The Emancipation of Robert Sadler

by Robert Sadler

  “Are you going to stand there all mornin, boy?” she asked.

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “Well, you know you can’t stay here, don’t you?” Somebody in the room started to giggle. I searched for Anna with my eyes.

  “I uh—”

  Somebody else began to giggle and then others joined. I couldn’t find Anna. The other Beal children stared at their desks and didn’t look up. I wanted to assure the teacher everything was okay and tried to explain how Massuh gave his permission for me to go to school. The teacher pounded the desk to quiet the children. There was an empty seat near me, and I inched toward it. The teacher sprang at me and pointed to the door. I thought she was going to hit me. I cowered against the desk and sat down.

  The teacher turned her head to John and Thomas. “This boy says he come with yoll?” Nobody said anything.

  “John, Thomas?” After what seemed like ages, Thomas said, “He’s ours.”

  “Well then, would you please explain to him this is not a school for Coloreds?” the teacher said, glaring at him. Thomas stood and came over to me. “Didn’t you hear Miz Roland? You can’t stay here.” He gave me a shove with the palm of his hand.

  I rose from the desk with my eyes on Thomas. This boy, almost the same age as me, who I lived in the same house with and knew better than his own mama, this boy I could whup easy, was acting like he never saw me before in his life. I was confused.

  “You gots to go,” Thomas said, looking like he swallowed something bad. The teacher stood in the aisle, hands on her hips, waiting. Thomas put his face close to mine. “Stay outside til school be over,” he whispered.

  I knew better than to argue, so I moved toward the door with my eyes on the floor. “Yessuh,” I said.

  Outside in the sun I stood by the hitching post and listened to the voices of the children inside. My face burned. I walked to the edge of the school yard as the voices inside recited some words all together, “I pledge allegiance . . .”

  When the children came outside to play later I hid behind the trees in the piney woods so they wouldn’t see me. I didn’t want to be laughed at or maybe pounded on. I saw Anna, and she ran all over the school yard from one end to another looking for me. I knew that’s what she was doing, looking for me. When the children went back inside, Anna was the last one on the wooden steps. She lingered there for a brief moment stretching and looking with her hand cupped over her eyes. She was worried about me, I could tell, and she wanted to know where I was. I remained unmoving in my hiding place, my heart pounding and my disappointment turning to anger.

  That evening at home the boys wouldn’t look at me. Anna fell asleep until suppertime, and I swore I would learn reading and writing one day. Furthermore, I’d put in a book all that happened to me and to my people on this plantation.

  I kept trying to forgive Master and Mistress Beal like Miss Ceily had told me, but bitterness had begun to take hold inside me. I obeyed and acted like a good nigger, but I wanted to get back at them. I studied on it and finally chose stealing as my weapon. At first I stole little things—small coins, trinkets. I sneaked into Master’s bedroom and stole pennies from the dresser, a wool sock on the floor, and I carried my loot down to the quarter and tried to give it away. Nobody wanted it.

  “Don’t you be carryin yor devilry down here from the Big House an git us killed, chile! What we gone do with this here sock? Massah ketch us with what be his and Lord have mercy! You ain’t nothin but a fool, Robert!”

  I decided I’d bury what I stole until I met two brothers, much older than I, named Mitt and Waxy Edwards. They recognized my talents and suggested a deal.

  I was to bring them what I stole and they’d give me cash for it. They would, in turn, sell the stuff to a certain private source, so it would never be discovered in our possession.

  It sounded like a good idea. I told nobody about it, especially not Miss Ceily, who would talk me out of it in an instant, and Big Mac, who would probably whup me for even thinking about stealing.

  One day I stole a porcelain vase, the next day a silver pitcher. I stole a watch, a ring, handkerchiefs, more socks.

  Money meant nothing to me. A dollar bill could have been a knee patch. I had never seen cash and had no idea what to do with it, so I tucked my earnings into the drawer of my little dresser and forgot about it.

  On an early morning with a grey drizzle outside, I was upstairs cleaning the washroom when I heard a commotion coming from downstairs. Not paying any attention, I continued my cleaning. The commotion became louder. Soon I heard Mistress Beal’s shrill voice call from the hallway.

  “Roberrrt, get on over here!”

  I hurried out to the hall, and without warning Mistress walloped me across the face. My head spun. Then she hit me again across the ear, and I felt something pop inside my head. My ear burned with a ringing sound. Again she hit me on the head.

  “You been stealin, hunh!”

  “No, Ma’am—” I lied.

  She ordered me into the children’s room. She opened my dresser and pointed at the little wad of money I had collected. Also, there was a paperweight in the corner of the drawer that I had gotten off Master’s desk and hadn’t sold yet.

  “If that ain’t stealin, boy, what is it?”

  My head ached with the ringing in my ear. I didn’t dare answer her. I could be killed for this. I remembered what they did to George Murphy and what they had planned to do to John Henry, and I started crying.

  “Lord, have mercy—”

  Mistress Beal was furious. Her face was bulging with red blotches, and her eyes were little fiery holes in her head. She found Thomas’s belt on the floor by his bed and picked it up. She struck me again and again on the head and shoulders with it; then she ordered me to sit on the chair by the door until she returned with Master Beal.

  I was dizzy with fear and the burning pain of the belt’s lashes. My ear and head ached and the ringing noise grew worse by the minute.

  I wanted to pray, but I was afraid Jesus wouldn’t hear me. I had been a bad boy, I was a thief, and now I was going to be punished. Maybe they’d hang me, or tie me to a fence post and let me starve to death. I thought of running away, but that was impossible. I’d be caught sure enough. I was helpless in my predicament and frightened out of my wits. “Lord, have mercy!” I pleaded again and again. I was sorry for stealing, truly sorry, but I knew there was nothing I could do to make up for it, and I’d have to take my punishment.

  The day wore on. I was still sitting on the chair by the door when the children came home from school. Big Mac unhitched the pony and put the wagon in the barn for me. I didn’t dare move.

  The talk in the kitchen was noisy. I could hear the angry voices from where I sat. There was arguing, cursing and bad words, and tempers were riled up good. Big Mac said something about uppity chillren not livin to be growed up. Mary Webb clucked like a mad hen, “He’s ruined it fuh all of us, that chile done ruined it fuh all of us. They oughter dress him up good and if’n the white mens don’t, the niggers oughter!”

  The Beal children gloated over me when they heard what I had done. Virginia stood before me, hands on her hips, and sneered, “How could you steal from my daddy, Robert, when he’s been so good to yoll?”

  “Yeah,” added Juanita, “Daddy took yoll in this here house when you wasn’t nothin but a pickaninny baby. He’s done tuk care of you, fed you, and put the clothes on yor back. Even carried yoll to the dentist when you was ailin. Now yoll goes and steals him blind!”

  “You ain’t nothin but somethin bad, Robert. Yoll jes plain bad!”

  “My daddy treat you like one of his own chillren, Robert. Yoll even sleep in the same room with his chillren. Yoll thank him by stealin from him!”

  The only one who didn’t berate me was Anna. She seemed detached from everything going on and stayed in the music room by herself trying to pick melodies out on the piano.

  The hours passed and I sat on the chair waiting.

  The pai
n in my ear became so bad I felt dizzy. It was evening when I heard the sound of Master Beal’s heavy boots in the hallway. I could smell the whiskey on him from where I sat.

  He stood in the doorway, and at his side was Mrs. Beal. She was scowling and waving her finger in my face. “There he is, the devilin thief! I told him to sit there and wait for you to come and punish him.”

  “I oughta kill you, boy,” he growled. “I oughta kill you. You ain’t only a damn thief, yor damn dumb!”

  Mistress Beal opened the drawers of my little dresser. “Look here what he’s stolen, Sam. He’s been stealin yoll blind!”

  Master Beal looked in the drawer with all the money and the paperweight I had taken from his desk. He turned to me, eyes narrowed. “You steal from me, boy?”

  I lowered my head and whispered, “Yessuh, I done it, suh.”

  Grabbing my face in his hands, he said, “What were you figurin on doin with this money, boy?”

  “I dunno, suh. I didn’t have nothin figured.”

  “You got three dollar here, boy. You planning on goin somewhere on three dollar?”

  “Nosuh, MassuhBeal, suh.”

  He hit me hard on the cheek. “Yor lyin! Now you tell me the truth.”

  I was so panicked I told him the truth. “I’d give it away, suh. Ah’d give it to the folks who is hongry, thas what I’d do!”

  Master hit me again. “But you never took this money from me, boy, ’cause I ain’t never missed no three dollar! You been stealin from mah house and sellin stuff to somebody. Now who you sellin to?”

  I started shaking. I trembled from head to toe. I couldn’t tell him about Mitt and Waxy! I couldn’t! I just couldn’t!

  “No suh, they ain’t nobody else, suh—”

  He struck me again and I tumbled off the chair. He picked me up by the collar and hit me again. “Yoll tell me the truth, boy!”

  I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.

  “I been missing many things, Sam,” Mistress said. “I just didn’t suspect Robert. I thought maybe it was the new girl, Rosalie, or the chauffeur, Buck—”

  Master grabbed hold of my head and pulled me by the uninjured ear through the house and into the parlor. We passed Big Mac, Harriet, and Mary Webb, who were in the kitchen. Their faces were cold and indifferent, and they were still as possums. Rosalie, the new girl, was in the dining room sweeping the floor, and when she saw me pass, she nearly dropped the broom. She stood staring with her eyes wide and filled with fear. Maybe this was her first experience seeing a child beaten. The pitiful expression on Rosalie’s face suddenly made me feel older. I would hold out and not tell Master about Mitt and Waxy even if they killed me.

  In the parlor, Master told Mistress to put the poking irons in the fire. “Mebbe I ought to burn that lyin tongue outa yer, boy!” he said. Then he brought out the cat-o’-nine-tails. The whip cut the skin, and the lead balls tore it up. He ordered me to stand against the wall. Then he called, “Rosalie! Rosalie!”

  After a minute or so, Rosalie came slowly into the room. “You damn slow, girl!” Master cursed. “Cain’t you move no faster!”

  “Yessuh, Massuh Beal, suh.”

  “Go git Big Mac an’ bring him in here! An git a move on!”

  “Yessuh, Massuh Beal, suh.”

  I was so filled with fear, I was frozen in place. What did he want with Big Mac? Would he do the whupping?

  Big Mac entered the room. His face was hard, his back straight. He stared from the tops of his eyes at Master Beal. Master Beal wiped spittle off his mouth with the back of his hand and rasped, “This here nigger stole from me, Mac.”

  “Yessuh, I know, suh.” The scar on his face shone black in the yellow light.

  “You does, hunh? You teach him how to steal?”

  “Nosuh.”

  “Well, mebbe you know who he’s sellin the stuff to?”

  “Only Robert knows that, suh, if’n it’s true, suh.”

  “Oh, it be true, Mac. This here boy been stealin from me and sellin it somewhere. Mebbe you can help me find out who he be sellin to.”

  “Suh—”

  “Take yer shirt off!”

  Big Mac shot me a look, then slowly drew the grey shirt from his body. Master moved to the fireplace where the poking irons were red hot. He held one in his hand.

  “Turn around, Mac!” He laid the end of the poking iron onto Big Mac’s back. I screamed in horror.

  Master whirled around to me and said, “Robert, you ready to tell me who you sold my stuff to, or am I gone haftuh fry Mac here til he ain’t nothin but a pile of blood and ashes!”

  “No! No!” I screamed. “Please!” Master pressed the poking iron onto Big Mac’s flesh again. Big Mac moaned in agony. I screamed, “Stop! I’ll tell! I’ll tell!”

  Master held the poking iron poised at Big Mac’s neck. “Please, suh!” I screamed. “Please, Massuh, suh, I’ll tell!”

  “I’m listenin, boy, I’m listenin!”

  “It be Waxy and Mitt Edwards!”

  Master stood still for a moment, then walked slowly to the hearth and replaced the poking iron. Big Mac was bent over and shaking, his face in his hands.

  “Mac,” Master said in a low voice, “next time I give you a chile to learn, you better learn him better ’n you done on this one! Now git!” Big Mac, still bent, his hands on his thighs to keep from falling, his face twisted, started out of the room. Master stood staring at me. “Waxy and Mitt . . . Waxy and Mitt Edwards . . . Wal, Robert, yoll gonna take me to the quarter and point them out.”

  I stared at him in unbelief. Why, that was unthinkable! That would be Uncle Tomming in the worst sense! My life would be worthless. “And if you don’t show me, boy, I’ll lay that iron on Big Mac til you do. You hearin me?”

  Master Beal sent for two of his white drivers to come with him and dragged me down to the quarter. When we reached the edge, some of the children I played with ran around behind shanties to hide. Everybody was terrified when they saw Master come to the quarter. They knew it meant devilment when he showed up. He had me lead the way to show what a traitor I was. We walked along the path right in front of all the shanties so everyone in the quarter could see me walking with Master Beal and the drivers. The shame and the dread was almost more than I could bear. I longed to die right there. If only Master would kill me!

  Finally, we came to the Edwardses’ shanty. Master nodded and I went inside. The family was seated on the floor eating. The cabin smelled of poke salad cooking over the open fire.

  Tears streamed down my face. “Miz Edwards,” I blurted, “Miz Edwards, the massuh done foun out that we been stealin—”

  “Who been stealin?” she asked, surprised.

  “I been stealin from the massuh, an’—”

  Waxy and Mitt stiffened.

  “An—an—”

  “Wal, what is it, boy?” asked their father. I was shaking violently. “Waxy an’ Mitt done take the stuff from me and sell it—Massuh, he outside—”

  Mrs. Edwards rushed to the door. Mr. Edwards turned to his sons. “Is this true? Have you been sellin stuff from the Big House for this boy?”

  Waxy and Mitt lowered their heads. “Yessuh,” they confessed.

  Mr. Edwards accompanied his sons out of the cabin to face Master Beal. It was a dreadful scene.

  “Well, Robert?” asked Master Beal.

  “Uh, uh—this here be Waxy and Mitt,” I answered.

  “Wal, what about them?” asked the master. “I already know their names.”

  “Wal, they be the ones who was sellin stuff from the Big House—”

  “Are you tellin me that these here boys been sellin mah stuff from mah house, Robert?”

  I looked down at my feet. “Yessuh, Massuh Beal, suh, they be.”

  A picture of Little William, his throat slit and the crows gnawing on him, sailed across my mind.

  Master Beal hoisted himself up tall and said loudly, “Wal, good boy, Robert. You done real good to inform me about these two thievi
n boys. You’re gonna get a nice little reward for this, Robert.”

  I was done for. I felt every eye in the quarter on me. “You boys gonna pay for this real good,” Master shouted. “Tie them up, boys!” he ordered the two men with him.

  Mrs. Edwards began to cry. “Oh, have mercy, Massuh Beal,” she cried. “They good boys! They good workers! They never done nothin bad before!”

  “Auntie, they ain’t never gonna do nothin bad no more!” spit Master.

  Taking me by the shoulder, Master Beal strutted back along the same path. We led the way, and the two prisoners followed behind between the two field drivers. I was sick, horrified. “This here will be jes far nuff!” Master shouted. We had stopped right by a large chestnut tree with low hanging branches. People peered from the doorways.

  “Oh, God, no—”

  Waxy and Mitt didn’t make a sound. Mrs. Edwards had been following behind, along with Mr. Edwards and the rest of their children. She was crying loudly and pleading with Master Beal. “They good boys, they good boys!”

  Slowly the slaves encircled us, surrounding us like a long wall of grief.

  “Yes, Robert, you did right good by bringin me down here and showin me these two thieves! That’s what I call a good nigger!”

  I shrank from him, but he grabbed me by the arm. “Now you can tie the rope around their black necks!”

  A high-pitched wail pierced the air, and Mrs. Edwards threw herself on the dirt. She kicked her feet and screamed until dust flew up all around her. Master was taken aback by her demonstration.

  “Mind yo self, Auntie!” he snarled after he watched for a few seconds. “When a nigger steals from his boss man he gots to be punished!”

  “Take me instead!” cried Mr. Edwards. “Take me! I’m old and my days of usefulness to you are numbered. These boys is young, and the strength is still in them!”

  Soon the air was filled with weeping and wailing. Mrs. Edwards threw herself at Master Beal, sobbing loudly. Others were moaning, praying, and pleading.