Fighting King George

by John T. McIntyre

The other papers contained names of persons and references to things that Tom did not understand; but a footnote upon one of them read:

“These may not seem very clear to you, but all will be explained later.”

For a long time Tom pondered over all this. Was it possible, after all, that some one had learned of his enterprise and was about to help him in the accomplishment of it? The person, whoever it was, must be high in the favor of the British; for such a passport as that which he held was not an easy thing to secure.

And then, again, it might be all a ruse; it might be a trap—a snare, set to catch him and those who rode with him. In a short time the others were awake and he placed the matter before them. To say that they were astonished would be putting it mildly. But, to a man, they thought it all right. Because, they argued, and Tom thought with reason, if it were the enemy who sent the papers, why did they trouble to do it? A squadron, surrounding the barn as they slept, would have been a safer and much more simple way of capturing them.

“If I were you I’d see it out,” said Nat Collins, decidedly.

“And I! and I!” cried the others.

Cole was the only one who seemed at all dubious; but as the white youths seemed to be so firm in their belief that everything was right, he said nothing; and when Tom told him to saddle Sultan he did so without a word.

“I’ll return some time to-morrow,” said the young scout as he settled himself in the saddle. “Natchez will take care of you all. Don’t expose yourselves to the view of any one coming along the road; but lay low. And now I’m away!” He shook the rein. “Good-bye, boys; good-bye, Cole.”

With this he set off at a sharp gallop toward the city. Darkness had come on some time before, but the road was excellent and he had no fear of accidents. As he drew close to the town a sentry halted him. But the passport of the Earl of Cornwallis met with an instant salute and he was allowed to proceed. This occurred several times; but always with the same result. And, at last, he rode into the city’s streets at about the hour of nine. It had been many long months since he had last been in Charleston; everything remained the same, however, except for the flaunting of the British flag which hung from every flagstaff, and the many redcoats to be seen on the streets, swaggering dragoons and stalwart grenadiers, who seemed to look with contempt upon the townsfolk, loyalist and patriot alike.

Tom put Sultan up at a neighboring hostelry, and then wandered about the city to pass the time between that and the hour at which he was to meet the guide who was to lead him to the person who had sent the papers. He had his sabre strapped to his side and carried a heavy pistol in his breast; people would frequently stop and look after him as he passed, his hunting-shirt, worn leather leggings and the rest of his attire attracting their attention. Quite often a dragoon, or foot soldier would pause and stare into his face rudely as though they had seen his like before and had their suspicions of him; but his steady eyes and confident bearing drove from their minds any intention they may have had of stopping him.