Master Robert

Fire Amos and Tom drop their fishing poles, fish, and dead rattler. “Come on!” Amos whispered. “Let’s get out of here!” The boys sprint down the river trail to alert Mr. Robert. The snap of a dead limb Tom steps on, startles an owl. It screeches as it swoops from its high perch. The light from the silver moon cut its way like silken ribbons through the branches. Amos and Tom find their way easily; a path they travel a hundred times. Dark shadows stretch like the long fingers of haints across the path. Haints make Tom so nervous he bites his lower lip when frightened. Like many slaves that live on the coastal islands, he is superstitious. From the time he was a small child all the older people around him told stories of haints. What worries him most were all the stories ended in death for someone. His imagination runs riot. A squirrel rustling in the leaves or a family of raccoons scrambling up a tree will send shivers up his spine. Splinters of light or a reflection through the trees terrify him. His grandmother told him the following story about lights. A long time ago on the island up on the Old Reeves place a driver and a slave got into a terrible argument late one afternoon. The driver grabbed a cowskin and laid several large welts across the slaves back to try to control him. That night the slave seething with anger went to a woodshed and grabbed an axe. He calmly walked over to the driver’s quarters and knocked on the door. When the driver opened it, he pushed him back in to the room and viciously axed him to death, leaving the body in a pool of blood on the floor. Quietly, he left by the back door. In the years to follow, strange lights were often seen in the driver’s house. When darkness smothered the island like a black glove, a bright ball of light would appear on the doorstep of the old house. It would then enter the house and exit out the back door, perhaps looking for someone who committed the murder. Tom’s worst fear is the haints that wait in trees at night. Hungry, they will devour the body of an unsuspecting traveler. His grandmother told him of a slave who made the mistake of leaving the village too late one afternoon to visit a friend in a plantation not far away. As dusk settled he made his way through the woods thinking he would save time. The next day his clothes were found beneath a large oak tree. He was never seen again. Amos tells Tom not to worry there are no haints. Those stories are made up to keep young children from straying into the woods and getting lost. “No, Amos, that’s not true. Haints exist, I know it.” Tom said. Finally, they stop at the edge of a clearing. The Lantana, Bitterweed and Broomsedge seed themselves and grow along the edge of Stafford Field. Once a forest of Live Oak, it grows a variety of crops including; cotton, corn and peas. The moon rising in the east offers enough light to see across the field. Amos and Tom quickly spot Planter’s House, Mr. Robert’s residence. Moonlight reflects off the roof that illuminates the tall chimneys. To the right a single beam of light stretches like a beacon toward the boys from a downstairs window; to the left barely visible, twelve slave quarters huddle against the bank of trees. Since the rising and setting sun governs the lives of slaves, no lights are visible. “Mr. Robert, Mr. Robert!” Amos calls as his bare feet pound across the veranda. He raps on the massive door. In a few minutes, it slowly opened. Old James, Mr. Robert’s butler peers out. “Who is it?” It’s me. Amos. James! Get Mr. Robert “I’m here.” Mr. Robert stands in the glow of the lamp, his shoulders slightly stooped. The soft light washes his face which highlighted his grey hair and eyes. He looked old and tired. “What is it Amos?” he nervously asked. “Mr. Robert, Tom and I saw some men, maybe five or six in a boat trying to land not far from here,” he stammers breathlessly. Where?” “Up at Table Point! “ Amos said. “Did they have guns?” Mr. Robert asked. “We don’t know. It was dark!” both boys replied. Mr. Robert is tense. “Come with me out to the veranda,” he said. He looks toward the forest and the main road that leads in to it. This is the road that runs the entire length of the island, the road the he used to carry cotton and produce to the landings for shipment. It is the road that allow slaves quick travel from one place to another on the island. “If they come tonight, it will be down that road,” Mr. Robert surmises. “We don’t have any protection. We need to get help from the Yankees,” he said. “Tom, run home and tell your family to warn your people and go hide in the woods. Amos, run to the dock, take one of the small boats and row over to the sloop Pawnee. Tell Commander Drayton of our troubles. Tell him we need troops with guns! Now git! Commanded Mr. Robert. “Maybe luck will be with us, those ruffians might head for the Old Shaw place,” he continues. In his excitement, he loses his train of thought. He had recently purchased the Shaw tract. It was now his. Approximately 400 hundred bales of cotton are stored in a shed waiting for an opportune time to sell. There are barns and sheds, about 250 head of cattle as well as hogs which roam freely, chickens and equipment. All in all this is an expensive piece of property. If destroyed, it will bring economic hardship to Mr. Robert.