The Native American Called jack

Wateree Jack awoke and felt something wet on his face. His eyes blinked open and he looked into the face of Dog.  His faithful hunting companion was standing over him as he lay on the floor of his small cabin. The Native American arose and realized his dog had been licking his face. He donned his trousers and homespun shirt. Around his waist he put his belt with the large knife the old master had given him when he gave him his freedom. It was Jack’s most prized possession. He was never without it. Many deer had been relieved of their skin with that knife. Jack pulled his long hair back and tied it with a leather throng. His black hair was now streaked with gray. He put a hat on his head and stepped outside his small cabin. The hat was black like most farmers wore except his had a white egret’s feather in it. He had a small earring in his left ear and otherwise looked like most other men except that his skin was a bit darker, like one who had spent a lot of time in the bright Carolina sun. Wateree Jack was most likely the wealthiest Native American in the colonies. He had raised and trained horses and acted as guide and translator to those who ventured into the wilderness. As he walked beneath the tall live oaks he reflected on his years with the English.There had been many good years but the memory of his abduction from his tribe's flaming village still haunted him. And at night he could still hear the screams of his mother as the Englishman pulled him from her arms. That day seemed to be long ago, but was alive at night in his dreams.  

It was a fifteenth day of May in the year 1715 with an almost cloudless sky except for the hint of a thundercloud on the southern horizon. On a day like this years ago in 1697 he had gone to the north for old Master Moore to purchase horses. He and the two white men had been attacked by some Tuscarora Indians while they were crossing the great river of the white flowers. The river would later carry the name of the Catawba tribe. One of the white men was killed and he, Wateree Jack, and John Herne, a white man, had escaped. Herne escaped harm but Wateree Jack was wounded. His master, James Moore, had trusted him with a large amount of silver for purchasing horses but it was stolen by the attacking savages.  Jack had to live off the land when he escaped the attackers, recalling the skills learned in his youth with the native people. His people.  Eventually he reached a settlement in North Carolina and a local surgeon removed the musket ball from his leg.  And upon recuperation he led a trading party back to the Boochawee Plantation and his master.

The old master was quite an Indian fighter and hated the Spaniards too. Wateree Jack had accompanied him when he ventured into Florida to attack the Indians and Spaniards there. That was in the early 1700s. Most of these expeditions were successful but they were unable to capture Castillo de San Marco in Saint Augustine. But those adventures were long ago and much had changed since then. The old Master had made his fortune in raising horses, most of which were used by the traders who did business in the Carolina backcountry.  To Wateree Jack’s chagrin the old master, James Moore I, had come down with a fever in 1706 and never recovered. The young Master,  James Moore II, did not give Watereee Jack the responsibility and respect his father had. 

There seemed to be a lot of activity about the plantation on that day in May, 1715. Some of the local plantation owners  were gathering. Jack was curious about what was going on. Old Moses, the house slave, said all the plantation owners were gathering to decide what to do about the Indian uprisings. He heard that the Indians had attacked and killed some of the English. Although Jack lived at Boochawee, he continued to be aware of goings on in the Indian nation. It was true that he no longer had any relatives there, but as the provider of game for the master's table, he often met native Americans while hunting. Wateree Jack was an expert woodsman and hunter. He was an expert with his musket which was like those of the white men, not a poor quality musket like those sold to the Indians. From hunting he knew that the white tailed deer were not as plentiful as they once were. The white men had killed so many deer that there were hardly any left for the Indians. He had heard white men speak of ships loaded with deerskins shipped to England. The English had taken more of the Indians land for their rice plantations also. The land had once been promised to the Wateree and other native people for their hunting grounds. His people had become dependent on the white man. Once they had lived in harmony with the English, but no longer. They had become angry. They were on the warpath and had massacred some colonists which included John Herne and family. 

On this day the Englishmen were meeting to decide on where to attack the Indians.  The men of the militia were gathered. Thomas Barker was in command. The young captain had arrived at Boochawee the day before and brought his young wife with him. She was James Moore’s sister. Wateree Jack had watched Moore, his sister and Barker grow up together.  The Indian thought that Barker’s young wife was the prettiest white woman he had ever seen. Her hands were so small and soft, not large and rough like Indian women’s hands. And she smelled like spring flowers.  After the meeting was over his master, James Moore II, sought him out. Although he had been given his freedom by James Moore I, his son, James Moore II, treated Wateree Jack more like a slave than a free man.  He told Jack that he would be the guide for Captain Thomas Barker's cavalry. Jack said little and went about saddling his horse. He had a number of horses, but picked his favorite, a young chestnut gelding. Within an hour the one hundred well armed  cavalrymen were underway with Wateree Jack guiding them.

As men on horseback moved through the dense primeval forest of tall pines and scrub palmettos, Jack would scout ahead and return to report to Captain Barker what lay ahead.  About forty miles northwest of Boochawee Plantation and near the great river, Jack scouted ahead but did not return to report to Capt. Barker. Little did they know that as soon as he was out of sight he had removed his hat. His long hair fell to his shoulders and almost ceremonially he stripped to his loincloth. 

The militia reached a point where there were hundreds of fallen trees. A  hurricane the year before had decimated the forest. The roots of the giant pines and live oaks reached skyward like the hands of so many demons of hell. Within the hour Capt. Barker's men came under attack by a band of over four hundred armed Indians who lay in ambush. They were not just the Wateree, but the Catawba, Sarraw, and about seventy Cherokee from the Carolina hill country. The white men, though mounted and better armed, stood not a chance when outnumbered nearly six to one. Captain Barker did not survive the ambush. They say Wateree Jack shot the militia captain from his saddle. And the youngest daughter of James Moore I. became a widow. The battle was quick and decisive. 

Twenty-three of the militia fell to the native attackers. Without leadership the company was in disarray and retreated. The militia survivors returned, many of them wounded, to Booshawee and gave account of the battle. The settlers were terrified. The Goose Creek settlement was abandoned as the residents fled to Charles Town. The survivors of the battle told how Wateree Jack had led them into an ambush and joined the Indians. One man said he had seen Jack fighting alongside his red brothers. Another had seen Jack taking a cavalryman's scalp. Some say they saw Wateree Jack in other battles with the Indians. Although they say he was killed, his body was never found.

The local folk say that today on warm summer evenings in the loblolly pine and scrub palmetto forests of the land between Goose Creek and Eutauville you'll see a shadowy figure appearing among the trees. And that is Watteree Jack...and he still seeks revenge!

  

They Don't Grow on Trees

I like ‘em boiled, roasted, raw, green, or dry. Heck, I even like peanut hummus! Peanuts are a great food and source of nutrition. I guess it is that nutty taste that I really like. Interestingly enough the peanut is not a nut at all. It is classified as a legume. Our most common legumes are beans and peas. A peanut doesn’t look much like a lima bean does it? Or does it? Both have pods in which the seed matures but the nomenclature is different. The bean has a pod but the peanut has a shell. Maybe peanut hummus is not much of a stretch since hummus is normally made of chickpeas. 

I love peanut butter too. George Washington Carver is given credit for inventing peanut butter, although there is some question as to the validity of this claim. But, no one can deny the fact that Carver created dozens of new products to be made from peanuts. In doing so he created a new cash crop for southern farmers. 

The peanut plant itself is quite fascinating in the way it produces its fruit, or rather nuts. The plant is bright green and about a one foot and a half high when mature. Before I get into the growing and harvesting of peanuts I must proclaim from whence my knowledge comes. 

I grew up on a farm in the Piedmont part of South Carolina.  We grew peanuts. The soil was first prepared by plowing and harrowing. Then it was “laid off “ in rows for planting. The mule drawn planter made a furrow and placed a seed in the furrow and covered it up with soil. The peanut planter could be adjusted to vary the depth  and space at which the seeds were planted. Our seed we saved from a previous crop. Often we would coat the seed peanuts with a chemical to deter the crows. It was not unusual to have crows digging up the peanuts as fast as we would plant them. Given the chance, Daddy or I would shoot a crow. We would hang a dead crow up in the middle of the peanut patch to let the other crows know the fate of those that dug up our freshly planted peanuts.  We would hang string up criss-cross fashion over the patch too, and maybe add a shiny old pie tin. Once the plants pushed their green leaves through the soil the crows lost interest. 

We would cultivate the peanut plants twice. Soon the plants would be covered with tiny yellow flowers. These flowers would burrow into the soil and the peanuts would form.  At the proper time we would plow up the plants. I would follow Daddy piling up the plants after shaking the dirt off them. After Daddy had finished plowing up the crop, he would exchange the plow for a small sled to haul the peanuts on. The peanut plants would be piled high on the sled and I would get to ride right on top. During the days of late summer my sister and I could be found under a big oak tree picking off peanuts. We picked only the fully developed peanuts from the vines. A harvested plant would have nuts in all stages of growth. We looked rather like ragamuffins in our dirty clothes and dirty faces. After we removed all the peanuts from the plants we would wash and  put them out in the sun to dry a bit. Later that night with Daddy’s help we would weigh up five pound brown paper bags of peanuts. Daddy would then sell the peanuts where he worked. Harvesting the peanuts would take a whole week or longer. My sister and I were frequently the but of jokes as farm kids. But one day we got to laugh at the city kids when a family came to the farm to buy some peanuts. My sister and I nearly died of laughter when the boy wanted to know what kind of tree did peanuts grow on!