“Captain, I see America!”
All of the British people on that boat were excited about their only goal: to set up a colony in the new lands. One person in particular, Sam Free, had nothing to lose aboard this boat. He had a crummy life back in England, only distant family members in the countryside, and was looking for a new adventure.
Thump.
The boat docked at the shore, and men started spilling out of it, like little ants on a mission. Each of them was carrying heavy, weathered crates, but every man had a smile on his face. Being on the seas for months can drive a man crazy, so everyone was glad they had solid ground to stand on.
Sam stepped off the boat, also hoisting a crate on his back, but he set it down to marvel at the true beauty of this land. Dense, lush greenery was all the eye could see. Birds soared through the skies, critters covered the ground.
Sam had to explore further.
He pulled out his machete, chopped away the thick plants, and continued onward.
Back at the main camp, word was spreading that they had landed in the wrong area. The captain announced the group:
“Everyone, it has come to my attention that we have landed 200 miles north of where we are supposed to be. Unfortunately, we must pack our ship and make sail once more.” The news dropped like a dead tree. Slowly, the men packed up the crates and reboarded the ship.
Sam had been out in the forest for about an hour when we heard rushing water. He ran faster and faster because he had been quite parched, and stumbled upon a waterfall. Vast quantities of water poured into a small lake. He knelt in the coarse soil, leaned over, and took a fresh sip of the water.
“I must tell the crew about this!” Sam excitedly thought to himself. As he carefully retraced his footsteps, getting lost one too many times, he found the shore, absent of any boat or humankind.
He had been left behind.
Sam’s gaze towards the ocean lessened as he realized night would be falling soon.
“Just make a fire, and I’ll be fine.” Sam gathered twigs, found a flintstone, struck it with his knife, and created a fire. This glowing ball of warmth would keep him warm for many nights to come.
Sam’s beard had grown noticeably thicker in the next seven days.
He had managed to survive and was even thriving for a bit. He decided to head back to the waterfall and establish his new home. Painstakingly, he chopped down tree after tree and formed a nice little shack for himself. There were plenty of animals and wildlife for him to consume, so starvation was no longer an issue.
In a short period, the crew established a more sizable camp than Sam’s. They had a small community going and had the basic qualities of life. But one day, someone asked a question that should have been asked sooner,
“What happened to Sam?” Not all of the men survived their first week, but there was no account of Sam’s death. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a pressing matter, so the memory of Sam slowly faded away.
As time passed, the small community slowly gained in population. More and more land was cleared on the coast. But one day, a discovery was made.
A group of men was scouting the forest and heard rushing water. They ran towards it, and what they found truly surprised them.
There was good ole Sam posed by the waterfall. He alone had made his own community, be it a lonely one. A hearty home surrounded the lake at the foot of the waterfall, with others being built.
Soon, Sam became a legend. Word spread around the colonies. Everyone wanted to see Sam’s small village. As the tale was passed down, Sam was described as an old man. He was part of the original settlers and was the father of this country.
It wasn’t long before people started calling him Uncle Sam.
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Created for Just Write