The legion of Tarleton and a strong force under Major Wemyss were set in motion to beat him out of his retreats in the cane-brakes and swamps. It was Cornwallis’ intention to have these forces cooperate, but Tarleton was delayed and Wemyss would not wait for him.
Through his young scout Marion was kept posted as to the movements of the advancing enemy.
“Major Wemyss is in command of the Sixty-third Regiment,” reported Tom, “and he has with him, also, a large party of Tories, under Clarage.”
“Very good,” said Colonel Marion, briefly. “We must prepare to give them the reception that is due them.”
Major James, a gallant and skilful officer, was summoned and despatched with a select body of volunteers to reconnoitre. All the outposts were called in and, thus united, Marion followed swiftly upon the footsteps of James.
Accompanying the latter was Tom, Cole, and Nat and David Collins. They pushed quickly forward among the morasses and sunk-land, under the great trees hanging with moss and a rank growth of creepers; and at last Major James gave the word to halt.
“Deering,” said he to Tom, “ride carefully forward. I fancy we are about to come in touch with the enemy. Take a few of the men with you.”
Tom selected Cole, of course, and the two Collinses. They rode slowly forward, in Indian file, along a narrow road between two impassable morasses, alert and cautious, never for a moment forgetting that they were in the neighborhood of the British.
“I hear,” said Nat Collins, who rode at Tom’s side, “that Clarage took some prisoners north of this place.”
“Prisoners!” the word always had a peculiar interest for Tom; it set him thinking of his father, so long in the hands of the British—made him long for a sight of him again.