I had supposed that my guide knew some unguarded spot along the edge of the great forest beside which the camp had been pitched, and would slip out unnoticed there. But instead he led me straight down to the picket who held the outpost on the road leading up to Charleston. To his per-emptory challenge he answered: “Friendly,” and at the command gave the countersign: “King George.”

“It’s all right, Captain Aylesworth,” the man said. “I recognized you at once, but I had to obey orders. I was told to let no one in or out of the camp without the password.”

“And by it proved you were a good soldier,” the supposed captain replied pleasantly. “This is the other attendant I told you I had returned for. I find the special business I am on needs another helper. I will vouch for him.”

So I was allowed to pass with the officer, and in a few minutes we were beyond the reach of a recall.

“Tell me now, Lieutenant Haines, how you came to be here, and arranged so successfully the plan that has given me my liberty,” I said.

“Not yet, Master Dunn,” he replied, turning into a side path which led towards the sea. “Wait until we are safe in my boat.”

A half mile farther on we came out upon a small creek. A shrill whistle from the lieutenant brought an answering whistle from down the stream, and in a moment his yawl came up to the bank. As it reached us the boatswain flashed out a dark lantern, and I noticed the craft held two prisoners—one dressed in the lieutenant’s garb, and the other wrapped in a blanket.

“Captain Aylesworth,” my conductor now said, addressing the officer, “your uniform and that of your attendant have served my purpose well, and my friend, as you see, is with me. We will now exchange our clothing, and you and he are at liberty to return to your camp.”

The Englishman bowed stiffly, and without a word resumed his own uniform. The soldier as quickly donned the garments I gave him, and then the two hurried away by the path down which the lieutenant and I had so recently come.

We did not stop to watch them, but, stepping into the yawl, glided rapidly down the creek to its mouth. Once out on the ocean our bow was turned to the north, and as twelve strong arms pulled us along, Lieutenant Haines told his story:

“When your boat, under the impetus of your vigorous kick, glided away from John’s Island, it was the intention of your boatswain to put in somewhere along the main shore, and still keep watch of the movements of the British army. But the sufferings of the injured sailor led him to change his plan, and he decided to return immediately to the frigate.

“He arrived there in the morning, and his report of your capture filled your captain with consternation.

“‘The lad will give his right name,’ he said, ‘and they’ll recognize him as a runaway from the Saint George and likely as not will hang him; or else they will regard him as a spy, though he was not caught within their lines, and string him up to the nearest tree. We must act quickly, or we cannot save him.’

“So he took the boatswain and came right over to the Providence to see the Commodore. I was present at the interview, and assure you that Master Lewis gave a glowing account of how you discovered the prying Tory, learned his purpose, and planned to thwart it. He grew even more enthusiastic when he related how you would not leave your injured man, or allow him to be the last one on the boat, and, though captured yourself, pushed him and his comrades out of the reach of the enemy.”

“Did he tell you what a fool I was to make my second camp at the head of the island?” I interrupted. “If I had only gone over to the main shore, as I should have done, I should not have made such a mess of the affair as I did.”

“Your movement was a perfectly natural one, and such as I should have made had I been there,” he returned warmly; “and, though the enemy did come upon you in such overwhelming numbers, and surrounded you on every side, you would have escaped but for the accident to your man—a thing you could not help. That’s my view of the matter, and also the Commodore’s for he said:

“‘A lad who can stand by his men like that, Captain Tucker, has the making of a hero in him. He’s worth saving;’ and then he turned to me:

“‘Lieutenant Haines,’ he said, ‘get ready your boat and return to the British encampment. Seek an interview under a flag of truce with the British general. If you find he intends to hang the boy, assure him that I shall hang two British officers in his place, one of whom is his own nephew. If he is willing to make an exchange, tell him I will give him two men of equal rank for the lad, or one of superior rank—his nephew, if he wishes. We’ll let him know he cannot treat his young prisoner lightly.’

“In fifteen minutes I was off. The British troops, as you know, had moved up this way, and I reached them during their noon halt. Taking two of my men with me under a flag of truce, I asked for an interview with the commander. It was granted me, but I was never more coldly received. To my proposition for an exchange the general said haughtily:

“‘Tell your commander I would not exchange the midshipman for himself.’

“To my threat he answered with a cruel laugh:

“‘I know who my prisoner is, and why you are making such an effort to secure his release. Twice he has escaped our hands, but he shall not again. I want the satisfaction of seeing him hung, and hang he shall, though your commander strings up a dozen men in his place.’

“Of course, I knew nothing more could be done with so obdurate an officer, and left the camp. But right here let me say if you ever again fall into the hands of the enemy, don’t give your right name. There seems to be a general order out for your apprehension, in both the army and navy.”

“I know it,” I assented, “and for that reason I appreciate all the more what you have done for me, Lieutenant Haines. But how did that come about?”

“In the simplest way,” he continued. “Though I left the camp, I did not leave the vicinity of the army. Going back to my boat, I kept along the shore, moving about as rapidly as the troops did, and when they stopped for the night, I ran into that creek where we found my boat. Again, taking two men with me, I went up near to the outposts, looking for an opportunity to rescue you. I was all the more determined to do this because the General had declared you should not escape again.

“Well, the opportunity came sooner and in a better way than I had anticipated. While my men and I were lying in a thicket waiting for the darkness to fall, we heard voices. Soon two men came up the road, and I heard one say:

“‘You are sure, Tom, that you know the way?’

“‘Never fear about that, Captain Aylesworth,’ the other replied. ‘I can take you to Colonel Nutter’s plantation on the darkest night. It isn’t over two miles from here, and we’ll be there in time for you to take supper with his family.’

“I am, as you may know, a South Carolinian, and at once recognized the name of Colonel Nutter as that of a rank Tory and a leader of the Tory forces in this part of the colony. Doubtless he was a personal friend of this Captain Aylesworth, who, finding himself near his residence, was going to make him a visit.

“No sooner had I thought of this when there flashed into my brain a plan by which I was certain I could secure your liberty. Motioning my men to follow me, I kept on the trail of the two men until we were well away from the camp. Then we sprang upon them. Taken by surprise, we had no trouble in effecting their capture, and bringing them down to my boat.

“There I made the captain change uniforms with me, and took that of the soldier along for your use when I should find you. Then I returned to the lines. As soon as it was dark enough to conceal my face, I approached the nearest guard, with some misgiving I admit, yet determined in some way to pass him. When he challenged me, I replied:

“‘I am Captain Aylesworth, who passed you an hour or two ago.’

“‘I remember,’ he answered, ‘but you had a man with you then.’

“‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘and I’ve got to have another, and so have returned for him.’

“He allowed me to pass, but I was not a dozen feet away when he called out abruptly:

“‘The password, sir. You’ll have to give that.’

“Here was a poser. I did not know what it was, but I did not want to go back, so I started to parley with him.

“‘King George hasn’t a more loyal supporter,’ I began to say but had only uttered the first two words, when to my delight he exclaimed:

“‘That’s it, sir; you may go on,’ and on I went.

“It took some time to locate the tent you were in, and the half dozen men about it did not look very promising for your release. But again bold effrontery served me well. Walking straight up to the guard at the door, I told him the General desired another interview with you, and had sent me to conduct you to him. The uniform I wore was his assurance that my demand was genuine, and I was admitted to your presence. I am now wondering what the General will say when he finds you are gone,” and he finished his tale with a chuckle.

“It is useless for me to thank you for what you have done for me tonight,” I began.

“That is what I think,” he responded with a laugh, “so I wouldn’t say anything about it.” Then he added with intense feeling: “Arthur Dunn, the red-coats have burned my home over the heads of my aged father and mother; they have slain my only brother—a lad of your age, and of whom you remind me. In return for this, I have sworn that I will do them all the injury I can. I know of nothing that will provoke the British authorities more than your escape, and that is all the compensation I need.”

It was not yet midnight, and before the sun rose I was again on board the Boston. As I went over the rail, my own watch was in charge of the deck, and at sight of me they broke into three rousing cheers. The noise awakened Captain Tucker, and learning the cause of it, he sent for me. No father could have greeted me more warmly, and almost his first words were those Lieutenant Haines had spoken a few hours earlier:

“If you again fall into the hands of the enemy, don’t give your right name,” a bit of advice I had already made up my mind to follow.

At the close of the following day the British forces arrived at Wappoo Creek, near James Island, and south of the Ashley River. Here they began to throw up entrenchments and prepare themselves for a siege. Their naval forces at the same time drew a little nearer the inner harbor, and formed a line across its entrance so as to blockade it. They also took possession of Beacon House Light, and put a small force within it, and a frigate a few fathoms off shore to protect it with her cannon. These movements were a part of the spiral which during the next two months they wove about the town and which eventually hemmed it in.

From this time also there was continual activity on land and water between our forces—now and then a pitched battle, more often a skirmishing, frequently a naval duel, constantly an endeavor on their part to advance, and no less constantly an effort on our part to check them or to drive them back.

I shall write only of those incidents of which I was a part. Possibly through Lieutenant Haines, who seemed to have taken a great interest in me, I shared in some of the more dangerous undertakings, but I would by no means have the reader think we were the only ones who were doing anything. The fact is that every man on land or sea was in service—every soldier and every sailor was instant in season and out of season during the days and nights that now followed. I did not hear of a single shirker, nor do I know of a case where anyone in those days tried to favor himself. If there was ever an army of heroes, the men under General Lincoln deserved that title. If there was ever a gallant naval force, the officers and crews of our ships won the appellation over and over again. The story never has been told—nor can it ever be told—of what was endured and suffered and done by that little army and smaller navy in their efforts to save the town.

Scarcely had the British ships moved up the outer harbor when Lieutenant Haines paid me a visit. When we were alone in my mess-room, he said in a low tone:

“Master Dunn, are you ready to go with me on what may prove a perilous undertaking?”

“Yes,” I answered promptly, and waited for him to make such disclosures as seemed wisest to him.

He smiled. “Your promptness does you credit,” he continued, “but let me first tell you the nature of my mission. The enemy have, as you know, captured Beacon House Light, and the Commodore has learned there was a special reason for it. Some Tory friend has furnished the British admiral with a chart of the harbor—its channels and its courses—the Beacon Light serving as a center from which they take all their bearings. If the Light can be destroyed now, their drawing, if not rendered entirely useless, will at least not be so serviceable, and so Commodore Whipple has asked me to undertake its destruction. I have consented, and on the first favorable night shall make the attempt. I shall take fifteen men with me, and, if you are ready to accompany me, will ask you to take the same number.”

“I am as ready to go now as I was before you told me what we were to do,” I declared.

Again he smiled. “I expected it, and yet let me state wherein our peril lies. First, we must have a dark, stormy night for the enterprise or else we cannot get through the British fleet, and we run the risk which naturally comes to open boats in a raging sea. Then, should we pass the fleet and overpower the men in the Light and succeed in destroying it, we shall have an aroused enemy to escape on our return. I regard it as about an even chance for us to go down to the Light undiscovered; but to come back in safety the odds are all against us.”

“Still I shall go,” I asserted unhesitatingly.

“Commodore Whipple will speak to Captain Tucker, asking that you be assigned to this work, and I will then give you further details of my plan,” the lieutenant added as he arose to depart.

Two days later there came a storm from the south-east. Before sundown the rain poured in torrents, and the wind blew in great gusts. As night came on it became so dark one could not see a boat’s length away. It was the favorable time for which we had been waiting, and I was not surprised to receive word from Lieutenant Haines to be ready to start at eight o’clock.

When the hour came I was in the ship’s cutter with my men awaiting the signal from the Providence. My oars were muffled, and a dark lantern was so arranged as to throw light only on the compass by which I was to steer. Almost immediately the signal came—a light flashed three times over the schooner’s rail. I knew that at that instant the lieutenant left her side, but I could not make out his boat. It mattered little, however; for by pre-arrangement, we were to run through the British fleet in different courses, and, if the passage was successful, were to meet at a little cove just north of the Light. If one boat failed, the other was to carry out the assigned task. So I gave the command to my crew:

“Pull away, lads!”

The next minute we dashed away through the rain and against the wind and tide upon our perilous passage.