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Struggles for Freedom.
[Illustration: (signed) Yours Truly, Lucy A. Delaney]
FROM THE
DARKNESS COMETH THE LIGHT
OR
STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM.
[Illustration]
ST. LOUIS, MO.
PUBLISHING HOUSE OF J. T. SMITH,
No. 11, Bridge Entrance.
Dedication.
To those who by their valor have made their name immortal, from whom
we are daily learning the lessons of patriotism, in whom we respect
the virtues of charity, patience and friendship as displayed towards
the colored race and to those
"Whose deeds crowd History's pages
And Time's great volume make,"
is this little volume reverently dedicated--
THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC.
Preface.
So many of my friends have urged me to give a short sketch of my
varied life that I have consented, and herewith present it for the
consideration of my readers. Those who were with me in the days of
slavery will appreciate these pages, for though they cannot recur with
any happiness to the now "shadowy past, or renew the unrenewable," the
unaccountable longing for the aged to look backward and review the
events of their youth will find an answering chord in this little
book.
Those of you who have never suffered as we have, perhaps may suppose
the case, and therefore accept with interest and sympathy the
passages of life and character here portrayed and the lessons which
should follow from them.
If there is a want of unity or coherence in this work, be charitable
and attribute it to lack of knowledge and experience in literary
acquirements. As this is a world of varied interests and many events,
although we are each but atoms, it must be remembered, that we assist
in making the grand total of all history, and therefore are excusable
in making our affairs of importance to ourselves, and endeavoring to
impress them on others. With this reason of my seeking your favor, I
leave you to the perusal of my little tale.
L. A. D.
STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM.
CHAPTER I.
"Soon is the echo and the shadow o'er,
Soon, soon we lie with lid-encumbered eyes
And the great fabrics that we reared before
Crumble to make a dust to hide who dies."
In the year 18--, Mr. and Mrs. John Woods and Mr. and Mrs. Andrew
Posey lived as one family in the State of Illinois. Living with Mrs.
Posey was a little negro girl, named Polly Crocket, who had made it
her home there, in peace and happiness, for five years. On a dismal
night in the month of September, Polly, with four other colored
persons, were kidnapped, and, after being securely bound and gagged,
were put into a skiff and carried across the Mississippi River to the
city of St. Louis. Shortly after, these unfortunate negroes were
taken up the Missouri River and sold into slavery. Polly was purchased
by a farmer, Thomas Botts, with whom she resided for a year, when,
overtaken by business reverses, he was obliged to sell all he
possessed, including his negroes.
Among those present on the day set apart for the sale was Major Taylor
Berry, a wealthy gentleman who had travelled a long distance for the
purpose of purchasing a servant girl for his wife. As was the custom,
all the negroes were brought out and placed in a line, so that the
buyers could examine their good points at leisure. Major Berry was
immediately attracted by the bright and alert appearance of Polly, and
at once negotiated with the trader, paid the price agreed upon, and
started for home to present his wife with this flesh and blood
commodity, which money could so easily procure in our vaunted land of
freedom.
Mrs. Fanny Berry was highly pleased with Polly's manner and
appearance, and concluded to make a seamstress of her. Major Berry had
a mulatto servant, who was as handsome as an Apollo, and when he and
Polly met each other, day after day, the natural result followed, and
in a short time, with the full consent of Major Berry and his wife,
were married. Two children were the fruit of this marriage, my sister
Nancy and myself, Lucy A. Delaney.
While living in Franklin county, Major Berry became involved in a
quarrel with some gentleman, and a duel was resorted to, to settle the
difficulty and avenge some fancied insult. The major arranged his
affairs and made his will, leaving his negroes to his wife during her
life-time and at her death they were to be free; this was his
expressed wish.
My father accompanied Major Berry to New Madrid, where the fatal duel
was fought, and stayed by him until the end came, received his last
sigh, his last words, and closed his dying eyes, and afterwards
conveyed the remains of his best friend to the bereaved family with a
sad heart. Though sympathizing deeply with them in their affliction,
my father was much disturbed as to what disposition would be made of
him, and after Major Berry was consigned with loving hands to his last
resting place, these haunting thoughts obtruded, even in his sleeping
hours.
A few years after, Major Berry's widow married Robert Wash, an eminent
lawyer, who afterwards became Judge of the Supreme Court. One child
was born to them, who, when she grew to womanhood, became Mrs. Francis
W. Goode, whom I shall always hold in grateful remembrance as long as
life lasts, and God bless her in her old age, is my fervent prayer for
her kindness to me, a poor little slave girl!
We lived in the old "Wash" mansion some time after the marriage of
the Judge, until their daughter Frances was born. How well I remember
those happy days! Slavery had no horror then for me, as I played about
the place, with the same joyful freedom as the little white children.
With mother, father and sister, a pleasant home and surroundings, what
happier child than I!
As I carelessly played away the hours, mother's smiles would fade
away, and her brow contract into a heavy frown. I wondered much
thereat, but the time came--ah! only too soon, when I learned the
secret of her ever-changing face!