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'Wow! Justin said. 'How long was I in there for? What day is it?' Jason, perhaps recalling his own release from the oubliette after three weeks or so, laughed. 'How long do you think you were in there? What day do you think it is?' he asked Justin. Justin's brows corrugated, and he was silent for a minute or so before he replied. 'A week? Ten days? I think it's either Monday or the Thursday afterwards. I tried to count the days by my meals, but I lost track very early,' he admitted. 'Besides, I wasn't sure if I was being fed once a day, twice a day, or even three times in every twenty-four hours.' 'It's Friday morning, four days after you were shut up in the box,' Jason said quietly. Justin looked at us in disbelief, but our solemn faces confirmed the truth of his friend's reply. 'Wow!' Justin exclaimed feebly, and subsided in his chair. Presently, Jason looked at his watch again. 'Time to go, Justin,' he said. 'I'll fetch the car.' We watched Jason go into. As they arrived back the wives and kids of the company employees were put on board them.Tim set up a defense around his island. Several men had brought back assault rifles and plenty of ammo.Others had sporting fire arms.The glow of fires down river in Mobile and Pritchard painted the underside of the clouds bright red.Tim was monitoring the ship to shore channels on the radio aboard one of the tugs.It became plain that the black population all over the country was at war with the whites. Apparently there was no place in the United States any safer than where they were on the island.At daylight Tim and two men with semi-automatic rifles drove out the access road to the island and chained and locked the gates at the highway.The mile long drive to the island from the highway was not paved, just surfaced with oyster shells. From the high way it looked as if it were a drive way through the swamp to a weekender's fish camp.All morning the chatter of fully automatic rifle fire could be.
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