"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 imbued 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."