The helpless man was lifted back into a chair, where he sat erect with difficulty. Someone tied a rag around his scalp to staunch the fresh bleeding. After everyone had a drink together, Bostick continued, “Mr. Brown, we heard several days ago that you were heading our way, coming back from Charles Town, and we also had reports that you have been making false promises and threatening people to get them to support the Tory cause and to stamp out freedom. We planned to meet you across the river in South Carolina, but you arrived earlier than we expected. We came here tonight to welcome you back to Georgia. Our hope is that you will see the error of your ways, and we’re waiting to hear from you.”

There was a commotion at the door, and a large man entered the room. Brown had never seen him before, but knew who he was from many conversations that he had overheard during the last few months. Captain Elijah Clarke was about forty-five years old, impressive in size and demeanor, and obviously respected by Bostick and the other ruffians. Brown’s spirits lifted, as he anticipated Clarke’s bringing an end to this embarrassing charade.

Clarke looked around the room without speaking and then looked at Bostick, who began talking rapidly. “Captain, as you know, this here is Thomas Brown, who is a Tory spy for the governor of South Carolina but lives up near Kiokee Creek on a big plantation that he’s working with indentured slaves. Some of them complained about their treatment, and we went to see him up there last week, peaceable, just to ask him to understand how the folks around here was being hurt by folks like him and by the oppression of Parliament. Instead of listening to our message, he pulled out a pistol and shot at us, hitting me on my foot.”

There were some snickers from the other men, and Bostick silenced them with a frown and a threatening move of his hand.

Finally, Clarke spoke for the first time. “I already know of these activities and also know his farm manager. Mr. Brown, what have you got to say for yourself?”

After an uncomfortable silence, Brown finally decided to reply, “I am a Georgia citizen, a landowner living on a legal land grant from Governor James Wright. I am also a personal friend of Governor William Campbell, and I request that you release me immediately or take me to the legal authorities of this state.”

He was vaguely aware that he had misspoken and finally decided that it was the use of the word “request” instead of “demand.”

“Mr. Brown, you are lookin’ at the legal authority, a citizens’ jury, and you are accused of denyin’ justice, participatin’ in the abuse of the free and peaceful citizens of Georgia and South Carolina, and attackin’ one of your neighbors.”