The Slave's Diary

Posted 9 days ago
Kenneth R. McClelland

Category : Fiction & Literature


Book Purchase Link :

Website Link :

After a boy name Kimbo is kidnapped from the jungles of Africa while on his first hunt with his father, we learn about his arduous journey from boyhood to adulthood through his book of recollections, starting with a walk through the jungle to a trading post; to a slave island; and then onto a crowded slave ship through the middle passage of the trade triangle where he lands in 19th century Virginia and the slave trade.

As an old man, he describes the life that he led in America as the slave of many masters, showing us the good and the evil, until the day that he gains his freedom with the help of a minister who becomes his dearest friend.

Let me encourage you to read the reviews from those who've read it, and to give you a taste, here is an excerpt from the award winning book called: The Slave's Diary:

"She stopped rocking and pulled the pipe from her mouth and held it in her wrinkled hand.

“Well, now, how do you s’pose you’re gonna eat it if ’n yer hidin’ in them there woods?”

Leaving the safety of the brush, I walked slowly up to the porch and told her my name.

“Hmmm. Rastus, is it? I like it. It’s a good strong name. I knew a Rastus once. A good man he was, an’ kind to animals too. Well, what are ya standin’ there like a lump fer? Come on up here and set fer a spell an’ tell me about yerself, Rastus.”

“Thank ya, kindly ma’am, don’t mind if I do.”

“You might jest as well call me Miss Owens. Evrabuddy else does.”

She patted the chair next to her and told me to sit for a while and talk with her.

“So tell me about yerself, young feller.”

I told her my story, and I mean everything. Well, almost everything. I told her about how I was a boy when I came to America from Africa, and then about Jed an’ Miss Kassie, and all about the Masters I had. But I didn’t tell her anything about Lizbeth ’cause it just didn’t seem like a good idea.

She seemed real interested when I talked about the draft horses I used to work with, and laughed when I told her some of the things that happened while I lived with Miss Kassie and Jed. But when I told her that I was a set-free man, she tipped her head and looked at me over top of her spectacles, almost as if to say out loud that I was a liar. I don’t know how she knew it, but I could tell that she knew. But instead of calling me out on it, she started to tell me about herself.

She was married for a long time to a man called Wilbur, but he died almost a year before from something called the pox.

“Tain’t been an easy road, son, but this homestead’s been paid for in bitter coin. If it wasn’t the Injuns, cold weather, or poor crops, there was always some kinda illness tryin’ to git us to move on. My man Wilbur was a fine man, Rastus, an’ I think he’d a liked you. Did I tell you Wilbur was a horse man jest like you? He’d go on an’ on about it, always talkin’ about raisin’ them dang horses and makin’ it big by sellin’ ’em to the rich folks in the Bay Colony. A course he never got around to it other than all the talkin’, but a man has to have his dream now, don’t he, Rastus?”

She stopped talking and looked at me as if waiting for me to speak.

“So tell me, young feller, what’s yer dream about?”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure I even had a dream apart from being free, which I already lied and told her I was.

“I don’t reckon I have a dream Miss Owens. Leastwise, nothin’ I kin think of. An’ tha’s okay ’cause I don’t aspect a whole lot outta life other’n what I already got.”

She looked at me kinda serious like and told me that that was just crazy talk. Then she leaned her chair toward me and pointed that corncob pipe my way and shook it at me.

“Now you listen to me, Rastus, ’cause I’m an old woman an’ I know what I’m talkin’ about. If a body don’t want much outta this life, then by golly that’s usually all they’s ever gonna git! Not much! Now you got to reach down deep inside yerself an’ think on what makes ya happy. An’ what it is that makes ya happy that you ain’t got yet, well, that kin be yer dream. Can ya see what I’m sayin’, boy? A body hasta have dreams. It’s what keeps us goin’.”

She put the pipe between her lips again as I lowered my head and thought about what she said for a bit before saying anything. Her words made a lot of sense, and I thought about it hard for a few minutes more before a smile came onto my face.

“Well then, I has a dream, Miss Owens. I think I wants ta go home. Yes, that’s what I wants. I wants ta go back home to Africa someday.”

She pulled the pipe from her mouth and smiled at me.

“Now that’s a good dream to have, Rastus, a real good dream, an’ I hope ya git it one day. An’ soon too.”

She stood up after some effort and asked me if I’d like some of that apple pie. “For it goes to spoil,” she added..."

Read More