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

  Little Hornet

  Boy Patriot of North Carolina

  Patriot Kids of the

  American Revolution Series

  Book One

  GEOFF BAGGETT

  Copyright © 2016 Geoff Baggett

  Cocked Hat Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0997383313

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9973833-1-7

  DEDICATION

  To our kids. They need to know and connect with their history. I hope that my stories will help them make a connection.

  Chapter one

  A loud gunshot snatched William Hamilton from his happy, deep sleep. Something was shaking his leg, too. He opened his eyes and saw his big brother, James, holding his finger up to his lips.

  William was a little confused. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was. Then he realized that he was sleeping in Mrs. Mary Kate McClelland’s barn. The Hamilton brothers had traveled down from their home near Charlotte, North Carolina, to help the widow lady on her farm. So her barn was their temporary bedroom.

  The Revolutionary War had come to South Carolina in the spring of 1780, and Charlestown had fallen to the Redcoats in May. Tory and British soldiers now roamed the countryside, taking supplies from the farms and causing a lot of trouble for Patriot families.

  Mrs. McClelland’s husband had died during one of the British raids into the Waxhaws. Her two oldest sons had been captured at Charlestown and were being held on prison ships in the harbor there. This poor widow owned a big farm and had a house full of small children to care for. That’s why the Hamilton brothers were in South Carolina … to deliver a generous collection of gifts, food, and clothes from their church and to work on the widow’s farm for a few days.

  So far it had been a wonderful trip. William was having the adventure of a lifetime. He made lots of new friends. He taught the little McClelland boys, David and James, how to chop weeds from their cornfield. He even took them hunting and got a deer. They roasted the meat over a fire and had it for supper. It fed the whole family and all of the guests!

  But now, in the middle of the night, something was very wrong. William could tell by the look on his big brother’s face.

  James hissed in the darkness, “Shhh … Be quiet, William.”

  “What’s wrong, James?”

  “I heard a gunshot and breaking glass. And I think I heard someone scream. Something’s not right.”

  William looked around in the darkness of the hayloft where the boys had been sleeping. His other big brother, John, was awake. So was Andy Jackson, a neighbor of the McClelland family and a new friend that they had made on their trip to South Carolina.

  The boys all crawled to the loft window and carefully peered over the rough sill. In the clearing beside the house stood three men in strange green uniforms holding torches and pointing muskets at a sobbing huddle of terrified children. Through the tiny window of the cabin they saw flames dancing. There was more breaking glass. They heard the horrible sound of screams coming from behind the house.

  “Those are British Legion dragoons!” hissed Andy. “They’re Colonel Banastre Tarleton’s men, Tories from up north. I can tell by the green coats. What are they doing this far from Charlestown?”

  A frightened scream emanated from the darkness.

  “That’s Margaret, for sure. It sounds like she’s out back!” exclaimed James in an excited whisper. His voice was filled with fear and rage.

  Margaret McClelland was the oldest daughter of the Mrs. McClelland. James Hamilton had fallen in love with her the moment that he saw her three days ago. Just the night before he had asked her to marry him. And she said, “Yes.” Margaret McClelland was going to be James Hamilton’s wife.

  “I don’t see Mrs. McClelland. And it looks one of the boys is missing. I can’t tell which one,” added John.

  “I’ve got to go help Margaret!” James headed for the cluster of flintlocks standing in the corner.

  “James, you can’t go charging with guns blazing into a bunch of armed militia. It’s too dangerous,” cautioned John. “You need to think before you act.”

  More screams filled the night. Frantic. Wailing. Piercing.

  James rapidly assessed the situation and then voiced his plan. “I’m going to work my way through the trees around back of the house. I’m going to fight off any militiamen that I see back there. I want you boys to get your guns and take aim at those three soldiers who are guarding the McClelland kids. The second you hear me start shooting I want you to shoot those Tories.”

  “All right, James, but what then?” asked John.

  James wrapped his belt around his waist, sticking his sheathed knife inside the leather on his left hip, then replied, “If you don’t see any more soldiers after a while, come on down and check out the cabin, and then work your way around back and find me.”

  James prepared to drop through the ladder hole to the barn floor below. “Good luck, boys. Don’t get shot,” he cautioned. Then he was gone.

  John, Andy, and William retrieved their guns and shooting bags from the corner and made their way toward the window.

  “Are you boys all loaded?” asked John.

  “Yes,” replied William.

  “Always,” answered Andy.

  “Make sure your frizzen cover is off and that you have a good pile of powder in your pan. We want all of these shots to go off like they’re supposed to,” urged John.

  John stepped up to the window to take another look at the Tory guards. They were still standing watch over the kids. All three had their backs to the barn.

  “I’m going to take the one on the left. William, you take the one in the middle. Andy, you take the one on the right. Let’s go ahead and line up the shots. Nothing fancy. Aim dead center of the middle of the back. It won’t take James too long to work his way around back of the house, so we need to be ready,” stated John.

  The boys stood well inside the room with their barrels resting on the high sill of the opening. It was a perfect height for Andy and William. John had to spread his legs a bit to stand comfortably and not hunch over.

  “I don’t like this,” whined William. “Those are men down there. Not rabbits or deer. And we’re going to shoot them? It just doesn’t seem right.”

  “Those Tories are aiming muskets at some little kids … our friends, William,” retorted Andy. “They are enemy soldiers, and this is a war. We have to fight back.”

  “He’s right, William. Nobody makes war on a house full of women and children. What these Tories are doing is not right. Tonight justice is up to us. Now make ready, boys.”

  Two long rifles and William’s stubby musket issued a subtle “crack” as the boys pulled the hammers back to full cock.

  “Sight in on your man,” John ordered. “Now we wait.”

  The boys waited for only a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to them.

  The sudden crack of the gunshot from behind the cabin startled all three of the boys, shaking them from their concentration upon their targets. The three soldiers guarding the children jumped as well, instinctively lifting their weapons toward the sound of the shot.

  “Fire!” yelled John.

  He and Andy fired their rifles simultaneously. William’s shot was about a half-second behind theirs. All three bullets found their marks. Two of the soldiers fell. The middle one stumbled forward, spun around, and shot back at the barn. The Tory then took off running for cover behind the house. John reloaded his flin
tlock quickly and fired again. The enemy soldier went down. The yard became suddenly quiet.

  Andy, finished with his reloading, replaced his ramrod, cocked his rifle, and trained his sites on the cabin door. William fell down on his knees, spun around and sat against the wall, and burst into hysterical tears. He covered his face with his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Johnny! I’m so sorry, Johnny! I didn’t mean to miss my shot. I swear, Johnny! I had my sites right on him! I don’t know what happened.”

  John sought to console him as he reloaded. “You didn’t miss, William. You hit him. It’s going to be all right. You did what you had to do.”

  William refused to be consoled. He wept silently.

  John rejoined Andy in the window with his rifle freshly loaded. “See anything, Andy?”

  “No. Nothing’s moving as far as I can tell. Those kids are probably scattered all in the woods. I’ll bet they’re still running. We need to go down and check on James and see if we can find the kids and get them inside.”

  John and Andy exited the barn cautiously. They aimed their rifles left and right, prepared for possible enemy soldiers concealed in the woods. They saw no one. Even better, no one shot at them.

  “I’ll go look for the little ones,” Andy volunteered.

  John barked an order to William, hiding in the cover of the barn, “William, you go around back and check on James. But be careful! Don’t shoot at anything you can’t see. Stay in the shadows. And whatever you do, don’t shoot James!”

  William wiped the tears from his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “All right, Johnny.”

  William ran out of the door of the barn. He trotted to the right, skirting the edge of the trees, and headed for the clearing behind the cabin. What he found there was the saddest thing he ever saw. James was sitting on the ground and holding his fiancé, Margaret, in his arms. His big brother was sobbing.

  William cried out, “Johnny! Come quick!”

  chapter two

  William came to a decision as he jostled about in the seat of the wagon. He never wanted to shoot another man. Ever.

  He thought, “I’m just as much a Patriot as my brothers, but I don’t ever want to see anything like that again.”

  The boys were headed back home to Mecklenburg County, North Carolina. William was driving the Hamilton wagon westward out of the village of Lancaster. His brothers trusted him to drive their wagon. William loved guiding a team of horses. He was good at it.

  He was quickly becoming a man on the Carolina frontier. After all, he had just recently turned thirteen years old. He could work on the farm, drive a wagon, hunt, and fish like any grown man. He even worked in his stepfather’s salt mining operation. Yes, William Hamilton was becoming a fine, hard-working young man.

  And he understood what was happening in the world around him … how so many people in the colonies wanted to be free from the rule of England and King George III. But he was having a lot of trouble understanding what had happened two nights ago at the McClelland farm.

  Why would soldiers want to harm women and children? What did that have to do with the war for independence? How could people be so cruel to others? It just wasn’t fair!

  Those soldiers had been very cruel, indeed, on that dark, scary night. It just didn’t make any sense. Three members of the McClelland family died in the attack. The poor widow McClelland and her little boy, Jacob, had been found in the cabin. And then there was Margaret. She died in James Hamilton’s arms.

  William would never forget how his brother cried out and wept. He had never seen a man cry like that. It was so very sad. The day before the attack James had been making plans for his wedding to Margaret. But then one day later he stood by her graveside for her funeral.

  And then there were the Tory militiamen. Five green-coated soldiers of the British Legion rode onto the McClelland farm that night. Because of what James, John, Andy Jackson, and William did, none of them ever left that farm. The Patriot militia buried the men on the hillside above the cabin on the morning after the raid.

  William shuddered at the thought of it. He pulled the collar of his wool coat up under his chin to help ward off the cool air. He snapped the reins and clucked at the horses to encourage them along the rutted roadway.

  They had about seven miles to travel before reaching the northward highway that would take them back into Mecklenburg County. William pushed the team hard, hoping to make it back into North Carolina before nightfall.

  The road was muddy, but not impassable, and they made steady progress. At one point they had to cross a small creek. The water was over a foot deep and flowing vigorously because of recent heavy rains. William talked softly to the team and made the crossing carefully and slowly.

  The miles passed quietly. About an hour after noon they approached a small rise in the road. As they neared the hilltop they heard shouts, clanking metal sounds, creaking wagons, and the snorts of horses far off to their right. The sounds grew louder.

  “We must be near the crossroad,” observed John. “It sure sounds busy on the northern road, doesn’t it?”

  “A little too busy,” mused James.

  When they topped the hill they saw the source of all of the noise and activity. A large convoy of wagons and men was approaching steadily from the south. There were several hundred men accompanying the wagons, some on horseback, but most on foot. Most of the men wore blue and red Continental Army uniforms.

  “Those are Continentals!” exclaimed John. “But I thought they were all captured at Charlestown.”

  “It looks like they didn’t catch them all,” commented James. “They’re moving pretty fast and yelling a lot. Must be in a hurry. I don’t want to be in front of this bunch, for sure. They’ll push us too hard. We’ll just wait here at this crossroad and let them pass, then we can follow at our own pace.”

  William eased the team to a stop about fifty yards short of the intersection. John broke out a sack full of snacks and passed them around for a makeshift meal. A cluster of five officers soon broke away from the head of the column and trotted across the field toward their wagon. It appeared that the column was stopping. Men were dismounting and almost everyone began to sit down along the side of the road to rest.

  “We’ve got company coming, boys,” commented James.

  They waited as the officers trotted up to the Hamilton wagon.

  “Good day to you, gentlemen,” one of the officers spoke. He was a kindly looking middle-aged fellow.

  “I’m Colonel Abraham Buford of the Third Virginia Regiment and in command of this detachment. I trust you boys are not of a loyalist persuasion.”

  “You would be right, sir. I’m James Hamilton, private in the Mecklenburg County Militia of North Carolina. These are my brothers John and William.”

  “Outstanding! Are you in this area on official business for the military?” inquired the colonel.

  “No, sir,” responded James. “We had some personal business down here in the Waxhaws for a few days, but now we’re heading home. We thought that we might wait here for a while and let you gentlemen pass and then fall in behind you.”

  “I thought all the Continentals surrendered at Charlestown,” interjected John. “How did you avoid capture?”

  The colonel smiled. “Well, son, we were not at Charlestown for the surrender, thank God! I was dispatched there to bring relief to the siege, but we arrived too late. We are returning to North Carolina to regroup with our forces there, but the British have been dogging us for days. General Lord Cornwallis is now out of Charlestown and seeking to subdue the countryside. Have you gentlemen seen any sign of the enemy?”

  “We encountered a few of them night before last. Five men of the British Legion a few miles west of here,” responded James.

  “That is our nemesis, for sure! Loyalist cavalry and dragoons under the command of Colonel Banastre Tarleton. They have pursued us for days. It must have been one of his forward patrols,” observed the colonel.

  “Well, t
hese men attacked a helpless family that night near Lancaster. We happened to be staying on the farm, sleeping in the barn. We killed them all, but not before they murdered two women and a child.”

  “Absolutely horrible, but not surprising,” commented the Colonel, shaking his head. “These beasts are unleashing many such horrors upon the people of South Carolina. They must be driven back into the sea.”

  “Sir, look! An enemy soldier under white flag of truce!” exclaimed one of the other officers.

  chapter three

  A lone rider dressed in the unmistakable bright green and red of the British Legion rode rapidly along the road beside the column.

  William thought, “He looks exactly like the men we fought at the farm!” He was frightened.

  The enemy soldier paused briefly, then following the directions of several finger-pointing men, galloped across the short grass toward the officers gathered around the Hamilton wagon. He yanked the reins and pulled to a rapid halt twenty feet away. He arrogantly sized up the gathering of officers before him.

  “Whom, may I ask, is the officer commanding this column?” he inquired with a thick, educated British accent.

  “That would be me, Lieutenant. Colonel Abraham Buford, Third Virginia Regiment, representing the Continental Congress of the United States of America, in command of this column and detachment. State your business, son.”

  “Colonel, I am Lieutenant Andrew Mayfair of the British Legion, at your service. I bear a message from Colonel Banastre Tarleton, commandant of the Legion.”

  “What is Tarleton’s message, young man?”

  “Sir, the commandant wishes me to inform you that you are now surrounded by seven hundred troops on horseback. We also have infantry and cannons. General Lord Cornwallis is approaching and only a short distance away. The commandant urges that you surrender immediately to avoid more bloodshed.”