Little Hornet: Boy Patriot of North Carolina (Kid Patriots of the American Revolution Book 1)

by Geoff Baggett

  He moved steadily and quietly away from town, stopping only once to turn his red British coat inside out. He didn’t want a local bushwhacker to think he was actually a British soldier and shoot him. Almost two hours later he arrived at the Farr cabin. He walked up to the door and tapped quietly.

  A voice growled from inside, “Don’t move a single step, or I’ll blast you through this door!”

  “Ephraim! Johnny! It’s me! William!”

  Ephraim Farr flung open the door. John stepped onto the porch in his nightshirt and stared at his little brother in disbelief.

  John peppered him with questions. “How did you get out of Charlotte? Why are you here? Why did you leave so soon?”

  William interrupted him, “I already found out what we need to know, Johnny! The British are moving on McIntyre’s farm first thing in the morning. Over four hundred men and fifty wagons.” He paused. “Not bad for a brand new spy, huh?”

  John smiled, revealing his gleaming white teeth in the darkness.

  “Not bad at all, little brother. Let’s saddle our horses. We’ve got to go tell Captain Thompson right now!”

  chapter thirteen

  Captain Thompson was thrilled about the information that William had obtained on his spy mission. He immediately sent runners to inform all of the local militia and call them to action. John Hamilton was one of those runners. He took off on his horse to inform the men to the east of Charlotte.

  The captain looked at William. “Son, you look exhausted.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m tired, for sure. I don’t usually stay up into the middle of the night.”

  “Well, you’ve done your part. You obtained the intelligence that we need to inflict some real damage on Cornwallis and his army. Go on home and get some rest. It’ll be sunup in a couple of hours. We’ll let you know how things turn out.”

  “Thank you, sir. I believe I’ll do just that. I don’t think I can stay awake a minute longer.”

  The captain patted William on the shoulder. “Good work, lad. You’ve served your country very well on this night.”

  “Thank you, sir. It was an honor.”

  “And it’s an honor to have you serving under my command. Now go on home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  William left the cabin and climbed exhausted up onto his horse. A half hour later he was sound asleep in his bed, still wearing his boots and the captured British clothes.

  * * *

  Later that morning the Patriot militia sprung its trap. A group of farmers attacked the British as they raided the McIntyre farm and stole the family’s livestock and food stores. Thinking that they were under attack by a large force, the column of British wagons raced back toward Charlotte.

  The militiamen sprung part two of their trap along the road. They managed to stop the first wagon in the British column along a narrow stretch of the highway and caused a tremendous collision, completely blocking the road. The British soldiers were “sitting ducks.”

  Sharpshooters from the Mecklenburg Regiment attacked the fleeing British from the location of the “traffic jam” all the way back to Charlotte. The Redcoats were under continuous attack over an eight-mile stretch of road. They suffered tremendous losses.

  The frustrated, decimated convoy of British wagons finally completed the trek back to Charlotte. The drivers ran the wagon teams so hard that several of the horses fell dead in the streets of the town. They were still tied to the tongues of their wagons. Dead Redcoats littered the road all over the eight-mile stretch to the McIntyre farm. Dozens more were wounded. It was a humiliating defeat, indeed.

  Cornwallis’ frustrations reached their breaking point. It was inexcusable that over four hundred of his best soldiers had been humiliated by a gaggle of farmers. The General stood on the deck at the top of the courthouse steps and surveyed the mess in the streets before him.

  He turned to his officers and declared, “Like I have said before, this village is a hornet’s nest of rebellion. These people hate England!”

  The Patriots of Mecklenburg County kept constant pressure on the occupying British. The terrain was very much in their favor. The roads of the county were narrow and surrounded by thick woods. The local sharpshooters continued their regular attacks on the British as they maneuvered along the roadways.

  Though they did not inflict significant losses upon the enemy, their constant, stinging attacks did much to hamper their foraging efforts. The British radius of influence shrunk smaller and smaller, and their area of control began to dwindle. The hornets of Mecklenburg County were most definitely “out of the nest.”

  Cornwallis’ army was beginning to run low on supplies. His men were getting hungry, and he was not happy. His couriers were being ambushed at every turn, making it impossible for Cornwallis and his officers to procure any useful military intelligence. Even the experienced and tested soldiers under his command were ready to return to the relative safety and peace of South Carolina.

  The final blow to the British plan to occupy North Carolina came in the form of a message early in the morning on October 10. A lone British messenger brought almost unbelievable news to Cornwallis. A ragtag army of North Carolina and Virginia mountain men had wiped out the command of Major Patrick Ferguson, the protector of Cornwallis’ western flank, three days prior at a place called King’s Mountain.

  Cornwallis’ invasion of North Carolina was doomed.

  On the afternoon of Thursday, October 12, 1780, the British Army began its evacuation of Charlotte. A pouring rain and persistent harsh wind began just as the entourage of over two thousand soldiers, another two thousand Tories and civilian camp followers, and dozens of wagons made their way southward toward Camden.

  In their haste the force abandoned twenty wagons full of equipment that included tents, uniforms, and muskets. They also left behind dozens of their dead soldiers, all buried in shallow graves in the yard of a makeshift hospital at Liberty Hall School.

  In just fifteen days Cornwallis’ first invasion of North Carolina ended in dismal failure. The occupation was over. Mecklenburg County was, once again, free.

  * * *

  With the threat of confiscation and outright theft gone, William and John elected to relocate all of their livestock to the Farr farm for safety and ease of care. They wholeheartedly joined in the work of their stepfather’s farm. They had no other choice, really. Their home had been destroyed and the British army had already stolen and consumed their entire crop of grain.

  They were dependent upon the good graces of Ephraim Farr, but they were also determined to earn their keep. When not performing the everyday chores involved in running the farm, the boys joined Ephraim in his salt-mining operation. His product was much in demand with the Continental Army.

  Farm work began to dwindle dramatically as the autumn ceded its daylight and warmer air to the shorter, colder days of winter. The boys turned to hunting and tanning hides to occupy their extra time in the cooler weather. With the help of their mother they built a small, but profitable, cottage industry that produced deerskin leggings for sale and trade to the Continental Army soldiers now encamped near Charlotte.

  The spirits of the people around Charlotte were lifting. The people did not have much food or money. They were barely getting by, hunting to put meat on the table and searching the woods for anything that was edible. But at least they were free from British oppression. The direction of the war was changing. The people could sense it. The upstart little country known as the United States of America was going to win!

  William and John were healthy and happy, surrounded by friends and loved ones. But they never stopped wondering about their big brother, James. Was he still alive? Would they ever see him again?

  chapter fourteen

  Christmas was shaping up to be a joyous time for John and William. There would be little in the way of gifts, but the time among family and friends was sure to be sweet, indeed. Christmas Eve was on Sunday. The church leaders already had plans to forego regu
lar morning services that day and, instead, have a candlelight service at sundown. These yearly Christmas Eve services at the Poplar Tent Presbyterian Church always drew a large crowd. William looked forward to it immensely.

  The candlelight service was beautiful, indeed. Each of the participants brought their own candle from home. They lit the candles, bathing the tent in their soft glow, and they sang hymns. The people shared openly about the trials of the past year and the blessings that they enjoyed now that the British were gone. The congregation responded with hearty “Amens” and “Hallelujahs.”

  It was a heartwarming gathering. Elder William Scott, the leader of the church, finally read the story of the Nativity from the Scriptures, the typical ending to the service. The church people began to gather their belongings and await the closing prayer.

  The Elder spoke to the crowd, “Friends, before we dismiss in prayer and return to our homes to celebrate the birth of our Lord among our families, I have one last thing to share.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out a small, worn square of paper. It had a dirty string wrapped around it and the fold of the paper was sealed with a daub of yellow wax. It was a letter.

  “Yesterday, I received this letter from a courier who was passing through Charlotte town on his way north with dispatches to Hillsboro. He actually had two letters. After learning that I was a minister of the Gospel, he asked if I knew the individuals to whom these letters were addressed. When I informed him that I did, indeed, know the addressees for both letters, he entrusted them to me for delivery. He stressed that these letters were confidential and that they were recently smuggled out of Charlestown.”

  A gasp of excitement traveled through the crowd. A general chatter broke out among the congregation. “Charlestown! Who would be sending letters from Charlestown?” An air of tension descended upon the church.

  The Elder continued, “I delivered the first letter yesterday afternoon. The man to whom it was addressed is not a part of our church. Some of you probably know him, though … Mr. Silas Moffat.”

  More excited chatter erupted. William’s heart climbed into his throat. He knew full well that Silas’ son, Joel Moffat, was James’ best friend in the entire world. The Elder held up his hands to calm the crowd.

  He spoke over the murmur of their voices, “The other letter … this letter … is addressed to one of our very own.”

  He turned his head to John Hamilton. John’s heart throbbed in his chest. He felt light-headed. He thought he might pass out.

  “John Hamilton, will you please come and claim your correspondence? And if you feel led and sense the freedom to do so, once you have read the letter, please consider sharing the news from Charlestown with our brethren.”

  John looked at William. “Go ahead, Johnny. The letter is to you! I’m dying to know what it says!”

  John rose from his bench. His legs didn’t want to move, but somehow he ambled methodically and deliberately to the end of the row and made his way down the aisle. Every eye was upon him. The tension was palpable.

  John finally reached the platform and joined the Elder who placed the crumpled letter into his hand. He folded the letter slightly and slid the string off and then used his fingernail to break the wax seal. He looked out into the congregation and locked eyes with his mother. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. William, sitting beside her, wept also. He could almost swear that he saw a tear in Ephraim Farr’s eye. It was obvious that they all assumed the letter was a source of bad news. John smiled at his mother and then handed the letter back to the Elder.

  “Sir, I don’t read very well. And I’m a bit too excited to even try.”

  The congregation laughed nervously. His mother smiled through her tears.

  John continued, “I would be honored if you would just go ahead and read the letter to all the church folk. Mama deserves to hear what it says, too.”

  “Are you certain, John?”

  “Yes, sir. Please just get on with it.”

  “Very well.”

  The Elder handed his candle to John and took the letter in his hands. John held up both candles to give the elderly gentleman more illumination.

  The old man cleared his throat and began reading:

  “Dear Mr. John Hamilton,

  “I have not had the pleasure to make your acquaintance. I cannot share my name at this time for fear of reprisal from our British occupiers. Suffice it to say that I am a woman and a Patriot and that I long for the day when our oppressors will be run back into the sea. It is my sincere hope that the news I bear in this correspondence will lift your spirits as the Christmas season draws nigh.

  “By means that I cannot disclose I have made contact with a gentleman now housed in the prison barracks in Charlestown. His name is Joel Moffat, captured during Gates’ defeat at Camden. He asked that I endeavor to inform you that your brother, James Hamilton, is alive and well and living with him in the barracks housing.”

  A huge cheer erupted from the congregation. John wept openly, as did his mother. She wrapped William in her arms. Even Elder Scott wiped a tear of joy from his face as he basked in the celebration ongoing in what was ordinarily a very quiet, reserved, and conservative church body.

  He waved his hands in a hopeless effort to try and calm the crowd. It was several minutes before he was able to resume reading the letter. Finally, the rowdy din dulled to an excited murmur.

  “Folks, if I might continue … “

  He cleared his throat again.

  “Mr. Moffat has informed me that there are several dozen men from your county’s regiment who were captured on the same day as he. Many have perished from the pox, the bloody flux, and starvation, but some remain alive. Please know that their situation is dire and that the British are most harsh in their treatment. But also know that they are more determined than ever to remain alive and defiant in the face of their cruel captors.

  “Please know also that I and others like me are attempting to send food and supplies to the men inside the camp. I will also endeavor to forward further correspondence and information to you as I have the opportunity.

  “Please give my regards to Mrs. Farr, and let her know that her son loves her and misses her dearly. I am your humble servant, a lady and Patriot of South Carolina. God save the United States of America!”

  Elder Scott placed his arm around John’s shoulders and in a very uncharacteristic fashion shouted, “Now, folks, that is good news!”

  The men picked up and waved their hats and broke out in cheers of, “Huzzah!”

  chapter fifteen

  It was a harsh winter for the Hamilton brothers. Both of them caught a horrible fever shortly after Christmas. William got better from the sickness much quicker than John. In fact, John came close to death. But they both eventually recovered. It took two full months for John to feel like himself again.

  In April John was called to action in the militia and had to go to South Carolina. He fought in a battle there at a place called Hobkirk’s Hill, near Camden … the place where James had been captured the previous year. John survived the battle and returned home in a matter of days.

  John settled back into normal life after returning home from that battle. It was mid-May and the boys should have been in the middle of planting and farming season, but there was no seed to be found in Mecklenburg County in the spring of 1781.

  Since their farm was non-producing and dormant, they stayed on the Farr property and helped Ephraim whenever they could. They would have to hold on and make do until the war was over and James came home. They hoped beyond hope that life would return to normal sometime soon.

  Another letter made it through from Charlestown and broke the monotony of their day-to-day existence. It arrived on June 5, but it was dated May 22. The letter read:

  “Dear Mr. John Hamilton,

  “It is with great joy that I write to you again to send you news of your dear brother. I apologize sincerely for the lack of correspondence over these past months.
Our courier system was compromised during the winter and discovered by our common enemy. It has taken several months to re-establish a dependable network by which to forward correspondence northward.

  “James is doing as well as can be expected. I have had regular contact with him through Mr. Moffat. I even spoke to him personally on two occasions when he ventured close enough to our normal place of rendezvous. Both men have fared well during their stay in the prisoner barracks. There is less disease and privation in the camp than on board the deathly ships in our harbor.

  “I have managed to smuggle modest amounts of food and supplies through the fence to them. We cannot exchange much in the way of goods, though, as we do not want to betray your brother and his friend through the appearance of health that is better than that of their comrades. It is a difficult balance to find.

  “We hold hope that there will soon be a general exchange of prisoners. Rumors abound in Charlestown regarding such a possibility, but I have no way to confirm those rumors.

  “There is also another rumor that the camp will soon be shut down and all men moved on board prison ships. We pray that this is not the case. I trust that you will join us in that prayer.

  “Please rest assured that if there is any change in your brother’s status that I will endeavor to forward information to you at the first possible opportunity.

  “Please give my regards to James’ mother, and let her know that her son still loves her and misses her dearly. I remain your humble servant, a lady and Patriot of the free state of South Carolina. God save the United States of America.”