The distance by water to this point was much shorter than by road; the skiff had lowered its sail and run its nose up on the sand before the dragoons reached the spot. Captain Deering was just about to hail the militia when there was a flash of red from amidst the green of the trees and Lord Campbell and his company came into view. So sudden was their appearance that the untrained militia would have been thrown into confusion at the bare sight of them had it not been for the sharp commands of their officers. They dressed ranks at the word and wheeled to face the dragoons. The latter had their weapons ready as they lined up on the verge of the woods; Lord Campbell, his face still dark with anger, rode forward toward a small group of officers who stood apart within easy hearing distance of where Tom stood at the water’s edge.
“What body of men is this?” demanded the governor.
An officer of commanding appearance stepped forward.
“It is the authorized force of the colony of South Carolina,” said he.
“Authorized!” Lord Campbell’s eyes blazed. “Authorized by whom?”
“By the Provincial Congress,” returned the officer.
“There is no power in the colony to collect armed bodies of men save my own—under the authority of the king. I command you all in the name of King George to lay down your arms and disperse!”
His angry glance swept along the gathered patriots before him; his burly frame was quivering with rage at the idea to their daring to assemble in defiance of his power and that of his royal master. But there was no movement to obey; he paused for a moment, and then in a voice choking with passion he inquired of the officers:
“Which of you is Mr. Moultrie?”
The question was greeted with dead silence. The governor’s face lit up with triumph; their leader was afraid to proclaim himself; it would be an easy task to put them down.