With ample sunlight left, they decided to call it a day and return to camp. The last thing they needed to worry about was getting lost in the dark. They left their chain saws, shovels, and other tools under a tree with a bright blue tarp over it. They kept the machetes and handgun to deal with the diamondbacks. Dr. Gilfoy had a small can of orange paint and sprayed trees along their return route. Now that they knew the way, the walk took thirty minutes.
They were worried about Lovely making the trek, but she insisted on being at the gravesite if bones were found. They were under her strict instruction not to remove anything from the graves without her being present. Otherwise, the spirits would be upset.
After a round of beers, they dined on canned beef stew and cheese crackers, then moved their chairs closer to the campfire. It was not yet 8:00 p.m. and too early for bed, though they desperately needed sleep. They had joked all day about the panthers disrupting their night. Surely they would leave them alone tonight.
Dr. Gilfoy asked the African American archaeologists about other slave burial projects they had worked on, and this led to several stories. Dr. Sargent had been involved in perhaps the most famous discovery. In 1991, in Lower Manhattan, a contractor was doing site work in preparation for the construction of a new federal courthouse and discovered the graves of several dozen slaves, all in wooden caskets. Controversy erupted on all fronts and construction was delayed. Archaeologists descended upon the site and more graves were found. In all, historians estimated that between 15,000 and 20,000 African Americans were buried there, not in a mass grave but in individual coffins. Some were freed blacks but most were slaves. Half were children, evidence of the high mortality rate. A total of 419 caskets were relocated, with names, and a monument was erected in memory of their lives. The federal courthouse was built elsewhere.
Lovely told the story of her father’s death and burial. It was in her book and all of those around the fire had read about it. Jeremiah died in 1948. His body was placed in a casket built by his brother, a carpenter. She would never forget watching it lowered into the grave.
Like all the others, it faced east, toward the ocean, toward home in Africa.
“We’ll find it tomorrow,” Sargent promised.
The night was still and peaceful, uninterrupted by storms or wild animals. They were up at sunrise and eager for a long, productive day with their shovels. Breakfast, again, was oatmeal and fruit, with plenty of strong coffee. The plan was for Lovely to leave early with them and supervise the opening of the graves. If she needed rest, half the team would accompany her, Diane, and Mercer back to camp.
In the woods, she was stunned and saddened by the destruction. She mumbled over and over, “I can’t believe this.”
They stopped at the pile of timber and debris. Dr. Gilfoy showed her the hinge and the piece of the door it came from. “Could the village have been around here?”
“I don’t know,” she said, bewildered. “Everything is so destroyed, so different.” She thought a moment as she looked around. “Maybe. Yes, our homes could’ve been here. The cemetery should be that way.” She pointed in the right direction.
When the trail began its slight ascent, Lovely struggled to keep her balance. She leaned on Mercer and her cane and made every step count. Three of the archaeologists walked ahead of her, guarding the trail and looking for snakes. The other three walked patiently behind.
Lovely had made a list of her ancestors who were buried on the island. There were seventy-three in all, though some were buried in different places. A great-uncle had split with the family over a romance and moved away from the village. He and his people had their own little cemetery. As a child, she had known of other small burial grounds around the island. Two hundred years earlier the dead were buried in shallow graves with no caskets.
They stopped where they had worked the day before, in the clearing where the weeds and vines and saplings had been cut away. “We found some graves here,” Dr. Sargent said. “Does anything look familiar?”
She was shaking her head and wiping her cheeks.
“We have to start somewhere, Lovely.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Nothing is the same.”
They removed the blue tarp and gathered their shovels and tools. The tarp was strung up to provide shade from the sun and Lovely took her place under it. She was overwhelmed and emotional and they left her alone.
