The sun was just coming up over the rise, the whole of the slave population stood at the gravesite. Each holding a small wet rag, cupped covertly in their hands, they were expected to be grieving and needed the tears. They knew their roles well; they would send up cries at the loss of their beloved boss. They dabbed their eyes with the damp cloth, squeezing from time to time, sending down a cascade of crocodile tears.
John Anderson officiated over the funeral, please to see the turnout, as well as the sentiment. It made him feel safe in his own little world. Anderson hadn’t cared much for Clark, but Clark had gotten the job done, and was quick and efficient with the distasteful tasks. He hoped that Tall Tom would do just as well. Other owners reveled in beating and abusing their slaves. Not so with John Anderson, he had always felt uncomfortable with it. His father, Terrance, had been heavy handed and was a mean-spirited man. John had felt his father’s leather strap many a time. But John hadn’t cared for how his father had treated the women, just as cruel. His father had called him soft and womanish.
John had visited other plantations and farms for social visits, he had seen the deplorable shape of the slave quarters, and the half-starved slaves. It had turned his stomach. When John had stepped into the role as head of household, he had implemented changed. He imagined when his son, Theo took over, he too would make his own changes.
His father had passed down the slaves and the farm to him. John’s older brother, Seth, had his own large farm near Savannah. John had been a reluctant master, but knew it was necessary to get the work done and it was the only thing he knew. Clark had come to him about twenty-two years ago. Anderson had been having trouble getting his slaves to work. He remembered Tall Tom’s father, Ned; Ned had instigated a lot of the dissent among the slaves.
Clark had come and restored order and compliance. He hadn’t liked Lester Clark’s methods, but he did like the results. He had kept Clark on, even though Clark had killed one of his most expensive slaves. That had been Tall Tom’s father, Ned. Tom had only been ten when it happened, and Anderson had told Clark to take Tom under his wing. Clark hadn’t liked it, but did as he was instructed.
Anderson had also known about Clark predilection for the women and had turned a blind eye. Clark hadn’t brought a wife with him, and Anderson knew the urge could become great. He himself had taken his lust out a time or two on the dusky wenches. His wife had been in a delicate way and he needed release during the nine months of abstinence.
Time would only tell if Tall Tom would be a good overseer. Tom had always taken over when Clark was off on a task of some sort. He had done well in the past. He looked over the sad and wet faces and wondered why they where that broken up about the loss of the overseer? Anderson shook his head; he would never understand the slave psyche.
Anderson heard of slave uprisings across the country and had attributed it to the horrendous conditions of the slaves, such as those mirrored on neighboring plantations and farms. He had also heard the grumbling up north; he knew there was a big brouhaha about to erupt. The patrols had been stepped up and there were fights in the legislature. Anderson needed his slaves; he could not keep the level of prosperity without them. He took good care of his slaves, ensuring they had food enough and good living quarters.
He even allowed them to grow their own gardens and to go hunting from time to time to supplement their diet, as well as raise their own chickens. He allowed them to make their own cloths, providing them with several lengths of cloth every Christmas, as well as hide shoes. Though many opted to go bare footed. He was generous at Christmas and let them rest on Sundays. Anderson felt he was a very liberal slave owner. Byron Grover thought he was too liberal, but Anderson was his own man. He also thought as himself a good man, as well as a Godly man.
John Anderson watched as the slaves filed by, dropping handfuls of earth onto the roughly made box. He saw Mary, and was glad she was feeling better. She looked a little pale, but otherwise, hale and hardy. He hoped she would be back up at the house later, Victoria had been asking for her. It was strange how Victoria loved the girl. She looked nothing like their daughter Megan, but she had such sweetness to her, that she reminded them of Megan, he was glad Victoria had her.
A week later, Dark Henry stood nervously before his master, his felt hat in hand, almost crushed beyond recognition. Tall Tom had brought Henry up to
