The Portable Nineteenth-Century African American Women Writers

by Various

  “Gentleman of the jury, here I rest this case, as I would not want any better evidence for one of my own children. The testimony of Judge Wash is alone sufficient to substantiate the claim of Polly Crockett Berry to the defendant as being her own child.”

  The case was then submitted to the jury, about 8 o’clock in the evening, and I was returned to the jail and locked in the cell which I had occupied for seventeen months, filled with the most intense anguish.

  CHAPTER V.

  “There’s a joy in every sorrow,

  There’s a relief from every pain;

  Though to-day ’tis dark to-morrow

  HE will turn all bright again.”

  Before the sheriff bade me good night he told me to be in readiness at nine o’clock on the following morning to accompany him back to court to hear the verdict. My mother was not at the trial. She had lingered many days about the jail expecting my case would be called, and finally when called to trial the dear, faithful heart was not present to sustain me during that dreadful speech of Mr. Hutchinson. All night long I suffered agonies of fright, the suspense was something awful, and could only be comprehended by those who have gone through some similar ordeal.

  I had missed the consolation of my mother’s presence, and I felt so hopeless and alone! Blessed mother! how she clung and fought for me. No work was too hard for her to undertake. Others would have flinched before the obstacles which confronted her, but undauntedly she pursued her way, until my freedom was established by every right and without a questioning doubt!

  On the morning of my return to Court, I was utterly unable to help myself. I was so overcome with fright and emotion,—with the alternating feelings of despair and hope—that I could not stand still long enough to dress myself. I trembled like an aspen leaf; so I sent a message to Mrs. Lacy to request permission for me to go to her room, that she might assist me in dressing. I had done a great deal of sewing for Mrs. Lacy, for she had showed me much kindness, and was a good Christian. She gladly assisted me, and under her willing hands I was soon made ready, and, promptly at nine o’clock, the sheriff called and escorted me to the courthouse.

  On our way thither, Judge Bates overtook us. He lived out a short distance in the country, and was riding on horseback. He tipped his hat to me as politely as if I were the finest lady in the land, and cried out, “Good morning Miss Lucy, I suppose you had pleasant dreams last night!” He seemed so bright and smiling that I was inbued with renewed hope; and when he addressed the sheriff with “Good morning Sir. I don’t suppose the jury was out twenty minutes were they?” and the sheriff replied “oh! no, sir,” my heart gave a leap, for I was sure that my fate was decided for weal or woe.

  I watched the judge until he turned the corner and desiring to be relieved of suspense from my pent-up anxiety, I eagerly asked the sheriff if I were free, but he gruffly answered that “he didn’t know.” I was sure he did know, but was too mean to tell me. How could he have been so flinty, when he must have seen how worried I was.

  At last the courthouse was reached and I had taken my seat in such a condition of helpless terror that I could not tell one person from another. Friends and foes were as one, and vainly did I try to distinguish them. My long confinement, burdened with harrowing anxiety, the sleepless night I had just spent, the unaccountable absence of my mother, had brought me to an indescribable condition. I felt dazed, as if I were no longer myself. I seemed to be another person—an on looker—and in my heart dwelt a pity for the poor, lonely girl, with down-cast face, sitting on the bench apart from anyone else in that noisy room. I found myself wondering where Lucy’s mother was, and how she would feel if the trial went against her; I seemed to have lost all feeling about it, but was speculating what Lucy would do, and what her mother would do, if the hand of Fate was raised against poor Lucy! Oh! how sorry I did feel for myself!

  At the sound of a gentle voice, I gathered courage to look upward, and caught the kindly gleam of Judge Bates’ eyes, as he bent his gaze upon me and smilingly said, “I will have you discharged in a few minutes, Miss Lucy!”

  Some other business occupied the attention of the Court, and when I had begun to think they had forgotten all about me, Judge Bates arose and said calmly, “Your Honor, I desire to have this girl, Lucy A. Berry, discharged before going into any other business.”

  Judge Mullanphy answered “Certainly!” Then the verdict was called for and rendered, and the jurymen resumed their places. Mr. Mitchell’s lawyer jumped up and exclaimed:

  “Your Honor, my client demands that this girl be remanded to jail. He does not consider that the case has had a fair trial, I am not informed as to what course he intends to pursue, but I am now expressing his present wishes?”

  Judge Bates was on his feet in a second and cried: “For shame! is it not enough that this girl has been deprived of her liberty for a year and a half, that you must still pursue her after a fair and impartial trial before a jury, in which it was clearly proven and decided that she had every right to freedom? I demand that she be set at liberty at once!”

  “I agree with Judge Bates,” responded Judge Mullanphy, “and the girl may go!”

  Oh! the overflowing thankfulness of my grateful heart at that moment, who could picture it? None but the good God above us! I could have kissed the feet of my deliverers, but I was too full to express my thanks, but with a voice trembling with tears I tried to thank Judge Bates for all his kindness.

  As soon as possible, I returned to the jail to bid them all good-bye and thank them for their good treatment of me while under their care. They rejoiced with me in my good fortune and wished me much success and happiness in years to come.

  I was much concerned at my mother’s prolonged absence, and was deeply anxious to meet her and sob out my joy on her faithful bosom. Surely it was the hands of God which prevented mother’s presence at the trial, for broken down with anxiety and loss of sleep on my account, the revulsion of feeling would have been greater than her over-wrought heart could have sustained.

  As soon as she heard of the result, she hurried to meet me, and hand in hand we gazed into each other’s eyes and saw the light of freedom there, and we felt in our hearts that we could with one accord cry out: “Glory to God in the highest, and peace and good will towards men.”

  Dear, dear mother! how solemnly I invoke your spirit as I review these trying scenes of my girlhood, so long agone! Your patient face and neatly-dressed figure stands ever in the foreground of that checkered time; a figure showing naught to an on-looker but the common place virtues of an honest woman! Never would an ordinary observer connect those virtues with aught of heroism or greatness, but to me they are as bright rays as ever emanated from the lives of the great ones of earth, which are portrayed on historic pages—to me, the qualities of her true, steadfast heart and noble soul become “a constellation, and is tracked in Heaven straightway.”

  25

  ELLA SHEPPARD

  (1851–1914)

  Samuella (Ella) Sheppard was born into slavery on Andrew Jackson’s plantation, Hermitage, in Nashville, Tennessee. Her father purchased his freedom and moved the family to Cincinnati, where young Ella began taking lessons from a well-known vocal coach. After her father’s death, Ella Sheppard supported her mother and sisters by working as a teacher. After the Civil War, she moved back to Nashville to attend the Fisk Free Colored School. George White, Fisk’s treasurer, noted Sheppard’s skill as a pianist and invited her to join the Fisk Jubilee Singers on a concert tour. Sheppard went on to lead the group to great fame across North America and Europe; the group’s popularity abroad indicates the pro–African American attitudes of many Europeans. White disbanded the group in 1882. After retiring from music, Sheppard married Rev. George Washington Moore, a well-known minister, devoting the rest of her life to teaching and political reform.

  In her memoir, Sheppard demonstrates the financial, historical, and cultural
importance of the Fisk Jubilee Singers across the country and in Europe. In the United States, “everywhere the experience was the same. Hotels refused us, and families of the highest social prestige received us into their homes. We sang in halls where Negroes had never been allowed upon the platform.” In Europe, concerts often brought in $1,000 per night; the Singers met royalty and stayed in the best hotels without mishap. Sheppard closes by noting the important role that the Fisk Jubilee Singers played in keeping Fisk University financially stable.

  “Historical Sketch of the Jubilee Singers” (1911)

  SOURCE: Ella Sheppard, “Historical Sketch of the Jubilee Singers,” Fisk University News: The Jubilee Singers (October 1911).

  Part I. Personal

  Forty-five years ago the sudden death of my father in Cincinnati, Ohio, brought me to extreme poverty, without protection and with no chance to finish my education or to prepare myself for life’s duties and responsibilities. Besides, I had been an invalid for nearly two years. Although frail, I tried every honorable opportunity to make a living. I took in washing and ironing, worked in a family, and had a few music pupils who paid me poorly. Finally I left Cincinnati and taught school in Gallatin, Tennessee. In five months I realized my deficiencies and came to Fisk School in September, 1868, with all my possessions in a trunk (which was not full) so small that the boys immediately called it [a] “Pie Box.” I had six dollars, and when Mr. White, the Treasurer, said that this amount would keep me a little over three weeks, I asked for work. He said there were already many others waiting for a chance to work. I decided to stay until my money ran out.

  Exceptional musical advantages then very rare for colored girls in the South secured me three pupils, who paid me four dollars each per month. Wednesdays and Saturdays I went to the city and taught each pupil one hour, which made it impossible for me, running all the way, over the rough, rocky hills and roads, to get back in time for the last tap of the bell for supper: so I went without supper those days and waited on the table one day and washed dishes the other day. The school was very poor and food was scarce, yet it filled one. . . .

  There were no helpful “mission barrels” in those days; so many of us shivered through that first winter with not an inch of flannel upon our bodies. In spite of our poverty and hardships we were a jolly set of natural girlish girls, and when we had a chance romped and played with all the abandon of children. Once a month we were allowed to go to the city to church and once a month to an entertainment, usually at Baptist College (afterward Roger Williams University), occupying the oldest part of what is now Knowles Public School Building. Our girls and boys labored as strenuously then for the favorite ones to accompany them over the rough, muddy roads and hills, as now to entertainments.

  Organizing the Company

  We were especially fond of music and gladly gave half of our noon hour and all spare time to study under Mr. George L. White. We made rapid progress, and soon began to help our school by sometimes going Fridays and Saturdays to neighboring towns and cities to give concerts. We always succeeded financially and left behind a thirst for education. Those were the days of the Ku Klux Klan and the Civil Rights Bill. The latter bill prevented our being put out of a ladies coach if we once got in. Our trips often led into many hardships and real dangers. Sometimes after a concert we received private notice of such a nature that we wisely took the first train away.

  A Sample Trip

  Once we were enroute to a large city to give the “Cantata of Queen Esther,” which we had already given most successfully in our own city. An accident ahead of us compelled us to stop all day at a station in the woods to await the night train. The only visible house was the hotel. It was election time. All day men gathered from far and near drinking at the hotel bar. Our presence attracted their attention, and seeing Mr. White among us and discovering our mission, word soon traveled that he was a “Yankee nigger school teacher.”

  Threatenings began near evening. Mr. White, anxious and fearful for us, had us stroll to the railway platform, and sitting on a pile of shingles we prayed through song for deliverance and protection. Mr. White stood between us and the men directing our singing. One by one the riotous crowd left off their jeering and swearing and slunk back, until only the leader stood near Mr. White, and finally took off his hat. Our hearts were fearful and tender and darkness was falling. We were softly finishing the last verse of “Beyond the smiling and the weeping I shall be soon,” when we saw the bull’s eye of the coming engine and knew that we were saved. The leader begged us with tears falling to sing the hymn again, which we did. As the train passed slowly by I heard him repeating, “Love, rest and home, sweet, sweet home.”

  Slave Songs Not in Repertoire

  The slave songs were never used by us then in public. They were associated with slavery and the dark past, and represented the things to be forgotten. Then, too, they were sacred to our parents, who used them in their religious worship and shouted over them. We finally grew willing to sing them privately, usually in Professor Spence’s sitting-room, and sitting upon the floor (there were but few chairs) we practiced softly, learning from each other the songs of our fathers. We did not dream of ever using them in public. Had Mr. White or Professor Spence suggested such a thing, we certainly [would have] rebelled. It was only after many months that gradually our hearts were opened to the influence of these friends and we began to appreciate the wonderful beauty and power of our songs; but we continued to sing in public the usual choruses, duets, solos, etc., learned at school.

  Falling Buildings and Resources

  The time came when the old hospital buildings must either be greatly repaired or torn down. Many a night in ’68 and ’69, while some of the girls occupied rooms in the back row of buildings, the wind whistled around and groaned so fearfully that we trembled in horror in our beds, thinking the sounds were the cries of lost spirits of the soldiers who had died in them. We dared not sleep for fear a ghost would grab us, and one night we were sure that a ghost cried out, “O Lordy. O Lordy.” Our screams aroused the neighborhood as we fled in terror.

  Our privations and limited food began to tell on the vitality of the students and some of our best pupils were sacrificed. There was no money even for food, much less for repairs. Many a time [a] special prayer was offered for the next meal. The American Missionary Association decided that the school must be given up. Teachers, pupils, and citizens felt that this would be an irreparable mistake and calamity, but no one could see how nor where to get the money even for our necessities, and our needs were growing.

  When Mr. White proposed to take a company of students to the North to sing for the money, there was consternation at Fisk, and the city people began to object. Everywhere such a plan was looked upon as “a wild goose chase.” Opposition developed and grew into vicious criticisms. Prayers for light, guidance and patience went up daily. His peace fell upon us, and while we waited for guidance Mr. White called for volunteers from his singing class and choir. More than enough volunteered and he selected eleven voices. He rehearsed us daily.

  The American Missionary Association officers, having heard of Mr. White’s plans and of the criticisms, and feeling no doubt the responsibility was too great to assume such a quixotic agency for raising funds, said we must not go. Mr. White wrote to a leading member of the Board and requested a loan to defray our expenses. He not only refused, but protested. Mr. White telegraphed him. “’Tis root, hog, or die: I’m depending on God, not you.” Our teachers caught the vision and enthusiasm of Mr. White, and, although fearful of failure, set to and helped to get us ready, dividing their clothing with us. Our company’s clothing represented Joseph’s coat of many colors and styles. Not one of us had an overcoat or wrap. Mr. White had an old gray shawl.

  The Singers Go Forth

  Taking every cent he had, all the school treasury could spare and all he could borrow, and leaving his invalid wife and two small children in the care of a faithful col
ored nurse, Mr. White started, in God’s strength, October 6, 1871, with his little band of singers to sing the money out of the hearts and pockets of the people.

  On our reaching Cincinnati, two Congregational ministers, the Reverend Messrs. Moore and Halley, opened their churches for us for praise meetings. On Sunday these meetings were crowded. On Monday we sang at Chillicothe, Ohio, realizing nearly $50.00. It was the Sunday and Monday of Chicago’s awful fire. We gladly donated our first proceeds to the Chicago Relief Fund and left our needs and debts in God’s hands. The mayor and citizens of Chillicothe took notice of our gift and in a public card cordially commended our cause. The two concerts which followed were well attended. In this city began the operation of caste prejudice which was to follow us, and which it was to be a part of our mission if not to remove at least to ameliorate.

  There was no room for us at two leading hotels. A humane landlord of a third hotel took us in, serving our meals before the usual hour. Dense audiences met in Cincinnati on Sunday at Reverend Mr. Moore’s church, but a slim audience greeted our paid concert in Mozart Hall. Evidently the concert was enjoyed and the morning papers said “the sweetness of the voices, the accuracy of the execution and the precision of the time carried the mind back to the early concerts of the Hutchinsons, the Gibsons and other famous families, who years ago delighted audiences and taught them with sentiment while they pleased them with melody.”

  Our appearance before the National Council of Congregations Churches at Oberlin, Ohio, brought our cause before the ministers and laymen, representatives of a large part of the constituency of the American Missionary Association. They were deeply impressed with our singing; they endorsed our cause and helped us by good collection. Two officers of the American Missionary Association who were present realized that Mr. White was greatly overtaxed and arranged for an assistant as advance agent. A hearing before the Presbyterian Synod at Springfield, Ohio, brought our cause prominently before the Presbyterians. At first we were welcomed in the Sunday Schools and churches. The collections were small and the concerts poorly attended.