out, followed by a woman’s scream; with one accord our friends spurred forward, their powerful animals crashing through the growth in long, swift bounds. In a few moments they had gained a clearing, in the middle of which stood a small cabin. The figure of a man lay before the door and a sobbing woman bent over him. A riderless horse was cropping the grass near at hand and a British soldier, desperately wounded, sat propped against a stump. Two other troopers and a huge, red-faced officer—of high rank, judging from his uniform—sat their horses at the edge of the clearing. The troopers were loading their pieces; the officer was waving an empty holster pistol and shouting madly; two young men, hardly more than boys, were stationed behind trees, rapidly loading their long ducking guns, and facing the soldiers.
It required but a glance for Tom Deering to realize the situation; it was a patriot family attacked by a party of British. Instantly he called to Cole, and, without pausing, they rode at the dragoons. Each had a heavy cavalry sabre and a pair of large holster pistols; the sabres were drawn as they charged; their heavy, curved blades rose in the air, flashing in the waning light of day. They were upon the three Englishmen before the latter realized their presence; Cole’s great bay horse, in full career, struck against the lighter animal of one of the troopers and sent horse and man to the ground in a struggling heap. At the same instant one of the youths behind the trees near the cabin, having finished reloading his piece, fired; the other dragoon fell from his horse with a shattered shoulder. This left but the burly, red-faced officer still in the saddle, and without a moment’s hesitation Tom dashed at him, his sabre swinging for a cut.