CHAPTER 1

Hurricane

High in the sky, wisps of white clouds like filaments scud toward Amos and Amelia as they leave the slave quarters and walk slowly toward the salt marsh. A large reed basket gently rocks between them. They walk past Tom, their best friend, who is hoeing turnip greens. He sees them and yells over the fence, "Where are you going?"

"Down to the salt marsh to pull some oysters. Want to come?" Amos replies.

"Be right with you." Tom leans his hoe against the fence. "This will be more fun than weeding turnips."

They usually fish for the large stone crabs or blue crabs. Both are delicacies, but today they will pull oysters. Blue crabs share the same marsh creeks where large quantities of eastern oysters tenaciously cling to the mud banks. When the tidal estuaries empty the marsh, beds of gray oysters lie waiting to be harvested.

The air is heavy. Trees framing the road stand mute. Leaves hang listlessly. The only breeze that stirs the air comes from the movement of a monarch butterfly seeking moisture from a leaf.

For the past several weeks, rain and heat have visited the island in monotonous regularity. The ground is swollen with water, and the low-lying sloughs are full. The brilliant sun evaporates the surface moisture. It condenses and forms popcorn clouds that bring showers late in the day. The cycle of heat, humidity, and rain continues.

The marsh is home to cordgrass. Periwinkles attach themselves to the long, broad leaf blades. Salt grass and pickleweed, succulent plants with tiny leaves, grow in the high marsh a few steps away. Tidal creeks meander through the marsh and then run into Cumberland Sound. The tide is running out as Amos, Amelia, and Tom cross the marsh flats. Black ooze, full of detritus, squishes between their toes and tickles them. The smell of decayed animal, fish, and plant life permeates their nostrils.

"Boy, this marsh stinks," Tom blurts out.

"It's this terrible heat that's causing the smell," Amelia says.

"Let's get into the water, pull some oysters, and cool off," Amos says.

When they arrive at the estuary that splits the marsh in two, Amos instructs Tom to get into the water with the oyster beds and tells Amelia to stay up on the marsh grass with the basket. "We will toss the oysters up to you, and you put them in the basket," Amos says.

Tom and Amos stand ankle-deep in the water. They pluck the oysters that are clinging tenaciously to the rocks and toss them to Amelia. Families of brown pelicans coming in off the ocean fly over their heads. Amos looks up as they pass. He hasn't noticed the sky before.

"Those are strange-looking clouds," Amos says to Amelia. "I have never seen any like that before."

"They're so high in the sky ... they look like horses' tails," Amelia replies.

"Most clouds are white and puffy, fair-weather clouds," Amos says.

"Yeah, but the low and gray clouds bring rain," Tom replies.

Amelia gazes steadily at the clouds. "But these are different," she says. "They are much higher in the sky. I wonder what they will bring."

* * *

Clouds of war are also forming over Washington City and Richmond, Virginia. Two presidents, Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis, order their generals to prepare for what will be the first battle of the Civil War. Union troops will march from Washington City to attack Confederate defenders at Manassas Junction, a strategic rail line in northern Virginia. For the next four years, the country will be at war.

* * *

When the oyster basket is full to the rim, the three trudge back across the marsh. They are excited about the number of oysters they have harvested. The heat is sweltering. Beads of sweat gently roll off their foreheads and run down their arms. Rivulets of mud make their arms and legs sticky. Suddenly, they hear a wave crash on the beach and then another. When they are pulling oysters in the stream bed, they cannot hear the ocean. For a moment, they freeze. Crashing waves? But the air is still; there is no wind.

Tom helps Amos carry the full basket. "Something doesn't feel right," he says.

Amos, usually skeptical when Tom seems out of sorts, has the same ominous feeling. "Let's run to the top of the dunes and see what is going on," he says.

Dropping the basket of oysters, the three race across the marsh and climb to the top of the nearest sand dune. The sand scorches their feet. "Boy, this is hot," Tom says.

Two things catch their attention as they scan the ocean: long, undulating waves crashing on the beach and a strange, hazy, copper glow appearing on the horizon.

"Those waves are strange," Tom says. "Look! No white caps. There is no wind pushing them."

"And the sky is a strange color too," Amelia says.

"Let's get these oysters home as soon as possible. Something strange is going on."

Amos, Amelia, and Tom are survivors of tropical storms, drenching rains, thunderstorms that crackle with lightning strikes, and gusty squalls associated with rapidly moving frontal systems. They, like all the residents of Cumberland Island, have adapted to the rhythms of the weather. But they never have experienced a hurricane. That is about to change.

* * *

Tucked in close to the Georgia and Florida coasts, Cumberland Island is uniquely situated to avoid most major Atlantic storms. The warm waters of the Gulf Stream flow away from the island in a northeasterly direction. Most of the time, destructive hurricanes make landfall further up the coast in Charleston, South Carolina, or the Outer Banks. It is rare for a hurricane to bring its destructive winds and storm surges onto Cumberland Island.

Before the advent of weather forecasting, hurricanes wrought destruction and hardship because they were unpredictable. No one knows how many hurricanes were spawned in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; historians know only the ones that made landfall or were recorded in ships' logs that survived crossing the Atlantic Ocean. Of course, Amos, Amelia, and Tom know none of this. In fact, they know nothing about hurricanes.

Far to the east, on the African continent, hurricanes breed. A prolonged drought in the Western Sahel may account for hurricanes on the East Coast of the United States. Rising heat from the 113-degree temperature soars in large thermals, rapidly rising hot air to altitudes exceeding four miles. Particles of dust and sand rise into the atmosphere from a fierce, hot, easterly wind blowing out over the cool and moist bulge of Africa; they set in motion eddies of air that soon became small cyclones. A storm may originate from a single molecule ascending into the atmosphere. The gasses associated with decaying vegetation, animal dung, and human fires gently drift and finally are pushed by the ascending mix of air, forming a devil's cauldron, a brew so toxic and potent it splinters the largest of ships and the tallest of buildings into shreds.

In West Africa, long lines of slaves sold by African chieftains to white slavers march to waiting ships. The dry wind blows the dust they and their animals kick up high into the air. Great clouds of dust follow these caravans of slaves to their unknown destinies. The ships that house them in holds — packed together and chained to decks — sail along the same ocean currents that serve as conduits for the deadly hurricanes. Like leaves carried along a stream, both slave ships and hurricanes will reach the ports of the eastern United States.

Dust particles driven by the easterly flow collide with moist air that comes from the Atlantic. This convergence produces instability in the upper atmosphere and creates embryonic eddies. Though most dissipate, a few become destructive storms.

The heat produced by winds blowing over the water causes large amounts of condensation to form. A storm's primary source of energy is the released heat condensing from water vapor at very high altitudes. Much of the released energy drives updrafts that increase the height of storm clouds, which in turn, speeds up condensation. This is called a positive feedback loop and, once it forms, a tropical storm develops. Trade winds steer tropical waves westward from Africa toward the Caribbean Sea and the East Coast of the United States. In the nineteenth century, except for crews on ships far out into the Atlantic, no one is aware of the development or movement of these storms. The ability to predict hurricanes, the most devastating of all storms, does not yet exist.

* * *

"Let's get back and tell Mr. Robert what we have just seen," says Amos.

He and Tom race back to the basket of oysters with Amelia. She runs ahead. The boys each grab a handle and head off the marsh toward the maritime forest and Planter's House. The sun is high in the sky, the heat is unbearable, and not a leaf stirs. It is as if a vacuum has sucked all the energy from the island.

The walk back to Planter's House and the slave quarters is arduous. Though delighted with the size of their oyster harvest, they feel the basket grow heavier with each step. Both Tom and Amos drip with sweat.

"Let's stop and rest," Tom pleads.

"Not a bad idea," Amos says.

Even in the shade of the maritime forest, they still feel the heat of the sun. Their breathing is labored.

"I feel like someone just walked over my chest," Tom says.

Amelia takes this opportunity to taunt them. "Can't you two carry a few oysters?" Slowly they make their way. Finally, Amelia yells, "I can see the wall! We are almost there."

Tom and Amos carry the basket into the slave quarters. They sit down and rest in front of Old Jake's cabin. Old Jake hears them, opens the door, sees the basket, and says, "Now there's a mighty mess of oysters."

"Mr. Jake." Amelia is the first to speak. "The sky at the beach is funny-looking, and we saw large waves rolling onto the beach, but there was no wind."

Jake straightens and grits his teeth. His gray eyebrows furrow. He looks into the distance as if he's trying to remember something.

"Tell me that again," he said.

Amelia repeats what she's just said.

"You better go and tell Master Robert that we are in for a big blow," Old Jake says. "When I was your age, we suffered a mighty storm. It destroyed our crops, flooded most of the island, and blew the roof off General Greene's mansion. I can feel it in the air. My bones are acting up. This hot spell without a breath of air is a sign of things to come.

Terrible things, I am afraid."

"What kinds of terrible things?" they all ask.

"We don't have time to talk ... Just go and warn Master Robert," Jake says firmly.

They race to Planter's House. The sky is overcast, and an eerie glow falls over the forest like a gossamer sheet. All three bound onto the veranda and rap on the front door.

"Mr. James! Mr. James!" they yell together. "Where's Master Robert?"

"Calm down, you young ones ... what's got you so spooked, did you see a haint in the forest?"

"No, but maybe worse than a haint — a big storm is coming."

The commotion on the veranda attracts Master Robert's attention. He is in his study reading a contract. He puts it down on his desk and walks slowly toward the front of the house.

"What's all this noise about?" he asks.

Amos, Amelia, and Tom repeat their observations.

"You saw long rolling waves crash on the beach? Why, there hasn't been any wind for days," he says. "Tell me again about the color of the sky."

Master Robert's face looks very serious. Amos wonders what he is thinking.

"Amos, get my buggy. You and I are going down to the beach."

Amos pulls the buggy to the front of Planter's House as he is instructed. Master Robert climbs onto the seat.

"Let's go!"

The air is heavier than before. The weight presses on both Master Robert and Amos, who tries to make sense of Old Jake's reaction and Mr. Robert's concern. He feels that something is wrong but can't figure out what. Mr. Robert seldom tells him to drive the buggy to the beach; usually he drives the master to a cotton field, to a timber stand on the north end, or down to the dock to get the mail. The tackie pulling the buggy whinnies and balks a few times, which adds to the mystery.

They emerge from the maritime forest. To the right lies the marsh where Amos pulls oysters, and straight ahead, the beach awaits. The sun struggles to shine thorough the haze that covers it. Master Robert has an excellent view of the ocean and the horizon from his high perch on the buggy. A large wave crashes onto the beach, rolls over the baby dunes, and spews frothy foam into the interdune meadow. When the wave recedes and races back into the sea, the small dunes are washed out to sea. The tide will not be high for another four hours, Mr. Robert thinks to himself. He grows more anxious.

"You were right to warn us about what you saw this morning," he tells Amos. "Out there, somewhere, there is a big storm. See the waves undulate? That means a force is pushing them to our island. Look at the sky."

It is a brilliant mother-of-pearl with shades of copper, reds, and yellows dancing about. "The last time I saw a sky like this," Master Robert says, "I was your age, and a terrible storm swept over us. Let's get back and warn the others. We have lots to do."

By the time Master Robert and Amos return to Planter's House, the alarm has spread into the slave community and to all parts of the island. The line of communication among slaves is a long-established one, and soon everyone knows. Slaves who cut timber at Table Point on the north end leave their axes and march down the main road toward Planter's House. The field slaves cultivating cotton on the Rayfield tract also return to Planter's House. Soon the slave quarters are humming like a bees' nest with the news of the impending storm. The older slaves and Master Robert survived a major hurricane that demolished many parts of the island in 1813. Though a major storm of that magnitude has not visited the island since then, their collective memories will aid the survival of the throngs of slaves gathering close to Planter's House.

Many of the older slaves are fearful. Memories of losing family members when they were children surface, as, for the very first time in days, wind ripples through the leaves and turns them over, showing their silvery undersides. They have not forgotten the terror they experienced when their homes were demolished when large trees uprooted and fell over. Several slaves were crushed under the enormous weight of trees. They know they will not be safe. Agitated, they speak sharply to the younger ones, particularly the children.

"Get to high ground and stay away from trees," they yell into the wind. "When the water rises, snakes will slither up the trees and bite anyone close by."

Amos skillfully handles the buggy as it comes to a halt in front of the house. Mr. Robert jumps from the buggy to the veranda. "Amos, ring the alarm bell!" he shouts.

Amos grabs a forged metal rod and rings the triangular-shaped bell. He beats it as hard as he can. Slaves close by cup their hands over their ears. The noise is deafening.

"You overseers, come quick," Mr. Robert yells.

They quickly gather in front of the veranda.

"Arabella! Where's Arabella?" he asks.

"In the hospital!" someone cries.

"Go! Get her," he orders. "Tom, Dido, Phineas, separate everyone into groups, each one with an equal number of people. Make sure that someone watches the children. If they get scared they might run."

Mr. Robert owns 350 slaves, all of whom desperately need protection from the coming hurricane. He remembers the 1813 storm, which caught the island by surprise; many slaves drowned as they tried to reach higher ground.

Planter's House, though well-built, cannot accommodate all of his slaves. At the beginning of the Civil War, all of the planters left the island with the exception of Master Robert. Phineas Miller Nightingale, his closest neighbor, left not only the island behind but also two large houses on plantations he'd inherited — Oakland, and Dungeness, which originally belonged to General Nathaniel and Caty Greene. Dungeness, a four-story structure made of tabby with six-foot walls at the base, is an ideal place to house many of the slaves. During the 1813 storm, the building had survived intact. The roof blew off, but it was replaced with an expensive cooper roof. Master Robert knows it will offer protection. Oakland also withstood the famous storm of 1813. Both mansions are vacant.