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

by Geoff Baggett

  Winter had descended with a fury upon the mountains. December was unusually cold, but by the first week of January the air was frigid. And then the snows began. The winter weather systems moved through every three or four days, dumping one coating after another of dry, powdery snow. By January 15 there was well over two feet of the fluffy white ice on the ground.

  The residents and refugees in the Watauga settlements holed up in their cabins, burned their ample supplies of firewood, and attempted to stay warm. Meanwhile, they all prayed that their food supplies would hold out.

  The one good thing about the snow and winter weather was the guaranteed absence of Indians. No one was moving about in this harsh weather … not even the natives.

  So the Hammock family hunkered down like all of the other local residents and survived on their reserves. In the fall there had been the occasional gift of food from local families, but once the winter set in such generosity had become quite scarce. It wasn’t that the local people didn’t want to help the refugees. It was simply a matter of limited resources and lack of supply. Every family and household was actively struggling for survival.

  Truth be told, most of the locals considered Lewis to be quite capable of providing for the Hammock family. The young man had become something of a local legend since surviving the Indian attack and returning over ten miles both in a semi-conscious state and pinned to his saddle by a Cherokee arrow. Young and old alike, people looked up to Lewis. Even though he was not yet sixteen years old the men of the village treated him like a man. He performed his duty on patrol just like the others.

  But as rewarding as all of that respect and “adult” treatment were to Lewis, he would trade it all for a nice, fat doe. His family was rapidly growing weary of salted pork from barrels, musty corn meal, and shriveled potatoes.

  After the boys ate the meager meal they both leaned back-to-back against one another. Lewis asked his mother for his deer antler pipe and tobacco. She fetched the items for him without complaint. She had raised an eyebrow the first time Lewis fired up his pipe while sitting in front of the fireplace. But then she figured that if he was old enough to go on patrols and fight Indians, that he was certainly old enough to enjoy a pipe if he wanted to.

  Lewis crumbled some of his father’s tobacco into the generous bowl of the pipe, grabbed a coal with his tongs, and drew in the sweet smoke. His homemade pipe burned extremely well. He had modeled it after the one that was carried by his old friend Wappanakuk. Lewis leaned back against Robbie and they were soon wrapped in a fog of tobacco smoke.

  “Boy, does that smell remind me of Papa,” remarked Robbie.

  “Yep,” affirmed Lewis.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  Robbie sighed. “I wonder where Papa is right now. And Frank, too. I hope they’re as warm and well-fed as we are right now.”

  Lewis weighed his words for a moment, and then said, “I just hope that they’re both still alive.”

  ***

  Robert Hammock was guarding British prisoners. The Patriot forces had just won an amazing victory at Cowpens, South Carolina. The British forces were utterly defeated. One hundred and fifty Redcoats died in the battle and almost seven hundred more were captured by the American army. So Robert was on prisoner duty. And there were a lot of prisoners!

  It was hard for him to really enjoy the victory because his loyal friend, Frank, was gone … forever. The former slave died in a battle at Long Cane over a month before. Frank was actually pulling their commander, Colonel Elijah Clarke, to safety when he was struck by a fatal bullet. He died in Robert’s arms. He died a free man. Robert buried the young man alongside the thirteen other Patriots who perished in the same battle.

  Yes, it was a great victory, but all Robert really wanted to do was go home to his family. Even a temporary home in the mountains would be nice. He desperately wanted to see his wife and children. And he needed to deliver the news of Frank’s death to Nanye-Hi and the children.

  Robert was keeping watch over the prisoners entrusted to him and listening to a rather colorful argument ongoing among some of the junior officers of his regiment when he heard someone call his name.

  “Robert Hammock! Is that you?”

  Robert turned and discovered an Indian on horseback approaching him from the center of the battlefield. Robert’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

  His lips formed a single word … “Wappanakuk!”

  Wappanakuk jumped down from his horse and the two men embraced, both of them grinning from ear to ear. Patriot militiamen and British prisoners alike stared out of curiosity.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” Robert exclaimed.

  “I have been serving as a scout for the North Carolina State Dragoons. They have a small contingent of about thirty men here.”

  “But why are you involved in this war? I never imagined that you would ever take up arms for either side.”

  Wappanakuk frowned and his face became tense and stormy in appearance. He took a deep breath and weighed his response.

  “Robert, a British patrol entered our village two years ago. They killed two young men because they dared to walk out of their homes with weapons. They accused us of being rebels against King George and then confiscated our livestock and burned our crops. One of their soldiers harmed a young woman of our village … my sister.”

  “Good Lord! I am so sorry, old friend.”

  “So, as you see now, I was forced to choose a side. I fight against those who would attack and disarm my people. And, besides, I have a couple of good friends fighting for the American cause.” He smiled broadly. “But why are you alone?” He scanned the field near Robert. “Where is Frank?”

  Robert frowned and shook his head. “Frank fell in the battle at Long Cane last month, along with thirteen other good men.”

  “Oh, Robert, I am so sorry to learn of this. Frank was a good fellow … a fine young man. I considered him to be a good friend.”

  “Indeed he was. I have missed him greatly.” Robert paused. “You know … I gave him his freedom papers back last year. He died a free man.”

  “That is commendable, Robert. But not unexpected. I could see the way that you cared for the boy. He may have been a slave on paper, but clearly he was not so in the hearts of the members of your family. It was only a matter of time.”

  “He was planning to stay with us in Georgia. I deeded him two hundred acres of land, and he was planning to make his home beside mine.”

  Wappanakuk placed his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Again, just as I expected he would. He cared for you very deeply, Robert. He told me so.”

  Robert took a deep, cleansing breath. “I just dread the day that I have to return and tell his wife about his death in battle.”

  “So, Frank had a wife. That is good.”

  “Oh, I forgot! You left us before he was married. You met his wife in Georgia.”

  “I did?”

  Frank nodded and grinned. “He married the Indian girl, Nanye-Hi … the one we discovered in the woods.”

  Wappanakuk laughed out loud. “Of course! I should have known! I saw the romance between them.”

  Robert nodded his head. “She was a wonderful wife to him. They were very good for one another. She has borne him two children and is expecting another in the spring.”

  “So tragic. Yet it is a story that is becoming all too common in these violent times. Many children will grow up in America without their fathers. Many wives will mourn their husbands, dead and buried on distant battlefields.”

  “Indeed. I have seen far too much death, my friend, as have my wife and children. But, of course, you already know all about that.”

  Wappanakuk nodded silently. “Robert, I must admit that I am surprised to see you here fighting in South Carolina. Aren’t the British still in control in Georgia? Who is caring for Milly and the children?”

  Robert opened his eyes wide and shook his head. “Oh, they are not in Georgia. Not anymore.”
/>   “No? Where are they?”

  “I took them into the mountains of North Carolina, into the place called Watauga. After we besieged Augusta last year and failed to take the city a Tory colonel by the name of Brown unleashed his fury on the Georgia backcountry. The Loyalists began to arrest, imprison, and kill Whigs and their family members. They were destroying homes and property. So we fled. We had no other choice. The British had a warrant out for me and all of the other men who had attacked Augusta.”

  Robert continued, “Colonel Elijah Clarke took us on a great trek through the mountains. Over seven hundred pilgrims, many of them women and children, walked over two hundred miles. It was a sight to behold.”

  “So do you plan to live there? Will that be your new home?”

  “I pray not. We want to go back home to the Georgia backcountry, but the British and their Tory allies must be driven from Augusta first.”

  “Perhaps it will not be long now. I sense that the fortunes of this war are turning. The British control much less land here in South Carolina now. After today’s tremendous victory, who knows what might happen in this war?”

  ***

  The Refugees of Georgia departed with Colonel Pickens’ army and established camp four miles to the west of the battlefield on the banks of Little Buck Creek. Wappanakuk went with them, as well. He sought and received his release from the North Carolina Militia in order to join Robert in the Georgia camp. There were also several dozen of the Overmountain Men with them. Most of those men were veterans of the great victory at King’s Mountain. They were all aching to return to their homes.

  A full week of boring camp life passed. It was February 1, 1781. The weather turned cold and wet. So far it had been only a cold rain, but the men feared the coming of ice and snow. The militia army had no orders to move and were on the verge of building shacks and, much to the disappointment of the men, move into a full-fledged winter camp.

  Quite unexpectedly Major John Cunningham, the temporary commander of the regiment during Colonel Clarke’s recovery from wounds and sickness, was summoned to Colonel Pickens’ tent for a briefing. He returned one hour later with a skip in his step and a broad smile on his face.

  “Gentlemen, gather around. I have good news!”

  It took several minutes for the eighty men of the regiment to assemble around their commander. They could see the excitement in Major Cunningham’s eyes. His good mood became infections among the men. Robert sat on the ground near the front of the assembly. Wappanakuk sat by his side. The men all chatted excitedly.

  Major Cunningham attempted to calm the crowd. “Boys, be quiet now! Listen up! I have a wonderful announcement to make.”

  A rapid hush descended upon the gathering.

  “Colonel Pickens is disbanding the militia for a time of furlough. We are being released until March 15, when he requests that we rejoin him at his plantation in the Long Cane District.”

  “That’s six weeks from now, Major. What do we do in the meantime? Where do we go?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “You can go wherever you please. You can stay here in winter camp, though I doubt that many will want to do that. You can attach yourself to another militia outfit or maybe scout for the Continentals. You can go back to Georgia, but I would advise against that. Brown has warrants out for all of us. Personally, I am going to Watauga to visit with my family. If you have loved ones in the mountains I recommend that you do the same.”

  The men erupted with excitement. It was clear that most of them planned to head for the mountains.

  “You men are free to leave as you wish. It’s a little late in the day for me. I’m remaining here tonight and leaving at first light tomorrow. You are all welcome to join me. I believe that we will be safer traveling together. The mountain soldiers are leaving in the morning, as well.”

  The men stared at him with a mixture of excitement and disbelief.

  “Well, that’s it, gentlemen. That’s all I have. Go and prepare yourselves for travel. Dress warmly and scrounge up all of the food that you can. We have a few days’ ride coming and some pretty tough ground to cover. Behave yourselves tonight, and I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

  Robert leaned toward Wappanakuk. “How would you like to spend a little time in the mountains?”

  “I was hoping that you would ask,” he responded.

  ***

  The men riding toward the Watauga settlements were an imposing force, indeed. There were one hundred and thirty of them, all armed and on horseback. The seasoned horsemen traversed the creeks and mountain draws with ease. They were making excellent time in their quest to reach their families beyond the mountains.

  By the second night of travel they were encamped in the low mountains of North Carolina, just above the snow line. Despite the frigid cold and snow there was a spirit of anticipation in the camp. The Refugees had not seen their families for several months. The men of Watauga, though they had only been gone for a few weeks in response to the call-up for Cowpens, were just as eager to return to their mountain homes.

  The soldiers rested on that second night beside raging campfires. They cut pine limbs and created a thick layer of the soft needles between their backsides and the six inches of snow that coated the ground. They greatly enjoyed the quiet and peace of the mountains.

  Robert and Wappanakuk traded rum, tobacco, and stories with several of the Watauga men. One of those men, quite full of the rum, listened intently to Robert’s story about meeting Wappanakuk on the King’s Highway seven years prior.

  The drunken mountain man proclaimed, “I like you, pilgrim! You tell good stories. What’s your name, Georgia boy?”

  “My name is Robert Hammock.”

  “Hammock?” the man exclaimed. “You ain’t no kin to the legendary Lewis Hammock, ere ya?”

  Robert’s face registered confusion. “Why, yes, I have a son named Lewis Hammock. He is my oldest son.”

  The man belched loudly. “You talkin’ ‘bout Lewis Hammock up in Watauga with his mama and that Injun girl and all them little brothers and sisters?”

  Robert nodded nervously. “Yes, that is my Lewis Hammock … and that is my family.”

  The man slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I tell you what! I am mighty proud to meet you! That Lewis Hammock is one tough little feller! He went up agin’ a whole war party of Cherokee with just one other boy with him. Got all shot to pieces full of lead and arrows and still made it back to the valley with his dead buddy and both of their hosses. That little cuss was flat-out nailed to his saddle! Had an arrow clear through the arm and right into the saddle leather. I ain’t ever seen or heerd of nothin’ else like it!”

  Robert’s breathing increased and his face flushed. His mind raced. Surely this man wasn’t talking about his son! Surely his son had not faced down a Cherokee war party! And the drunken mountain man left out the most important part. Did Lewis survive?

  Robert blurted out, “But he’s alive right? You’re telling me that Lewis Hammock is alive? That he is well?”

  “Alive?” responded the drunk, confused mountain man. He tossed back another gulp of rum. “Yeah, he’s alive! That’s for sure! Tough kid, that one. And he’s your son, you say? Well, you should be plenty proud. He’s all grit and fight, that little Lewis Hammock. Every soul in Watauga is safe with that boy ridin’ patrol in them hills.”

  Robert cast an anxious glance at Wappanakuk, who smiled at him with eyebrows raised. His only response was, “That’s our Tarowa Yetashta … our Little Warrior.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  QUIET DAYS IN THE MOUNTAINS

  Lewis gently rubbed the wound on his side. It did not hurt that much. Mostly he felt a dull ache, especially when it was cold. And this was a particularly cold morning. But at least it was a quiet morning. There had not been any sign of Cherokee raiders for the past few weeks. The elders believed that the natives were still laying low in their winter encampments to the south.

  Lewis enjoyed the pea
ce and quiet. He particularly enjoyed his solo missions as a scout and Indian spy. Ever since his best friend, Patrick, died, he was reluctant to get close to anyone else or make any new friends. He had become something of a loner … which was fine on any ordinary day. But it could definitely be a problem if he encountered any trouble in the wilderness.

  Lewis sighed and mumbled almost silently to himself, “I reckon I need to bring Robbie with me next time. He needs to learn about scouting and soldiering, anyway.”

  He scanned the nearby hillsides for any sign of threat or movement. He caught the brief flash of white from the tail of a deer as it darted over the hillside to his left. Lewis guided his horse swiftly down into the mountain draw and trotted silently along a snow-packed dry creek bed. He emerged into an opening in the forest just as the deer stepped from behind a tree about seventy-five yards to his left.

  Lewis threw his hunting rifle up to his shoulder, took quick aim, and gently squeezed the trigger. His rifle belched fire and hurled its lead projectile down range. The ball struck the large doe directly behind its right front leg. The animal ran about fifty feet before it collapsed dead on the snowy forest floor.

  Lewis smiled as he trotted his horse toward the bounty of over one hundred pounds of fresh meat for his family.

  He smiled mused out loud, “I might just have to make me a new set of breeches and leggings out of that doe skin.”

  ***

  The Georgia and North Carolina men arrived in the Watauga settlements in the middle of the afternoon just two days after their first encampment in the mountains. They said their temporary farewells as they parted ways and headed off to their respective villages and cabins scattered throughout the mountains. Wappanakuk followed Robert along the narrow trail that led to the temporary home of the Hammock family.

  “How far is it to your place, Robert?”