t the fort, and straightway captured
Charleston. Sir Peter, however, was slow, and felt sure of success.
For over three weeks he delayed the attack, thus giving the patriots
more time for completing their defenses.

Friday morning, June 28, was hot, but bright and beautiful. Early in
the day, Colonel Moultrie rode to the northern end of the island to
see Colonel Thompson. The latter had charge of a little fort manned
by sharpshooters, and it was his duty to prevent Clinton's troops
from getting across the inlet.

Suddenly the men-of-war begin to spread their topsails and raise
their anchors. The tide is coming in. {42} The wind is fair. One
after another, the war ships get under way and come proudly up the
harbor, under full sail. The all-important moment of Moultrie's life
is at hand. He puts spurs to his horse and gallops back to the
palmetto fort.

"Beat the long roll!" he shouts to his officers, Colonel Motte and
Captain Marion.

The drums beat, and each man hurries to his chosen place beside the
cannon. The supreme test for the little cob-house fort has come. The
men shout, as a blue flag with a crescent, the colors of South
Carolina, is flung to the breeze.

Just as a year before, the people of Boston crowded the roofs and the
belfries, to watch the outcome of Bunker Hill; so now, the old men
and the women and children of Charleston cluster on the wharves, the
church towers, and the roofs, all that hot day, to watch the duel
between the palmetto fort and the British fleet.

Sir Peter Parker has a powerful fleet. He is ready to do his work.
Two of his ships carry fifty guns each, and four carry twenty-eight
guns each. With a strong flood tide and a favorable southwest wind,
the stately men-of-war sweep gracefully to their positions.
Moultrie's fighting blood is up, and his dark eyes flash with
delight. The men of South Carolina, eager to fight for their homes,
train their cannon upon the war ships.

"Fire! fire!" shouts Moultrie, as the men-of-war come within
point-blank shot. The low palmetto cob house begins to thunder with
its heavy guns.

{43} A bomb vessel casts anchor about a mile from the fort. Puff!
bang! a thirteen-inch shell rises in the air with a fine curve and
falls into the fort. It bursts and hurls up cart loads of sand, but
hurts nobody. Four of the largest war ships are now within easy
range. Down go the anchors, with spring ropes fastened to the cables,
to keep the vessels broadside to