But Tom, to his father’s surprise, refused to join him. “Is it possible, Tom,” demanded he, sternly, on the morning upon which he formally took charge of the sloop as an officer of the colony, “that you have suddenly grown faint-hearted?” “Faint-hearted! I!” Tom looked at his father reproachfully. “You don’t think that, father, surely! Have I not done some service, already, for the cause of liberty?--not much, of course, but still, enough to prove that I am ready to go to any length against oppression.” “You have done some things,” said Mr. Deering, his eyes alight with pride, “that have made me thank the good God who had given me such a son. But,” and his face grew grave once more, “it seems strange that you will not enter the service of the colony, now that she needs you.” “I have thought the matter over very carefully,” answered Tom, “and have concluded that I shall be better as I am.” “Tom!” his father’s face grew white. “What do you mean?” “If I enlist,” returned Tom, “I shall be forced to march in the ranks and obey orders. If I remain free, I can do as I will; and by so doing I can render much more effective service. Those despatches which I captured are not the only ones that will be carried through the outlying districts under the cover of night; there is information to be gained of the enemy’s movements and plans, by one who knows the roads, the cane-brakes and swamps, and has the courage to dare the British dragoons. This is the work that I have laid out for myself, father, in this fight. And this is the work, I think, that I can best do.” “Tom!” The planter clasped his hand and threw one arm about him; “forgive me for what I have said. I might have known, my lad--I might have known.” The whole of the long winter and spring passed; the British had all retreated to their ships; while the colonists were deeply absorbed in preparations for the defence of the city. Inland, parties of loyalists, or Tories, had risen and were slaying and burning, but their ravages were confined to a small district as yet. Jasper Harwood, Tom’s half-uncle, and his son Mark, were at the head of a band of these partisans, and they were carrying terror wherever they went. Moultrie sent small parties in pursuit, now and then; but these only served to check the outrages for a space; when the patriots once more returned to the city the slaying and burnings were at once renewed.