“There is no question about it,” returned the planter, “if she is given time enough. But the distance to the creek is short; we may reach there. Then, with the help of the Defence, we can fight her off on the return run.” The Tartar had arrived within hailing distance of the mouth of the creek, when the brig suddenly discharged a lucky shot from a long bow gun that splintered the sloop’s mast and left her lying a helpless hulk upon the waters. “It’s all over,” said Marion, quietly. “The boat remains,” said Mr. Deering. “Quick. You have still time to gain the Defence.” “And you, father?” said Tom. “I remain with the sloop,” answered the planter. “But you will be taken prisoner!” “I will not leave my crew,” said his father, firmly. “There is not room for us all in the single yawl.” “Then I will remain, also,” said Tom. “You will join Major Marion in the boat,” commanded the planter, evenly. “Carolina has need of all her youth. It would be a needless sacrifice for you to throw yourself into the hands of her enemies.” Despite the boy’s protests, his father remained firm; so with a heavy heart Tom climbed into the boat with Marion. Cole would have remained behind with his master; but the planter, who recognized the great attachment of the giant black to his son, and saw how valuable he would be during these dangerous times, promptly ordered him, also, into the yawl. They were just pulling into Stone Gap when a small boat with an armed crew left the British brig and pulled for the wrecked Tartar. So it happened that Roger Deering was one of the first prisoners of war taken in Carolina. Apparently the British skipper did not realize the significance of the sloop’s errand; for after taking her crew from her she set fire to the hull and sailed back to rejoin the other vessels in the line of battle. An hour later the Defence crept out of Stone Gap Creek and headed for Fort Moultrie. She was a swift sailer, and the old salt who commanded her knew how to make her do her best. So, in spite of pursuit and flying shot, she anchored under the guns of the fort and quickly transferred her powder. The British, during the protracted lull in the fort’s fire, had drawn closer; but now, under the brisk and accurate cannonade they withdrew again to their first position. The fight then continued, hotter than ever; shortly afterward the fort received another supply of powder from the city, which did much to encourage the defenders. The cheers, however, that greeted the arrival of the ammunition had scarcely died away when a distant roar of voices raised in exultation came from the British fleet. “Look; the flag,” cried some one.