They clambered into the skiff; Cole shoved the boat clear of the wharf and hauled up the sail. A few strokes of the paddle brought her out into the stream, Uncle Dick threw her into the wind, and away she raced up the river. The dragoons could still be seen proceeding at their sharp pace along the river road; the black, lowering figure still rode in the midst of them, his hand still upon the hilt of his sword. “It’s good,” said Tom, “that there is a ridge between the road and the river, just above there; otherwise they’d see the boats, and maybe would try to scatter them and so break up the attempt on the fort.” Captain Deering smiled. “Moultrie is nearer than you think for, nevvy,” said he. “A whistle from one of my fellows there on shore would bring a hundred men to the boats in five minutes.” The skiff turned a wooded headland at this moment. “Look there; what did I tell you?” Upon a smooth piece of ground, which the trees had hidden until they rounded the headland, was gathered the slender force of South Carolina; an awkward-looking body of men, poorly armed, and with a total lack of soldierly appearance. They were mostly planters, woodsmen and artisans who had volunteered for service to their country, without hope of pay. They wore their ordinary dress, though here and there there was an attempt at military smartness; their weapons were fowling-pieces, cutlasses, axes and the plunder of the town arsenal. They were drawn up in order and their officers were putting them through a drill. The distance by water to this point was much shorter than by road; the skiff had lowered its sail and run its nose up on the sand before the dragoons reached the spot. Captain Deering was just about to hail the militia when there was a flash of red from amidst the green of the trees and Lord Campbell and his company came into view. So sudden was their appearance that the untrained militia would have been thrown into confusion at the bare sight of them had it not been for the sharp commands of their officers. They dressed ranks at the word and wheeled to face the dragoons. The latter had their weapons ready as they lined up on the verge of the woods; Lord Campbell, his face still dark with anger, rode forward toward a small group of officers who stood apart within easy hearing distance of where Tom stood at the water’s edge. “What body of men is this?” demanded the governor. An officer of commanding appearance stepped forward. “It is the authorized force of the colony of South Carolina,” said he. “Authorized!” Lord Campbell’s eyes blazed. “Authorized by whom?” “By the Provincial Congress,” returned the officer. “There is no power in the colony to collect armed bodies of men save my own--under the authority of the king. I command you all in the name of King George to lay down your arms and disperse!”