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

by Geoff Baggett

  Robert watched them disappear around the corner and then turned to Frank and Lewis. “Boys, there’s too many people in this stinky city. Let’s get out of town and wait out in the countryside where it’s more peaceful.”

  “Amen to that!” exclaimed Frank. Lewis punched him in the shoulder and giggled.

  Robert and Lewis mounted their horses and Frank hopped up onto the seat of the wagon. Moments later they were threading their way through the already bustling streets of the city. A few blocks away they saw a sign marked “Savannah.” It had a large arrow that pointed down a wide stretch of road to the southwest.

  “There it is, boys … the Charlestown-Savannah Trail. That’s our road to Georgia.”

  They turned their horses in the direction indicated by the sign, heading due west. It took a half-hour to get all the way clear of the civilization of town. Robert guided his horse to a large oak tree near the roadway as Lewis and Frank followed suit. They waited and rested in the shade. The kids all clamored out of the wagon and passed the time playing in the adjoining meadow.

  Their wait was brief. Roughly an hour later they saw another wagon headed in their direction. Christopher Chandler sat in the seat. He waved at the Hammocks.

  “Let’s go, boys. We’ve dawdled long enough. Let’s just pull out in front of them and roll on. We can visit later,” Robert declared.

  So the convoy was on the move. Once again the steady, familiar routine of travel set in. They traveled hard by day and made camp shortly before dark each evening. The countryside of South Carolina was quiet and peaceful. It took a few days, but Esther’s spirits did seem to get better. Everyone’s spirits improved the closer they came to Georgia.

  ***

  It was five days later when Lewis spotted the sign that they had been waiting for. A rough-cut sign nailed to a fencepost said, “Savannah - 10 miles.”

  “There it is!” exclaimed Lewis. “We’re almost to Georgia! We’re almost home!”

  Robert nodded. “Yes, indeed. We would be hard-pressed to make it before sundown today, but we’ll definitely cross the river before noon tomorrow.”

  The nearness of their destination breathed fresh life into the weary travelers. They drove on. Recent rains left several deep muddy spots that were very difficult to cross. The road conditions slowed them down somewhat, but they still managed another six or seven miles before time to camp. Everyone was too excited to sleep that night, knowing that they would be in Georgia the following day. But the sleep of exhaustion finally overwhelmed their excitement.

  Dawn came quickly, and both families were fed and on the move less than an hour after the sunrise. They covered the final stretch with ease and pulled up to the ferry crossing on the northern bank of the river. They paid their fare and less than an hour later both wagons and all riders were safely across into Georgia.

  Savannah was a vibrant, bustling little city. Several small ships were anchored in the channel of the river. Small cargo boats were busy shuttling goods back and forth between the wharves and the ships. The docks and warehouses were stacked high with boxes and sacks. Dozens of men labored along the waterfront in the commerce and trade of the Georgia colony.

  Chris pulled his wagon alongside the Hammock rig. Robert and Lewis dismounted and walked between the teams to join in a convoy conference.

  “Welcome to Georgia. Finally!” shouted Robert.

  Everyone smiled. The women seemed joyful … and relieved. Even the small children were giddy.

  “What now?” asked Chris. “Where do we go? How do we get our land?”

  “Well, I suppose we need to go in search of the colonial land office and file our land claim with the King’s representative. It should be easy enough to find,” responded Robert.

  A half-hour later the weary travelers pulled up in front of a lovely two-story red brick building. A sign hung over the front door, stating, “Hon. Walter Wickersham, Trustee - Georgia Colony Land Office.”

  “This is the place,” proclaimed Robert. “Chris and I will go inside and take care of business. Frank, you keep watch over the wagons. Come inside and get me if there’s any trouble.”

  “I will, sir,” Frank responded obediently.

  “Lewis, you come with me. I want you to see how all of this land business works. You’ll be in charge of the family business one day.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  The two men and Lewis climbed the three steps to the porch stoop and opened the front door. A bell mounted over the door notified anyone inside of their arrival. They heard heavy footsteps emanating from the stairway to the second floor. Moments later a rather portly gentleman in a lavishly-patterned and colorful formal coat and bright purple stockings and breeches bounded onto the oak floor at the bottom of the stairs. The floor strained and creaked ever-so-slightly upon his arrival. The man had a jolly look about him. His cheeks were flushed red and he was smiling broadly.

  He greeted them with a voice thickened by an accent native of England, “Ahh … good day to you, gentlemen! I am Walter Wickersham, serving as one of the King’s trustees in the allotment of lands in His Majesty’s Georgia colony.”

  “God save the King!” stated Robert and Christopher simultaneously.

  The jolly man smiled even more broadly, “Yes, indeed! God save the King! Now to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit on this beautiful Georgia morning?”

  “Mr. Wickersham, I am Robert Hammock, formerly of Virginia. This is Christopher Chandler, also formerly of Virginia.”

  “Wonderful! And who is this little fellow?” He offered a handshake to Lewis.

  “I’m Lewis Hammock, Sir, the oldest son of Robert Hammock.”

  The English gentleman laughed warmly. “So, you are, eh? Well, aren’t you a well-spoken lad? It is a pleasure to meet you Squire Hammock.” He directed his attention at the grown men. “Now, what brings you to my office today?”

  Robert responded, “We are here to file for claims on the frontier. We and our families wish to settle and make a life in Georgia.”

  “Oh, good show! Good show, indeed! Families, you say? We need good, solid farming families to help us tame these wild lands on the frontier.” Wickersham walked over to them and shook their hands vigorously. “And when will your families be joining you?”

  “Oh, they’re already here, sir. They’re all waiting in our wagons outside,” responded Chris.

  “So you brought your families! Splendid! How delightful! I trust that you had a safe and uneventful journey.”

  “Not quite,” answered Robert. “We came upon a little trouble in North Carolina. But it was nothing that we couldn’t handle. We made the journey in a little over three weeks.” Robert decided not to go into any detail about their trouble with the British soldiers in New Bern.

  “Well, I don’t doubt that North Carolina gave you some trouble. There’s a rebellious mood in that colony.” Wickersham paused and looked carefully into the eyes of the men standing before him. “If I may be so bold, gentlemen … procedure requires that I must ask you … where do your political allegiances lie?”

  “To King and country, sir,” responded Robert.

  “To King and country,” affirmed Chris.

  “Excellent! Now let’s get down to business.”

  Chris interrupted him, “Sir, I’ve heard there have been some Indian troubles. Is the land safe enough for us to settle?”

  “Oh, quite. In fact, the place where I will allocate your lands will be some of the most beautiful and peaceful lands in that region. I promise you. I plan to reward you for your bravery and your pioneer spirit. Gentlemen, I cannot describe to you how beautiful this place is. Gently rolling hills, rich soil, plenty of water. Indeed, Governor Wright has declared that it looks exactly like many parts of England, itself! A paradise! Now … let’s do some paperwork and get you gentlemen on your way to your new homes.”

  He handed them a slip of paper. “Please list the names and ages of each person in your household.”

  Lewis w
atched intently as Robert read and then wrote numbers down on the paper.

  “Why does he need these numbers, Papa?”

  “Son, he needs them to calculate how much land we are entitled to in our claims.”

  “Oh. So the more people you have, the more land you get?”

  “Yes, son. That’s it, exactly.”

  A few minutes later Mr. Wickersham took their papers, retrieved his pen, and performed a simple calculation. “Mr. Hammock, according to the statutes governing land claims, you are entitled to one hundred acres for yourself, plus an additional fifty acres for each member of your household, including slaves. I shall issue a land claim for you today in the amount of four hundred acres.”

  “Four hundred acres?” exclaimed Robert.

  The round-faced man smiled. “Is there a problem, Mr. Hammock?”

  “No, sir. No problem, at all. I had no idea it would be so much.”

  “There is plenty of land available, sir, and His Majesty intends to reward those with the courage to claim it and tame it. Now, Mr. Chandler, your allotment today is one hundred and fifty acres of beautiful Georgia land.”

  “Thank you, sir. I am most grateful,” Chris responded.

  “Very well. Now! Allow me to show you the location of your claims.”

  Wickersham made his way to a large map posted on the office wall.

  “Your lands will be located here,” he pointed to a spot on the map. “I will assign you both lands along Reedy Creek. You will undoubtedly love this spot! It is only a few miles from Wrightsborough, a quaint village founded by several dozen Quaker families who settled the region in 1767. They are good, solid, peace-loving folk. And the best part is that the Creeks respect them and value them as neighbors. They will be good allies for you as you establish a home.”

  “That sounds wonderful to me, sir,” remarked Robert. “I don’t know much about the Quakers, but I hear that they are good neighbors.”

  “Jolly good, then. Now if you gentlemen can give me two hours to prepare the necessary documents and draw up the claims, I will have your matter settled and you can be on your way. The noon hour is approaching, so perhaps you can enjoy tea here in our fair city as you wait.”

  “Than sounds wonderful, sir. How long is the journey?” asked Chris.

  “Oh, it is still quite the distance, I’m afraid. You will need provisions for an additional four days of travel. It may take a bit more, or a bit less. But with families and wagons, I would plan for at least four days, perhaps five to be safe. I dare say you can purchase any supplies that you need here in Savannah. Now, if you will give me some time to prepare the documents, I will have you gentlemen on your way in two hours.”

  ***

  Shortly after noon the Hammock and Chandler wagons were bouncing northwest along the wagon road toward Augusta … toward their new lives on the Georgia frontier.

  Part II

  1776 - Frontier Battles

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

  It was mid-August, 1776. There had been almost no rain in over a week, and the ground was beginning to look parched. Robert scanned the skies, hoping and praying for a late afternoon shower or storm to wet the thirsty field. He saw a thin wisp of dust making its way toward them from the house. Someone was approaching the cornfield from the cabin, obviously running on the well-worn and dusty footpath.

  His friend and farming partner, Chris Chandler, pointed toward the growing dust cloud. “Here comes the Hammock version of the dinner bell. I wonder which little Hammock it will be today.”

  Soon a handsome little fellow wearing a floppy straw hat came into view from behind the corner of the waist-high corn. It was nine-year-old Joshua Hammock.

  “Papa! Mr. Chandler! Mama says it’s time for supper, and that nobody gets to eat until you both come in from the field!”

  “We’ll be right along, Joshua. Tell your mother to be patient.”

  The boy smiled and waved and then spun around, darting back in the direction from which he had come. His short queue flopped haphazardly as he ran. Robert chuckled as he watched the little wave of dust dancing upward above the corn, marking the child’s progress back toward the cabin.

  Robert and Chris both sighed deep breaths of satisfaction and simultaneously crossed their arms, surveying the crop that grew lush and tall in the field before them. Though it needed a good drink of water, it was still a five acre field of healthy-looking corn. It would be an excellent food and cash crop in the fall. Corn was a difficult crop to tend, but the Hammocks had plenty of young laborers to help chop and beat back the forest and weeds that steadily attempted to reclaim the cleared land.

  The family also had a garden. It was a huge garden. Milly and the children had almost an entire acre of every imaginable vegetable and herb planted near the Hammock cabin. They worked, chopped, weeded, and watered the precious food source every single day. The family had been enjoying the fruits of the garden since the first week of June. But it was just now beginning to yield its true bounty. The hot August weather and warm nights were perfect for high yields and luscious flavor. It was a hundred times better and more productive than any garden that they had ever attempted to grow in Virginia.

  But as happy and successful as life seemed for the Hammock family, it had been two difficult, laborious years since their arrival on the frontier. Robert’s land claim and that of his neighbor, Chris Chandler, were beautiful and fertile beyond expectation. There was plenty of timber, ample game, and abundant fresh water. Crops seemed to grow with minimal effort. It was the perfect place for pioneer families, once the land was cleared of trees, and as long as hostile Indians left them alone.

  Thus far Robert and Chris had enjoyed a state of peace along Reedy Creek. A single cow stolen in the dead of night was their only loss so far. The thief could have either been a white settler or a Creek or Cherokee raider. They would never know.

  The two families enjoyed a relatively peaceful first two years on the frontier, but Robert knew that trouble was coming. A war had erupted in the Colonies. There was open rebellion against England, having started in Massachusetts and then spread to New York and New Jersey and beyond. Men in the Americas wanted more self-governance and less oppressive taxes. Robert tended to agree with their politics, but thus far he was not pleased with their methodology. He wanted no part of a war with England.

  Recently the rebellion had made its way into Georgia. There was some fighting along the coast. There had also been a particularly violent event in nearby Augusta in August of 1775. A gentleman planter and well-known Loyalist by the name of Thomas Brown was taken hostage by a mob stirred up by the Sons of Liberty. The man was tied to a stake and then burned, scalped, tarred, and feathered. Unbelievably, he survived all of his wounds. Everyone knew that Thomas Brown was a determined and powerful man. He would, no doubt, one day seek his vengeance upon his enemies in Augusta.

  It seemed that Georgia, the youngest and most “British” of all the thirteen Colonies, like all the other colonies, would soon become caught up in the violence of Revolution.

  Robert Hammock had no special love for the British. Most of his loyalties vanished after Frank’s violent encounter with the Redcoats in New Bern, North Carolina. The arrogant, condescending remarks of the British officer toward colonial citizens pretty much solidified Robert’s sentiments toward independence in the Americas. But as he pondered the growing war, and the possibility of bloodshed in Georgia, he wondered if there might be more peaceful methods to achieve the same goal.

  Chris tapped Robert on the shoulder, jarring him from the solitude of this thoughts. “The women are waiting, Robert. We’d best be getting along, or there may be consequences.” Chris winked at his friend.

  The two men walked briskly toward the Hammock home, the place where both households regularly ate their meals. Minutes later they emerged from beneath the shade of the tall walnut tree that stood between the cornfield and the cabin. Milly had just stepped inside the cabi
n. Esther stood beside the table, keeping watch over the hungry, waiting children.

  Robert looked around the table and noticed some conspicuous absences. “Where are Lewis and Frank? I haven’t seen either of them all day.”

  Esther replied, “Milly sent them over to Wrightsborough just after breakfast. We need a few supplies.”

  “The boys should be back any minute, I suspect,” Milly retorted. “They were on horseback. But there’s nothing to stop us from going ahead and enjoying our supper. Robert, Jr., you will say grace.”

  Little Robert dutifully stood up from his seat at the table and offered the prayer for the meal. The moment that his, “Amen,” departed his lips the two tables full of hungry pioneers attacked the bountiful meal with gusto. They ravaged the delicious food. A half-hour later they sat around the table enjoying tea and small servings of bread pudding. Robert and Chris smoked their pipes.

  Robert kept glancing down the narrow path toward Wrightsborough. He was beginning to get worried about the boys. It would be dark soon.

  ***

  Lewis loved going to the town of Wrightsborough. There were so many things to see and do. Mr. Schwarz’s general store was a wonderland of smells and flavors. The old German always managed to have a large stock of colorful and exotic candies and sweets. He loved to bless the local children with small gifts of the flavorful treats.

  But there was obviously something more than sweet treats drawing a crowd to Schwarz’s store today. There were almost a hundred people crowded around the front of the small building. Lewis noticed a handsome gentleman wearing the dark blue, buff-trimmed coat of the Continental Army standing at the top of the steps. He held a large piece of yellow parchment in his hand.

  Frank and Lewis tied their horses to a small tree near the store and made their way quickly to join the crowd.

  Lewis saw a friend from town, Micah Foley, sitting on the back of a wagon. He and Frank walked over to the boy.