Tom entered the captured town with the victorious general and his officers. He stood upon a broken quay, with Cole, looking about at the wreck which the American gunnery had made, a feeling of sadness mingling with the joy of the triumph. Suddenly Cole’s strange cry sounded, and gazing in the direction which the giant’s finger pointed he saw the Defence, like a great bird with snowy, outstretched wings, come scudding up the river. The schooner had hardly lowered her sails and plunged her anchor into the waters when the two, having pulled out in a bateau, were upon her decks. “Keel haul me, Phil,” cried the voice of Captain Deering, “it’s Tom. It’s Tom! Your son!” “Father!” cried the youth. “Father! Where are you?” He had not caught sight of the man leaning against the mizzen mast, but who now turned and sprang toward him. “Tom, my boy,” it was his father’s voice, the same old voice whose kind ring he had not heard for these long, long years. And in a moment they were locked in each other’s arms. After greetings, delighted exclamations and hugs had been indulged in, the planter explained his presence on the Defence. “When Lord Cornwallis surrendered to Washington the British ships struck their colors to Admiral de Grasse. And as the Benbow on which I was a prisoner happened to be one of them----” “And as I,” interrupted Captain Deering, “heard that she had prisoners aboard her, I got the French admiral’s permission to search her well, in the hope that what has happened would happen.” He clapped the planter on the back. “And here he is, Tom, back again; a little pale and somewhat the worse for wear, but not beyond mending by any means.” They spent several hours comparing notes and relating their personal experiences. The planter’s eyes glowed as Tom told some of his adventures. He had not had the opportunity to serve his country, but he felt that his brave boy had done enough for both. “The war will not last much longer,” said Tom, at length. “This is a blow from which the enemy can hardly recover.” “I think you’re right, lad,” spoke Captain Deering; “the men who do the talking will now take the place of those who do the fighting. Peace is not far off.” * * * * * They were right; but peace did not come immediately. Greene, Marion, Sumpter and Pinckney were still to strike swift, crushing blows in Carolina. Five days after the fall of Yorktown, Sir Henry Clinton arrived in the Chesapeake with 7,000 men; but, learning that Cornwallis had surrendered, he hastily retreated.