Aila's Journal: A Tale of Southern Reconstruction

By Charles M. Clemmons

Relive the story of two young women, one White, one Black, as they struggle for survival, dignity, and purpose against the tide of history in the late nineteenth century.

Aila's Journal tells the story of Aila MacKenzie, a White indentured servant, and Mary Jane Sanders, a Black slave, who meet at age thirteen on a small farm near Wilmingt

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wiltonwood Productions LLC
• Release date: Jul 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987634929

Charles M. Clemmons

Charles M. Clemmons was born at home in the countryside near Clayton, North Carolina, on what is now an educational state forest. Growing up in the American South, working on his father's farm, and exploring 300 acres of forest accompanied solely by his faithful dog Snowball, proved to be formative life experiences.He received an engineering degree from NC State University in 1966; an MBA from the University of Connecticut in 1976; and an AAS degree in Film & Video Technology from North Lake College in Irving, Texas, in 1994.Retiring from a corporate career in telecommunications in 1994 at age fifty, he refocused on his real passions: documentary filmmaking, photography, and discovering the history and lifeways of his parents' families in Brunswick County, North Carolina.In 2004, he was awarded two Boston/New England Emmys® (writing and production) for the American Public Television documentary, Mystic Voices: The Story of the Pequot War. After forty years in Connecticut, Charles returned to his roots in North Carolina in 2016.His inspiration for Aila's Journal came from his own experiences and aspirations growing up in the American South, his own family's oral history, and his historical research of the Civil War and Southern Reconstruction. Aila's Journal is his first novel.For further information, visit www.wiltonwood.com.

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Chapter 1

THE RIVER

JUNE 1864

THE PATH DOWN TO THE RIVER was as black as soot. Mud squeezed between her bare toes as she chose her steps carefully, trying to avoid sharp roots hidden in the muck.

Feels like puddin’ but it don’t smell like it. she thought. More like hawg turds. I bes’ be quiet passin’ ‘em stables colored folks stay in. No tellin’ what ‘em bucks might be up tuh.

The sweltering heat and humidity sweat-soaked her shirt. She could still see the setting sun on the horizon through the bramble and majestic outstretched arms of live oaks ornamented with long strands of Spanish moss. Bullfrog croaks and tree frog chirps floated from the swampy delta made by Mott’s Creek.

Waves of cicada choruses echoed around her, almost covering the hum of annoying mosquitoes around her head. She heard a small human musical chorus escaping the log cabin shacks in the distance that served as marginal shelter for the small assembly of slaves:

Go down Moses,

Way down in Egypt land.

Tell ol’ Pharaoh

Tuh let mah peoples go!

Rev’rend Campbell was up at the Sanders’ house this Sunday marnin’ givin’ us a preachin’. Miz Ginny played the pianer an’ we all sung some hymns. I like that part more than anythin’ else. She plays real sweet.

Preacher Campbell spent the bes’ part of the afternoon learnin’ ‘em darkies the Bible. He come an’ puts on a service at the Sanders’ house on Sunday onest a month, I reckin. Miz Ginny makes me stay an’ listen, but I ain’t understandin’ ‘em stories he tells. They talked funny back in ‘em Bible days. She sez I oughta love Jesus so I kin go tuh Heaven an’ live with ‘im furever.

I ain’t never met Jesus, but from what I heared, he died a long time back. An’ I’m kind-ah skeered of livin’ in Heaven furever with some dead man I ain’t never met before. Well, maybe he ain’t dead no more, I ain’t knowin’. But what’s a dead man come back alive look like . . . an’ smell like?

I reckin ‘em coloreds won’t never git tuh Heaven noways. They ain’t people folk like us, so I reckin they got the same chance as Mister James’ hawgs.

‘em nigras . . . er whatever they’s called . . . live like animals. she whispered to herself. No wunder they git treated bad. Worse than me. They mus’ deserve it.

She carefully watched her steps to avoid roots and occasional patties and turds left by free-range cattle and hogs that roamed the woods. She missed a buried cypress knee near swampy water and stepped squarely on it.

Ow! she suppressed a scream under her breath. Maybe I’ll wahr some shoes next time!

Then she noticed something bright white among the bushes beside the path. Coming closer, she could see several cup-sized white flowers. Moving some bush branches, she could see an open area with a bush-sized tree covered with several of the flowers, brightly lit by rays of the setting sun.

Well, I’ll swanny! she exclaimed quietly. What purdy flahers! Drawing closer, she sniffed one of the flowers.

What a nice smell! Looks like God jes’ put ‘em thur an’ shined his light on ‘em jes’ fur me! God does make a purdy world. We jes’ ain’t seein’ it sometimes.

She picked one of the smallest blooms and put it in her hair.

The river was in sight through branches of some milkweed bushes. Beyond, she knew her fallen bald cypress tree log pew, downed by a hurricane several years back, was waiting for her. Pushing the branches aside, she stepped into another open area.

She had a clear view of the river now, its normal blackish water glimmering in the reflection of the setting sun, scattered clouds floating above illuminated into brilliant red-yellow patterns by the sun’s rays. She could see the back-lit silhouettes of boats floating on the water. She recalled similar scenes of moon-lit river vessels that reminded her of the moonlight pianer tune Miz Ginny played.

Glory be! she whispered under her breath, only lightly masking her excitement. Letting out a quiet sigh, she brushed another quartet of mosquitoes away from her face and ears.

That thur is ‘bout the purdiest thang I ever did see. God ain’t in Heaven. He’s right here.

Then she saw it. The intruder. The silhouette of a person about her own size and shape, sitting on her cypress log. It didn’t move but seemed to be looking out over the river toward the sunset. Slowly, she approached.

Who are yuh an’ what yuh doin’ down here? she shouted.

Startled, the figure turned its head toward her to reveal the face of a Black girl. The girl stood facing her but said nothing. The girl looked to be her own age, but more petite and as skinny as a rail. She realized she had seen the girl before from a distance, living in the shacks with the other slaves and working in the farm fields. But their paths had never crossed until now.

Don’t yuh know . . . they gonna wear yuh out . . . if’n they find yuh here? she stuttered to the Black girl. This here’s mah place. Yuh ain’t belongin’ down here!

Yessum, I knows dat. drawled the Black girl. I seen yuh down here ‘fo. But dis time, I ain’t knowin’ yuh wuz comin’. I come here wen I kin, but I neva wanted tuh come wen yuh come.

Why’s that?

On account o’ I knows yuh might tell dem I wuz down here, an’ I ain’t s’posed tuh be. An’ I ain’t s‘posed tuh be ‘round White chillens ‘less udda White peoples is ‘round.

Yuh tryin’ tuh run away, ain’t yuh?

Naw, ma’am! I ain’t fo’ sho! I knows wat dey do tuh me if’n I did dat.

Then why do yuh come here?

Same reason yuh do, I reckins. It quiet an’ purdy. Let me thank by mahself fo’ a time.

But yuh know that overseer Dunbar is gonna beat yuh if’n he finds out. He ain’t got no left arm, but that right arm of hissin kin do the job jes’ fine.

I knows dat. But dis place’s worth a beatin’ onest in a w’ile. E’tha Dunbar er Massa Sanders is gwaine beat me anyways. No matter.

The White girl continued to look at the black face, then turned toward the sunset. She thought about sitting on her favorite log to watch the sun’s grand finale. But that would be unfittingly relaxed for such a tense situation. And sitting next to the Black girl would be repulsive and even scary.

Whur’d yuh git dat dere red hair, girl? queried the Black girl. An’ dem freckles?

From mah daddy, I reckin. He had ‘em. He said I got ‘em when he got mad at me one day an’ kicked me out in the rain . . . an’ I rusted!

The slave girl could not suppress a smile.

The red-haired girl said Sun’s jes’ ‘bout gone. Yuh know yuh ain’t s’posed tuh look right at the sun when it’s up, don’t yuh? Miz Ginny done told me that.

How come Miz Ginny so worried ‘bout yuh? She ain’t yo’ mamma, an’ yuh jes’ a White servant tuh her . . . ain’t much diff’rent from us slaves. Ain’t she gwaine tell Massa James yuh down here? An’ yuh knows Massa James gwaine whup yuh if’n he knowed yuh is down here.

Mister James is off somewhur buyin’ a mule, I reckin. One of hissin died the other day. She sez I kin come here when he’s gone, long as I ain’t tellin’ nobody but her. Miz Ginny’s kind-ah nice, not much like her husband.

The Black girl frowned. One o’ deese days she gwaine git ketched doin’ wat he ain’t wantin’ her tuh do. Den she git a whuppin’ too.

They stared at each other for a moment, then returned to their gaze at the sunset.

It ‘bout gone now, ‘hind dem clouds. said the slave girl. As she spoke, the sky above the clouds slowly turned red-yellow with shades of violet, and sunrays gradually emerged through breaks in the clouds.

Sure is purdy. observed the White girl again.

The slave girl shook her head slowly in agreement. Whur’d yuh git dat flaher in yo’ hair, ma’am? It real purdy too.

Up the path thur a piece . . . on yer right-hand side ‘hind some bushes. I never seen ‘em thur before. They might be hard tuh see now that the light’s ‘bout gone.

I might jes’ pick me one. Mamma say I’s thirteen tuhday . . . an’ one o’ dem flahers might suit me jes’ fine on mah birthday.

She’s the same age as me.

Yuh better git back up tuh yer place before the path gits too dark. said the White girl.

The slave started walking back up toward the muddy path to the shacks.

Next time yuh come down here, that’ll be all right with me. the White girl called out as the slave departed. The smile she expected to see on the girl’s black face did not materialize.

Chapter 2

MIZ GINNY & AILA

JUNE 1864

THE SLAVE GIRL’S PATH BACK from the river led directly to the slave shacks. The White girl’s way to the farmhouse followed a different path. It passed the hay and work animal barn, the smokehouse, the family outhouse, the roofed hand-dug well, and the vegetable and flower gardens.

Virginia watched the White girl through the kitchen window as she emerged from the woods west of the farmhouse and crossed the farmyard toward the back door.

Aila, I need you to bring me a bucket of water for the dishes. she called out to the girl.

Guilt flashed through Aila’s gut.

Lord ‘ave mercy! I furgot tuh warsh ‘em supper dishes before I went down tuh the river.

She went straight to the well, lowered the well bucket down into the darkness with the counterbalanced well sweep, waited for it to fill, and let it rise back up again. Unhooking the bucket from the sweep, she carried it into the kitchen and set it on the shelf next to the sink. She didn’t look up at Virginia.

Don’t you know you are our servant? demanded Virginia. "That means you serve us! And you know your service means washing dishes after every meal. You helped me cook supper, but that’s not enough. If he was here, I’m sure Mister Sanders would be glad to use his favorite whipping strap over there on the rack."

I know, Miz Ginny. the girl said, her voice shaking. I . . . I’m so sorry I furgot this time. I know I’m s’posed tuh do that. I feel bad I didn’t he’p yuh like I’m s’posed tuh. Putting her hands to her face, she started to shake and cry.

Miz Ginny looked at the girl and shook her head. You can never forget when James is around . . . you understand! I don’t need any of his whippings in my condition. Now stop that sobbing and get on with those dishes. I need to sit a spell. She waddled over to her rocker and eased into the pillowed seat.

Yes ma’am. I’ll git right tuh it was Aila’s firm response, wiping her eyes with her hands.

While she waited for the stove to heat up the water for dish washing, she turned to Ginny.

An’ how yuh feelin’ tuhday, Miz Ginny? I noticed yuh was movin’ kind-ah slow when we was eatin’ supper.

It was then that they heard screaming and shouting coming from the area of Dunbar’s cabin.

See what that’s all about, Aila. Ginny ordered.

Through the kitchen window, Aila could see Dunbar threatening the slave girl with the cowhide lash. He yelled at her, then pushed and drug her across the farmyard. A lump rose in Aila’s throat.

Dunbar’s ’bout tuh give that slave girl a beatin’ looks like. That could’ve been me, she thought.

That’s his job! pronounced Ginny. He’s a mean man, but that’s what we need to keep those darkies in line.

Aila watched as Dunbar continued to force the girl up the hill toward his cabin. She had seen enough and turned away from the window.

That don’t seem right . . . he’s pushin’ an’ draggin’ her up tuh his cabin. He a’ways whups ‘em right in front of everbody tuh make a example. I ‘member las’ time he stripped Sally down tuh her waist, tied her hands up tuh that peach tree branch, an’ whupped her good. Won’t nothin’ she could do but scream an’ kick her feet. Ever now an’ then, he’d empty his pipe embers out on her fur good measure. So she could git back tuh work sooner, he poured buckets of salt water all over her wounds.

No need to watch that. ordered Ginny. He’ll take care of it. It’s a little dark inside the house right now, girl. You’d better light that lamp over there.

Aila pulled a large splinter from the wood pile next to the stove. Opening the cookstove fire door, she started the splinter with fire from the stove and lit the coal oil lamp on the table where Ginny was sitting.

This baby’s got me down. Ginny finally answered. It’s a lot of extra weight to carry around. I’m gonna be glad when I can push her out of this tired body and get on with raising her.

Yuh know it’s a girl?

Bad sickness in the morning. I sure had enough of that. Me craving sweets, James getting fatter along with me . . . me carrying high. Those are all signs that it’s a girl. But then the real test is the ring on a string.

What’s the rang on a strang?

Tie a finger ring on a string and hold it up over your belly. If it moves in a circle, it’s a girl. This is a girl, all right. All the signs point that way.

When the water was warm, Aila poured it from the pot into a larger wash pan and started washing dirty dishes, rinsing them in the rinse pan and drying them with a cotton drying cloth.

Ginny watched Aila move and work. You’re becoming a strong young woman, Aila. she said. You’ve gone through so much with your daddy getting killed in the war and your mamma dying of yellow fever.

Aila looked away, melancholy sweeping over her. She sensed tears forming. I need tuh cry right now, but I gotta stay strong.

I know the work here’s hard, and James treats you bad. But I see you care about people, and you almost always seem happy. I saw you walking back from the river around sunset with a big smile on your face.

That river’s a special place fur me. Aila sniffed and rubbed tears away. Thur’s peace an’ beauty thur. Her thoughts returned to the slave girl, their meeting at the river, and the overseer whipping her.

That could’ve been me.

She looked at Ginny. An’ I found a big bush with the purdiest flahers on it.

I can see that. Some folks call them Sweet Bay, but I think they’re Loblolly Bay. They look a lot alike.

Aila realized she was still wearing the flower. She snatched it from her hair and put it on Ginny’s table.

You don’t need to take it off, Aila. It looked nice there. But now that you’ve done that, why don’t you put it in some water?

I like the name ‘Sweet Bay’ better. Aila declared. That’s what I’m gonna call ‘em.

She got a bowl from the pantry, poured water left over from the well bucket into the bowl, and placed the flower in it.

Miz Ginny, yuh mind if’n I ask yuh a question? Aila said. I a’ways wundered why yuh don’t talk like us ‘round here.

Well, I talk different ‘cause I was born and grew up in Pennsylvania. My parents moved to Wilmington in 1858. I was their only child. My father had a store in Wilmington where he and Mister James met. Both my parents . . . and James’ wife . . . died in the 1862 yellow fever epidemic. I was twenty and all by myself in this world. Soon after that, James and me got married.

So you lost yer daddy an’ mamma too. Aila reflected. Did Mister James have children a’ready?

James had two sons. They both joined the army. John was killed somewhere up in Virginia, and we don’t know what happened to James Jr. He could be dead . . . the army just lost track of him.

So Mister James had a hard life. Aila said. Maybe not as hard as that slave girl.

Aila, you got to be careful with that girl. She can’t just be running off like that on her own. Slaves are running away all up and down that river. I reckon they think they’re free now that the Yankees took New Bern and Beaufort . . . and Lincoln made that proclamation last year.

Yuh saw her go down tuh the river?

I knew you two would run into each other down there. But if James or Dunbar finds her doing that, she’ll get another whipping. And you too. You aren’t free either, you know.

Yessum, I knowed that.

You’re indentured to us, and you can’t be running around like that. James is a good man, but he can’t let you and those slaves run free. If he finds out, he’ll take it out on me if I don’t tell him what you’re doing.

I knowed that, Miz Ginny. He kin’t know what I’m doin’. I’ll be careful that Dunbar don’t see me, ne’ther.

Did you tell that girl she shouldn’t be wandering off by herself like that? Why was she down there anyway?

Yessum, she a’ready knowed that. She likes that river too, I reckin. An’ we talked a little bit . . . made me wunder . . . how mah life an’ her life was kind-ah the same . . . an’ diff’rent at the same time.

You just better be careful. You know you can’t treat her like a White friend.

Yessum. Yuh know what ‘em nigras is like, a’ways stealin’, lyin’, an’ cheatin’. An’ she did cheat me . . . cheated me of mah peace an’ quiet by mah river! I didn’t say much tuh her. They’re scary, scary animals, they are.

Chapter 3

WILSON DUNBAR

JUNE 1864

TRYING TO AVOID DETECTION BY DUNBAR, the slave girl crept back from the river up the slight incline to the log cabin slave shacks.

Dat White girl seem a bit uppidy tuh me. she said to herself. I ain’t her slave an’ she ain’t nothin’ but a servant tuh dem White folks anyways. Who she reckins she is?

The girl knew her mother and the two male slaves would be looking for her. Except for the girl’s father, who had been sold away from the farm several years before, the slaves had been together as a group for about ten years, and they knew each other well.

Two years earlier the slave Nat had tried to escape but was captured in a trap set by Confederates dressed as Yankee soldiers. He was severely whipped for his attempt. Even though the other male slaves, Aron, Tootsie, and Isaiah, and the mother and daughter, Sally and Mary Jane, had made no attempt to run away, they all were whipped as a signal to forego similar attempts.

As the slave girl took the last turn of the path from the river onto the farmyard, she gasped at the sight of Dunbar approaching with a cowhide lash clutched in his right hand. She knew what was coming.

Mary Jane! Tryin’ tuh run away, ain’t yuh? yelled Dunbar.

Naw . . . Nawsuh! Mary Jane shouted, shaking her head in denial. I . . . I’s jes’ takin’ a li’l walk down by de riva, suh!

Yuh lyin’ nigger bitch! yelled Dunbar. Seems yuh need some punishment! Whada yuh reckin, girl?

I . . . I reckins so, Massa. she stammered, resolved to her fate.

Then git yer li’l black ass tuh mah cabin up thur!

Yessuh . . . yessuh! But I won’ runnin’ ‘way, suh. I jes’ went down tuh see dat riva! Yuh ain’t needin’ tuh whup me—I ain’t neva gwaine run ‘way, suh!

Lyin’ wench! yelled Dunbar. Now git goin’.

Dunbar grabbed her right arm, twisted it sharply behind her back, and jerked her around toward his cabin. She moved slowly at first, but he twisted her arm again more tightly and pushed her in front of him. She stumbled, her bare feet slipping in the mud, then regained balance, only to fall again and be dragged through the mud by her arm.

Now at the cabin door, she hesitated. Yo’ whuppin’ need tuh be out here whur evabody can see, don’ it Massa Dunbar?

Not this time! Now git in thur.

Dunbar kicked open the cabin door, pushed her through the threshold onto the black hard-dirt floor, and followed her in, slamming the door behind him.

Now git dat dress off! he ordered. I need tuh see better how tuh whup yuh.

She turned away, pulled her dress over her head, covered her breasts with her arms, and said nothing. He pressed his body against hers from behind and grabbed her breasts with his right hand.

Nice li’l teaties! Seems tuh me they need some squeezin’.

She jerked her body away from him, breaking his grasp for a moment.

Tryin’ tuh git away, are yuh?

He jerked her back to his body. Yuh know I kin choke yuh tuh death with one hand? I done it before tuh a man a lot bigger’n yuh. I kin sure do it aghen!

Options for escape raced through her mind. Would kneeing him in his groin give her a chance to escape? That would only arouse anger and retaliation. Screaming louder might bring the Black men to attempt rescue, but that would bring retaliation on all the slaves. She could only resign herself to her fate.

Wat yuh gwaine do, Massa? Yuh gwaine whup me er not? she whimpered.

Mighty nice! he said, massaging her buttocks. Yeah, I’m gonna whup yuh real good!

The other slaves had seen Mary Jane and Dunbar go into the overseer’s cabin and were now gathered outside their shacks. Sally paced back and forth in front of the shack that she and Mary Jane shared.

Wat’s dat devil doin’ tuh mah baby? she cried out.

Aron and Tootsie remained quiet. They thought the worst but could not speak it.

Dunbar finished and rolled off the cot where he had thrown Mary Jane.

I reckins I oughta git back tuh mah mamma. Mary Jane mumbled, sitting up and starting to pull her dress back over her head.

Yer ain’t goin’ nowhur yet! he growled. We still got that punishment tuh take care of. He picked up the lash.

I thought yuh jes’ did mah punishment. Ain’t dat wat yuh said?

I ain’t said nothin’ like that! I ain’t gonna tell Sanders I whupped yuh without ‘im seein’ lash marks on yer back.

The other slaves could hear familiar distant and muffled sounds of whip striking flesh and groans and cries from the girl. Mary Jane suddenly burst through the cabin door and ran toward them, sobbing. She flew into her mother’s embrace as blood smeared from her back onto Sally’s arms.

Wat’d dat man do tuh yuh, Baby? was all Sally could say, her voice trembling.

Mary Jane stood shaking, trembling, whimpering, and twisting her body from side to side as she tried to speak through her sobs. He r-robbed me of mah virgin . . . an’ he b-beat me wid dat cowhide! I ain’t neva feels so dirdy.

Dat son o’ bitch! growled Nat. We gwaine do somethin’ ‘bout dis. We ain’t gwaine let it pass dis time! Who wid me now?

I ain’t killin’ nobody. objected Aron. Dat’s a sin aghen de Lawd.

I ain’t got no problem killin’ folks wid de Devil in dem! Isaiah proclaimed. But dat mean we all gotta leave dis place. Whur we gwaine go?

At de Meetin’ Place, I heared tell dem Yankees done took New Bern an’ Bowfo’t, makin’ safe places fo’ runaways. said Nat. Runaways from all ova de place makin’ a town fo’ demself in James City.

Tootsie shook his head and glared at Nat. But we ain’t even knowin’ how tuh git dere er how fur it is. De Home Guard’s gwaine be out dere lookin’ fo’ us in de woods ‘tween here an’ dere.

Yuh’s jes’ skeered. countered Nat. Ain’t yuh wantin’ yo’ freedom?

Yeah, I’s skeered. agreed Tootsie. But if’n we stay, Massa Sandas ain’t gwaine kill us. He need us tuh work dis here farm.

He gwaine whup us fo’ sho, but he don’ treat us like some udda massas ‘round here. argued Aron. I done heared ‘bout dat man Wilkins ova yonda beatin’ his slaves wid a grubbin’ hoe. Out dere, dem Home Guards might hang us fo’ killin’ Dunbar . . . er jes’ fo’ de fun o’ it.

I reckins we got better luck here, if’n yuh ax me. declared Sally.

I’s stayin’ right here wid Sally fo’ now. said Aron.

Dere ain’t no reason fo’ yuh tuh stay here wid her! countered Isaiah. Yuh ain’t married tuh her, an’ Mary Jane ain’t yo’ chile!

Aron frowned. Now Isaiah, yuh knows as well as evabody dat mah place is here wid her!

Isaiah scanned each face in the room, save Mary Jane. Well den, I reckins it’s me an’ Nat dat take care o’ Dunbar an’ head fo’ James City.

I’s wid yuh! concurred Nat.

Den we’s all decided now! proclaimed Isaiah.

Chapter 4

JAMES SANDERS & THE

RECKONING

JUNE 1864

JAMES SANDERS ENTERED THE DARK FARMYARD on his horse, Susie, leading a large red mule. That day he had bought the mule, named Mary, from his neighbor, Reverend Jacob Campbell. He could see faint lamp light shining through the kitchen window of his farmhouse.

Looks like she might still be up. he said out loud.

The moon was not full, but he had enough light to see the trail leading to his barn behind the farmhouse. The barn interior was also light enough to lead Mary into her stall and close the gate. After tossing a mound of hay into the mule stall, he did the same for Susie.

Entering the farmhouse kitchen, he saw his wife seated at the table, her head bowed as if she were napping. As he closed the door behind him, she twitched slightly and opened her eyes.

Yuh waited up fur me, Ginny. he said. Yuh didn’t have tuh do that.

I wanted to make sure you got home all right. It’s late. I was worried. Did you get that mule?

"Mary’s in the barn now. We gonna need her if’n we ever turn this farm ‘round. The markets jes’ ‘bout dried up alltuhgether on account of this damn wah. An’ after all we done, I ain’t sure we gonna come