When they finally departed New Bern, Robert intentionally maintained a slow pace. Frank rode in the back of the wagon, sleeping most of the time. Milly and the children constructed a soft pallet for him on the floor of the wagon and did everything possible to keep him comfortable. The family covered only fifteen to twenty miles per day, depending upon the condition of the road. Lewis drove the wagon and Robert stayed on horseback.
On the fourth day out of New Bern the air smelled strongly of salt water, and clouds of seagulls and other water birds filled the sky.
Lewis asked his father, “What’s that strange smell, Papa?”
“It’s salt, son. We must be pretty close to the sea.”
“Can we go see it?”
Robert chuckled. “No, Lewis. Not yet. Even if we could find our way through this mass of brush, I doubt that we could get to the actual ocean. They say that North Carolina has narrow islands out on the far side of a great canal. The ocean is on the other side of those islands. You actually have to take a boat over there in order to visit the beach.”
“Oh.” Lewis looked heartbroken.
“Don’t worry, Lewis. You’ll see the ocean soon enough when we get into South Carolina. I believe that the King’s Highway runs right along the open shore for many miles.”
Lewis smiled and snapped the reins, pressing his team to the south.
The Hammock family pressed on. Two days later they passed through Wilmington, a large port city located on the Cape Fear River, near the southernmost coast of North Carolina. The road southwest of Wilmington was flat, wide, and hard-packed. It made for very easy traveling. Frank was obviously feeling better. He expressed his desire to get to work and get back to driving the wagon, but Robert insisted that he rest and recuperate for one more day. Toward mid-afternoon the air began to assume a musty, swampy odor.
Milly’s sing-song voice pierced the silence of the afternoon, “It smells like that Dismal Swamp again, Robert. Please tell me that we are not headed into another one of those bug-infested places!”
Robert consulted a crude map that he had procured in New Bern. “No, my love, nothing quite so large as that swamp. We are, however, close to what is known as the Green Swamp. It is several miles to our right. I hope that the bugs will not be quite so bad.”
Those words had just left his mouth when the first wave of mosquitoes and biting flies descended upon them. Milly glared at Robert in disgust.
Robert smiled grimly. “We’ll just try to outrun these bugs and get past the swamp. Let’s pick up the pace a bit.”
He increased his horse to a light trot. Lewis snapped the leather reins and urged the team pulling the wagon to follow suit. They kept up the hard pace for almost an hour and a half. The stench of the swamp subsided, along with the attacking insects. Robert soon located a tall stand of pine trees just off of the highway. A clear, swift moving stream flowed nearby. It was a perfect camping spot. Evidence of previous campfires showed that the location had been used many times before.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” Robert announced. “This looks like a popular spot. It’s nice and open, with plenty of water close by. We have a good hour of daylight left to make camp. How’s Frank doing?”
Milly glanced through the opening in the canvas. “He’s asleep again, Robert. I’m afraid that the injuries were much harder on him than he’s been letting on. He’s trying to act strong, but I think he’s still suffering. The poor boy hasn’t been awake much today.”
“Maybe he’ll be back to himself by morning,” Robert prophesied wishfully. “We could sure use the help. Lewis has been doing a man’s job these past couple of days.”
“I’m doing just fine, Papa!” Lewis interjected. “I love driving the wagon!”
Robert smiled proudly at his boy. “I know you do son, and you’ve been doing a fine job. Now how about we take care of the horses and build a fire so your mother can get started on some supper?”
“Yes, Papa.”
The family unpacked the necessary supplies from the wagon and prepared camp. The younger boys gathered firewood while Robert and Lewis tended to the horses, tethering them to a small bush beside the creek within reach of plenty of fresh grass to graze. Since it was a crisp, clear evening, Robert decided that they would “sleep out under the stars.” In actuality, however, they would be sleeping under a very dense and high pine canopy. Mountains of fresh pine needles provided a bed that was more comfortable than anything they could find in a boarding house. Robert was looking forward to a very restful night.
An hour later, just as the sun was going down, Milly had supper ready. She had prepared a large pot of vegetable stew. It was a rich, creamy mixture of potatoes, carrots, and onions that was flavored with salt pork. There was an ample supply of dark, dry bread that they had purchased before leaving New Bern. Cool water and sweet, hot tea finished off the meal. Afterwards the family sat in the comfortable glow of the fire. Robert filled his clay pipe with tobacco and enjoyed a smoke while the children joined their mother in singing songs.
Little Robert called out to his father across the fire, “Papa, tell us a story!”
“Oh, you children have heard all of my stories,” he replied.
“But you tell them so well, Papa. Please! Tell us again about Grandfather William and how he came across the great sea from England.”
“You kids have heard that story a thousand times. Aren’t you tired of it?”
The children responded with a chorus of encouragement. “Please, Papa. You tell it so well. Please tell it again!”
Robert sighed with joy. “Oh, all right then.”
And for the next several minutes he recounted, one more time, the story of William O. Hammock’s journey from England and his adventures on the high seas. He told about their ancestor’s years of indentured servitude, a type of slavery in which a man signed his freedom away in order to gain passage on a ship. He described how William Hammock lived out his service along the coast of Virginia and how he was able to finally purchase his freedom. Then Robert told about how Grandfather William met his wife and grew a large family on the Virginia frontier.
The children knew the story so well that many times they finished his sentences for him. They clapped with glee when Robert finished his story about their family heritage. It was a familiar and joyous moment that they had shared many times around the hearth in their old Virginia cabin.
A deep voice from the darkness ended their joyful celebration. “That is an excellent story. Your family has a wonderful heritage.”
Robert whipped his pistol from his belt as Lewis jumped for his rifle that was leaning against the wagon.
Again the voice spoke from the darkness. “You do not need your weapons. I mean your family no harm. I smelled your fire from a great distance away and I came in search of food and friendship.”
“Are you alone?” Robert asked the intruder.
“Yes, I travel alone. I have been to the south, in what you call South Carolina, visiting and doing business with my cousins. May I join you at your fire?”
“Come out first so that I can see you,” ordered Robert.
The man stepped out from behind one of the pine trees, barely twenty feet from their fire. Robert was amazed that he had approached so closely without being detected. He was clearly an Indian, though you could not tell entirely by his clothing. His skin was a deep rust color and darkly tanned. His nose was broad and his face smooth. He wore buckskin breeches and leggings and pucker-toed moccasins. A loose-fitting white collared shirt hung untucked over the top of his breeches. The shirt was open at the collar, exposing his dark bronze and hairless chest. Most of his hair was shaved except for a small tuft on the very back of his head, just below the crown. A thin leather string secured three owl feathers that were protruding out of the tiny tuft of hair.
The man had a tomahawk and two knives tucked inside a narrow leather belt and he carried an old trade musket. He held the musket uncocked and high in his left hand and his em
pty right hand was in the air. His kindly-looking face beamed with a broad and disarming smile.
“That’s far enough,” barked Robert, rising to his feet. “You’re armed. Why should I trust you?” Robert was trembling, terrified that an actual Indian stood before him. He had seen a few Indians before, but never out in the wilderness … and never in the dark of night.
“Mr. Hammock, if I intended you any harm, I could have killed you and that oldest boy with the rifle a long time ago.”
“How do you know my name?” demanded Robert.
The native chuckled, “Well, I just listened to the entire story of your family heritage from London all the way to Amelia County, Virginia. How could I not know your name?”
Little Joshua burst out laughing. His innocent, contagious laughter swept around the campfire and seemed to disarm the tension of the moment. Even Robert smiled.
Robert glanced at Lewis, who was still holding his rifle. “Put the rifle down, son. It’s all right.” Lewis cautiously placed the weapon on the ground beside his feet and covered it with his blanket.
Robert issued an invitation to the nighttime visitor, “Sir, please leave your weapons by the tree and come join us by the fire.”
“My pleasure,” returned the Indian. He leaned his musket against a pine tree and removed his belt, piling his bladed weapons beside the musket.
Robert stood and walked toward the Indian, extending his hand in greeting. The grinning native smiled warmly and shook his hand with a strong grip. Robert noticed that the Indian had a very musky, earthy odor about him. It was not a very pleasant odor, but it was not entirely unpleasant, either. He decided that he would try to ignore it.
The Indian introduced himself, “My name is Wappanakuk. My home is not far, about one more day’s walk to the north.”
Robert responded, “Wappanakuk, I am honored to meet you. As you already know, I am Robert Hammock. This is my wife Milly and my sons Lewis, Robert, Joshua, and John. The young one is our baby, Nancy. We are going to Georgia to begin a home there.”
Wappanakuk nodded, “Many white men are traveling the King’s Highway and many other roads and trails to the land of Georgia. I have encountered many more like you.”
“So you said that your home is nearby?” inquired Robert.
“Yes, Mr. Hammock. My people are the Waccon. You English often call us Waccamaw. My tribe moved north out of South Carolina and settled here, near the Green Swamp, many years ago. Over the years we have learned the ways of the English. We mastered agriculture and trade, and we learned how to file claims for land and make farms. We are happy and peaceful here.”
“You speak perfect English, Wappanakuk. Where did you learn our language?” inquired Milly.
“Many years ago there were preachers and missionaries who helped us. But we had to learn English in order to trade and prosper. Our encounters with the white man have not always been good for my people. Many of my ancestors perished from the diseases that the white man introduced to our tribe and lands. Many thousands more were taken into slavery. Our tribe is a very small one now, and we are a people of peace. Many of our people are of mixed race.” He smiled wryly, “Even I had one grandfather who was an Englishman.” He winked at Lewis.
“You mentioned that you would like some food,” interrupted Milly.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Hammock. I have not eaten anything but a few edible plants and unripe berries from the forest since yesterday afternoon. I most definitely would not refuse a meal. And what you have in that pot over there smells very good!”
“Well then, Wappanakuk, I will see what I can do to satisfy that hunger of yours.”
Milly moved gracefully to the wagon and retrieved a large wooden soup bowl and a half-loaf of bread. She spooned a generous portion of the stew into the bowl, inserted a pewter spoon, and presented the meal to their new friend.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hammock. You are most generous.”
“Not a’tall, Wappanakuk. Would you like some hot tea, as well?”
“Yes, ma’am. That would be wonderful. I have not tasted tea in many days.”
“With sugar?” she inquired.
“Is there any other way to enjoy tea?” he responded.
Again, laughter flowed around the campfire.
While their Indian guest feasted on the hot stew and bread, the family peppered him with questions about his people and the area around Green Swamp. Robert wanted to know more about the road toward the south and conditions in South Carolina. Wappanakuk answered every question in between bites of stew and bread. He clearly enjoyed being the center of attention.
Wappanakuk methodically worked his way through two hearty bowls of stew and ate the entire portion of bread that Milly had given him. Afterward he sat stoically, legs crossed, sipping a cup of Milly’s steaming hot tea. Robert offered him his tobacco sack.
Wappanakuk sniffed the cloth sack. “That smells wonderful! Do you mind if I get my tomahawk? It is the only pipe that I have with me. I left the small pipe that my grandfather made for me at my home.”
“Of course,” responded Robert.
Wappanakuk fetched his English pipe tomahawk from beneath the tree and sat back down beside the fire. He packed the shiny metal bowl with the fragrant tobacco. Robert pulled a fresh coal out of the fire with his pipe tongs and handed it to the Indian. He pressed the glowing coal down into the tobacco and sucked methodically, drawing the heat down into the bowl and exhaling delicious puffs of blue-white smoke.
Wappanakuk closed his eyes and sighed. “Mr. Hammock, that is simply delicious. It must be Virginia tobacco.”
Robert grinned. “Is there any other way to enjoy a pipe?”
Wappanakuk threw back his head and laughed enthusiastically.
Robert, Jr., felt a sudden flash of boldness and asked the Indian a question. “Can you tell us a story, Wappanakuk? We like Papa’s stories, but we’ve heard them all so many times.”
The Indian responded, “Would you like to hear a story about my people … the Waccon people … and our ancestral home?”
“Oh, yes!” responded the children.
The Indian took a gigantic puff from the tomahawk pipe and began his tale, “Well, many thousands of years ago my people lived in this land in great numbers. They were like the stars in the sky! My ancestors were people of the rivers, going great distances for many days in their long canoes. They traveled to many places to the south and west, even to the great pointed mountains!
“Their home was a large village near here. That village had a beautiful garden that was full of flowers from all of the places where the warriors had traveled. They brought back these beautiful plants and placed them in the garden to honor themselves and all of their adventures in their canoes. The women of the village spent many hours each day tending the garden. Many animals lived there, as well. It was a perfect place.
“But over time the people became arrogant and full of themselves. They spent so much time honoring their achievements and their accomplishments that they forgot to honor their great Creator. And so the Creator decided that he must punish his children.
“One night a strange light filled the sky to the southwest. And as each day passed into night the light grew brighter and brighter. It was a great ball of fire in the sky with a long tail that followed it, and it soon filled the skies with its brilliance. It shined like another sun in the nighttime.
“Finally, after many days, the great ball of fire struck the garden and the village, destroying them both. It slammed into the ground and penetrated deep into the earth. The impact of this great fireball made the ground ripple in waves like the water so that no man nor beast could stand. There was a great wave of fire that extended out for many miles from the place where the fireball landed, consuming the forests and animals. Everything was charred black with fires of destruction.
“But at the center, in the place where the great ball of fire with the flaming, smoking tail struck the earth, there remained a giant, deep hole. And it drew in
to it the waters of all the nearby rivers and swamps. These waters cooled the great fire deep in the earth and then the waters turned the most amazing, deep green-blue color that your mind could ever imagine. That place is now Lake Waccamaw. Its waters are pure and sweet and clear. It is this lake that marks the homeland of my people.
“We have vowed that we will never again forget the Creator. So my people live in peace with the Holy One. My lodge sits in peace beside the waters of this beautiful, blue lake. And my people, the Waccon people, are now known as the ‘People of the Falling Star.’”
Adults and children alike sat breathless, clinging to every word of the great story of the meteor and the lake. They wanted and expected more.
Wappanakuk made a comical face and shrugged. “That is it, my friends. That is my entire story!”
The members of the Hammock family cheered and clapped with glee.
Lewis chirped, “You need to learn some new stories like that one, Papa!”
Robert nodded and smiled. “I’m sure that we’ll write many new stories of our own in Georgia someday. And just think about our memories from this night! For the rest of our lives we’ll remember and tell one another and our children and grandchildren about the night that Wappanakuk of the Waccon people stepped out of the darkness and joined us at our fire during our great journey.”
Milly rose from her spot near the fire. “Children, it is time that we call an end to our evening. We have a long day of travel ahead of us tomorrow. Come, let us prepare for bed.”
In that moment the loud click of a flintlock being brought to full cock echoed in the darkness that lurked beyond the reach of their campfire. It was followed by two other similar clicks.
A voice echoed from that darkness. “Woo-wee! That was some good story!”
Robert began to reach for his pistol but a gruff voice from beyond the pines interrupted the attempt. “Just keep on reaching if you’re ready to die tonight, fine sir! I have my musket aimed straight at your belly. Now get those hands up in the air and kick that pistol away from you … nice and slow.”
Little Warrior: Boy Patriot of Georgia (Patriot Kids of the American Revolution Series Book 2) Page 4