Little Warrior: Boy Patriot of Georgia (Patriot Kids of the American Revolution Series Book 2)

by Geoff Baggett

  Three beaming faces shined in the rear opening of the wagon. The little Hammock boys all extended their hands through the opening, shouting, “Goodbye, Grandmother! Goodbye, Grandfather!”

  Lewis turned on his horse and waved once, and then turned his attention back to the road before him. He needed to keep his eyes open for Indians and bandits, after all! He had big responsibilities on this dangerous trek.

  Edward and Abigail Jackson stood in the muddy, rutted road and held one another, weeping openly as they watched Lewis and his horse disappear around the bend in the road.

  Sadly, like Grandpa Jackson predicted, it really was the last time that they would ever see their daughter, Milly, and her family.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SWAMPS, RIVERS, AND BIG CITIES

  Three days later the Hammock family located a camp along the King’s Highway that was said to be occupied by other families who were traveling south to Georgia. There were three wagons in the small field. They headed toward a young couple camped beside the nearest wagon. The man was pouring water over the ashes of his campfire. The young woman, who looked to be no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, cradled a baby in her arms.

  Lewis walked over with his father to meet them.

  Robert spoke first. “Good morning! Are you folks preparing to head south?”

  The young man nodded. “That we are, sir. Headed for Georgia to claim a farm on some of that new Indian land.”

  “As are we,” responded Robert. He motioned toward the other two wagons in the field. “And the others?”

  “They are Georgia-bound, as well. We are all set to leave within the hour.”

  “Good.” Robert dismounted his horse and walked over to the young man. They shook hands. “My name is Robert Hammock. This is my eldest son, Lewis.”

  “I’m Christopher Chandler. This is my wife, Esther.”

  Robert tipped his hat to the woman, as did Lewis. “Madam, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Lewis mumbled, “Ma’am.”

  Robert asked Mr. Chandler, “Would you good folks mind if our family joined up with your group? We believe that there is greater safety in numbers on the King’s Highway.”

  “As do we, Mr. Hammock. You are most welcome to join us.” The young man glanced over Robert’s shoulder at the hammock wagon. “Is that your slave?”

  “Yes. His name is Frank. My grandfather gave him to me when he was a small boy. I raised him in my home with my own children. He is a trusted servant and friend. Why do you ask? Is it a problem?”

  “No, Mr. Hammock. No problem. I’ve just not had much exposure to the whole slavery business. I’ve not been around a lot of slaves.”

  “Well, Mr. Chandler —”

  “Call me Chris.”

  “Well … Chris … I’m not really an advocate of slavery, either. I simply inherited Frank. He is an excellent horseman and hunter, and is quite skilled with both musket and pistol. He will be an asset on this journey, I can assure you.”

  Chris grinned in response. “Of that I have no doubt. Why don’t you let me introduce you to the other families? We should be ready to move out in just a short while.”

  “Sounds good,” responded Robert.

  A half-hour later, after all of the introductions were made, the small convoy of wagons eased onto the rutted King’s Highway and headed southward. Robert agreed that his family would take the lead of their tiny wagon train. He and Lewis led the convoy on horseback. Chris Chandler’s wagon brought up the rear of the column.

  By noontime the appearance of the land began to change. The low crop land soon gave way to swamps and bogs. The road narrowed significantly as thick trees and vines crept in upon its edges. The air became filled with a rich, sweet stench of water and decay. Soon black, stagnant water came right up to the left side of the slightly elevated roadway. Huge cypress trees with knobby roots grew straight and tall out of the water.

  Then hordes of mosquitoes descended upon them. The bugs swarmed in huge, buzzing, stinging clouds. The travelers were on the edge of a huge swamp.

  Lewis slapped at the bugs that coated his skin. Mosquitoes were flying up his nose and into his mouth. He accidentally swallowed a mouthful of them! The most annoying and painful ones flew down deep into his ear, stinging him on the inside. It was absolutely unbearable.

  “Papa!” he exclaimed. “I cannot stand all of these bugs! How are we ever going to survive this?”

  “I know it’s bad, son. It can’t last forever. I’m going to check on your mother and the little ones.”

  Robert slowed his horse and pulled back beside the wagon.

  “Is everyone all right?” he asked.

  Milly exhaled in frustration as she swatted the air in front of her face. “We’re being eaten alive by these horrid bugs, Robert. What is this place?”

  “My dear, this is what is known as the Great Dismal Swamp.”

  “Goodness, that sounds horrible! How far does it go?”

  “We travel along the western border of it for about forty miles. You’d better get used to it for now. We are going to be near this swamp for a couple of days. We’ll have to make camp beside it tonight.”

  The loud moans and wails of his other sons emanated from beneath the cover of the wagon.

  Milly shook her head. “I don’t know if I can stand being feasted upon by these bugs for two whole days.”

  “We’ll see if we can do something to help chase them away once we make camp. Just try to keep the children covered up as much as possible. We don’t want them getting swamp fever.”

  So the group trudged along, moving at a steady and deliberate pace. The road meandered away from the swamp, itself, but the air remained musty and humid. There was no escaping the humidity or the bugs. The road crossed several small creeks, requiring crossings at shallow fords.

  Camp that first night, so close to the insect-infestedswamp, was nothing short of miserable. The families brought their wagons in close and built several smoky fires in an attempt to drive the biting insects away. The mothers vigorously rubbed the skin of their children with a protective layer of soot and mud, but it had precious little affect upon the insect attack that descended upon them after the sun went down. The bugs attacked without mercy throughout the night.

  Lewis buried himself beneath his wool blanket, but the heat was unbearable. He tried to cover all of his skin that he could and only leave his mouth exposed so that he could breathe, but the mosquitoes bit him on his lips. He barely slept at all.

  The men finally gave up and roused their families two hours before dawn. They ate a cold breakfast, and proceeded southward as quickly as possible.

  It was noon when they finally made their way clear of the worst of the swamplands. The little convoy rolled into the North Carolina village of Edenton shortly before nightfall. After a few inquiries Robert located a bath house and a place to board his family for the night. The other families in the convoy sought similar comforts.

  The woman who operated the tavern and boarding house even had a soothing local remedy for the bug bites. It was an herbal medicine that Robert had never heard of. It worked wonders. Robert did not bother to inquire about its ingredients. He was just glad that it seemed to ease the itching.

  The next morning Robert splurged and bought his family a hot meal at a small tavern. Afterward they felt thoroughly rejuvenated and refreshed for the journey.

  The four families met south of town at noon and continued their journey toward Georgia. They steadily made their way across the rivers and streams and through the fields, hamlets, and villages of North Carolina.

  One week after their departure from Edenton the weary travelers forded the Neuse River and rode into the port city of New Bern, North Carolina’s colonial capital.

  New Bern was, by far, the most beautiful, modern, and wealthy place that Robert had ever seen. Red-coated British troops were everywhere. Hundreds of them marched in the streets and populated camps just outside the city.


  The amazing display of wealth in New Bern was a major shock for the Virginians. The women and children of the group stared at the spectacle with their mouths wide open. Robert was overwhelmed.

  Lewis broke the strange silence, “I’ve never seen anything like this, Papa. Do all the people down here in the Carolinas live so fancy like this?”

  Robert chuckled, “No, son. This place is definitely not normal. It is New Bern, a port city and the British capital of North Carolina. Money flows in and out of this town like a mighty river. So don’t get too used to what you’re seeing. Georgia won’t be anything like this at all, I assure you.”

  “I didn’t think so,” responded Lewis. He was glad. The city seemed very odd to him. He was anxious to get back out into the countryside. After all, there were no dangerous Indians or bandits in the city!

  Milly’s voice called from the wagon behind them, “Robert, can we stay here in New Bern for a while? We haven’t seen a bed or a bath in over a week now. It would be wonderful to wash off this swamp grime and river mud. Your children are beginning to stink!”

  “Yes, my love. I quite agree that some hot water and a dry bed would be nice. Let me check with the others and see what their plans are.”

  Robert guided his horse back along the short convoy to collaborate with the other three families. The Englers, Germans from Pennsylvania, were a bit reluctant to stop. However, they finally agreed that one day of rest would be good for the entire group. The men agreed to stay in New Bern for two nights. Soon each family headed off in their separate directions in search of lodging.

  Robert and Lewis easily located a nice tavern with two second-floor boarding rooms available. While Frank secured their wagons and mounts at a nearby livery, Robert paid for both available rooms for his family and then took the entire brood a half-block east to find a laundry and bath house. He had to make special arrangements for Frank, but that only took a couple of extra shillings. Frank bathed at a nearby outdoor establishment for slaves and freedmen. Robert also gave Frank the money to pay his own lodging in the hayloft the livery.

  Two hours later the Hammocks had clean bodies, clean clothes, and a healthy appetite. They satisfied their hunger with a hearty beef stew and loaves of dry bread at the tavern. They washed down their meal with mugs full of frothy milk. The Hammocks tumbled joyfully into their rented beds shortly after sundown and slept for almost twelve hours.

  The family met Frank the next morning and took several hours touring the sites of New Bern and stocking up on a few extra supplies. They enjoyed the mid-day meal at a seafood place near the docks. The establishment served a gray-brown seafood stew and fresh fish grilled over an open fire. Food from the ocean was a new experience for the Hammocks, and it was a tasty event that they would not soon forget. After the meal they sat around a large outdoor table, sipping hot tea.

  “What shall we do this afternoon?” inquired Robert.

  “These children and I need a nap,” responded Milly. “But you men-folk feel free to do as you wish.”

  Frank spoke up, “If it’s all right Mr. Robert, I would like to go a few blocks west of here and look around. I hear there’s a large freedman’s village on that side of town. I would like to go see what is there and meet some of the local folk. I might even get some island or African food there.”

  “Of course, Frank. That’s just fine. I can well understand your desire to go and be among some of your own people.”

  “I’m most grateful, Mr. Robert.”

  “Can I go with Frank?” asked Lewis.

  “Well … I think Frank might want some time alone. I’m not so sure that you would be very welcome where he is going.”

  Frank interjected, “Lewis is more than welcome to come with me, Mr. Robert. I would enjoy the company. I’ll keep a close eye on him. He’ll be just fine.”

  Robert seemed hesitant. “It’s up to you, Frank. But I want you to be sure and take good care of my son.”

  “I will, Mr. Robert. You know you can count on me.”

  “Very well, then. You boys enjoy your afternoon, and I’ll see you back at the tavern for supper.”

  The members of the Hammock family dispersed to their various places of interest. Lewis was thrilled to be going somewhere new and exciting with Frank. It did not take long for them to reach what was a distinctly African part of the town. Colorful cloths adorned dozens of small wood huts. The smell and color of the food and snacks for sale along the street were absolutely tantalizing.

  Even though they had only recently finished their seafood dinner, the boys were still aching to try something new. They elected to stop at one particularly busy establishment to see if they could purchase some sweet treats. They sat down at a small table near the street, under the shade of a large tree. Moments later a rather large, loud, round-faced woman of African descent approached them.

  “Well, now, this most definitely is a first for our humble business!” She spoke with a thick accent that neither Frank nor Lewis recognized. “Here we have a young white mastah and as finely dressed a slave mahn as I have ever in my life seen. Just look at those fine breeches and coat. And that beautiful, expensive fur felt hat! My, oh my! You two young ones are surely not from New Bern.”

  Lewis spoke up, “No ma’am. We’re from Virginia. And I’m no one’s master. My name is Lewis Hammock and this is my big brother, Frank. We’re headed to Georgia and just stopped here in town for a rest.” He paused and then inquired, “Where are you from, anyway? You talk funny.”

  The fat woman placed both hands on her hips and then threw her head back, emitting a loud and boisterous laugh.

  “You can call me Mama Anna. I’m from Jamaica, the most beautiful island in all the world. But I came to America to have my own business. And whatever do you mean, your big brutha? Now that is funny, boy! How I would like to have a look at yo mama and papa!”

  She threw her head back again and laughed loudly.

  Frank smiled broadly and spoke up, “Actually, madam, I am a slave. I belong to young Lewis’s father. Lewis and his younger siblings do look up to me to be like a big brother.”

  “And just listen to you!” the woman exclaimed. “You don’t just look the part of the gentleman, but you sound like one, as well! You sound like one of those educated Englishmen that stumbles in here from time to time. Now tell me, fine gentlemen, how may I serve you today?”

  “We want something sweet!” Lewis responded enthusiastically. “Mama and Papa made me eat some of that ocean stew for dinner. But I want some dessert.”

  Frank nodded his agreement, “I, too, would enjoy some dessert. What do you recommend from your kitchen?”

  The woman threw back her head and cackled again. “I cannot get over those words of yours, boy. You don’t sound like no slave I ever heard before.”

  “Yes, madam. Now … about the possibility of dessert?”

  She quickly composed herself. “Of course, sir. Well, let me serve you some African sweets that you will not soon forget. I will bring you both a sampling of my sweet rice pudding with raisins and nutmeg, brown sugar candied yams, and a slice of tasty watermelon. How does that sound?”

  “Delicious!” exclaimed Lewis.

  “And would you, by chance, have any coffee?” inquired Frank.

  “Of course. I will bring you both a cup of my rich Jamaican coffee, extra sweet with lots of cream.”

  “Splendid,” responded Frank.

  That one word from Frank began yet another cascade of hearty laughter from the woman. She cackled and shook her head as she walked toward the kitchen to fetch their food.

  A few minutes later she returned with two plates of beautiful sweet delights and two steaming cups of sweet coffee. Frank and Lewis talked, laughed, and savored every morsel of the deliciously sweet and exotically spiced food. As the mealtime crowd began to die down, Mama Anna and some of the other workers stopped by their table to chat and ask questions about their journey to Georgia.

  Lewis thoroughly enjoyed a
ll of the attention and the wonderful company. But soon it was time to go. Frank had other things in the freedman village that he wanted to see. He paid their bill and bid the extremely entertaining women a very gentlemanly farewell.

  The boys had walked barely a half-block from the café when a loud voice with a thick English accent called out nearby, “You, boy! Come over here immediately!”

  Both Lewis and Frank looked around. They saw four British soldiers standing near a doorway to a building across the street. The soldiers seemed to be looking in their direction.

  “They’re not talking to us, are they?” asked Lewis.

  “I don’t see why they would be talking to us,” responded Frank. Both boys shrugged and resumed their slow amble down the street.

  “I’m speaking to you, you fancy African baboon!”

  Frank and Lewis turned to see one of the soldiers, a rather short fellow, marching angrily toward them. He held a shiny Brown Bess musket menacingly across his chest. It seemed that he was, indeed, addressing Frank.

  “I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?” inquired Frank.

  “I see no other fancy African baboons in the vicinity. Yes, you big dummy, I am speaking to you. You will accompany me this instant to our warehouse. We have an army wagon that needs to be unloaded.”

  Frank was somewhat at a loss for words, and not quite sure how to respond. “I’m sorry, sir, but I am not available to assist you today. I have business to attend to and I am responsible for this lad.”

  The soldier’s head spun around and he stepped forward in a confrontational pose. He drew his face close to Frank’s, bumping the forward fold of his black cocked hat into Frank’s nose. The man screamed, almost hysterically, “You have no business other than the King’s business, you ignorant slave! Now come along, boy. That wagon is not going to unload itself.”

  Frank paused. “Sir, I don’t think you understand … I am not a resident of this town. I am a traveler passing through on my way to — ”