What happens when a Carolina frontiersman enters the 21st century? The adventure begins…
John Hatch at the age of 19 years was full of life and ready for adventure. He lifted his head to the Carolina air and breathed in deeply. Here he was in this free and open territory. Land lay before him ready to be plowed and harrowed. Mountains rose above him ready to be explored. The year was 1791. The new Constitution and Bill of Rights had just been ratified. John felt that he was living in a land and in an age of great freedom. In the midst of the woods, the wild mountain breeze swirled around him, a herd of elk grazed in the distance, and the cry of a hawk settled over the forest. John Hatch believed there was nothing beyond his grasp. He stood stoutly, rifle in hand while his eyes beheld the forest. “Freedom,” his mouth formed the word. Then he whispered it aloud. Suddenly something he could not quite make out came hurling toward his head. It hit him, and everything went dark.
When John awoke, he was lying in the middle of the forest. It was as though nothing had happened, but when he sat up and looked around at the trees, they seemed smaller and out of their places. He quickly stood up and brushed himself off. “Hmm,” he muttered to himself. He turned around and headed homeward, but as he walked he found that everything was wrong. The landmarks he was accustomed to using to find his way simply were not there anymore. The large oak, the thin fallen pine, the open plain— they had all vanished. He started muttering in his frustration and tromped back and forth scratching his chin. He looked this way and that. “My head must have been hit very hard,” he finally said in exasperation, pulling his compass out of his pocket.
Eventually John made it through the woods and found himself in a town — a town that according to his memory should not be there. What an odd town it was too! He had to keep rubbing his eyes. It was like he had entered into some fireside tale of fairies and goblins. It seemed to him to be a large town. There were about thirty shops built in a style he had not seen before. There were strange-looking wagons parked all along the street, but the horses were nowhere in sight. In fact, as John looked around he realized that these wagons could move without horses. He spotted a small black wagon with two wheels. A man clothed in black hide jumped onto it and rode off. It was the fastest wagon John had ever seen, and it made a noise like thunder.
“Excuse me,” a lady interrupted his thoughts, “My son was wondering if he could take a picture with you.” John glanced down to see a boy of about six smiling at him. John bowed politely. Why did the strange boy want a painting with him? That could take hours. John just wanted to get back to his cabin. “Why, I fear I have not the time for it,” he said. The lady looked at him curiously, “So, are you in a play or something?” “A play?” John looked back at her with equal curiosity, “Why, Ma’am, there are certainly no theaters in this part of the country.”
John was very confused. He had entered some sort of fairy land with strange people of strange speech with strange machines, and all he wanted was to arrive home before nightfall. John needed one of those fast little wagons.
To be continued…
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