Berry Sisters, Helen Berry, Gertrude Berry,
Mediums Berry Sisters, USA
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Berry Sisters Mediums
Helen Berry, Gertrude Berry
From the book "There Is No Death" Florence
Marryat
CHAPTER XXIV III
The Misses Berry
No one introduced me to the
Misses Berry. I saw their advertisement in the
public papers and went incognita to their seance, as I had done to those of
others. The first thing that struck me about them was the superior class of
patrons whom they drew. In the ladies' cloak room, where they left their heavy
wraps and umbrellas, the conversation that took place made this sufficiently
evident. Helen and Gertrude Berry were pretty, unaffected, lady-like girls; and
their conductor, Mr. Abrow, one of the most courteous gentlemen I have ever met.
The sisters, both highly mediumistic, never sat together, but on alternate
nights, but the one who did not sit always took a place in the audience, in
order to prevent suspicion attaching to her absence. Gertrude Berry had been
lately married to a Mr. Thompson, and on account of her health gave up her
seances, soon after I made her acquaintance. She was a tall, finely-formed young
woman, with golden hair and a beautiful complexion. Her sister Helen was
smaller, paler and more slightly built. She had been engaged to be married to a
gentleman who died shortly before the time fixed for their wedding, and his
Spirit, whom she called Charley, was the principal control at her seances,
though he never showed himself.
I found the seance room, which was not very large, crammed with chairs which had
all been engaged beforehand, so Mr. Abrow fetched one from downstairs and placed
it next his own for me, which was the very position I should have chosen. I
asked him afterwards how he dared admit a stranger to such close proximity, and
he replied that he was a Medium himself and knew who he could and who he could
not trust at a glance. As my professional duties took me backwards and forwards
to Boston, which was my central starting-point, sometimes giving me only a day's
rest there, I was in the habit afterwards, when I found I should have 'a night
off,' of wiring to Mr. Abrow to keep me a seat, so difficult was it to secure
one unless it were bespoken. Altogether I sat five or six times with the Berry
sisters, and wished I could have sat fifty or sixty times instead, for I never
enjoyed any seances so much in my life before. The cabinet was formed of an
inner room with a separate door, which had to undergo the process of being
sealed up by a committee of strangers every evening. Strips of gummed paper were
provided for them, on which they wrote their names before affixing them across
the inside opening of the door. On the first night I inspected the cabinet also
as a matter of principle, and gummed my paper with "Mrs. Richardson" written on
it across the door. The cabinet contained only a sofa for Miss Helen Berry to
recline upon. The floor was covered with a nailed-down carpet. The door which
led into the cabinet was shaded by two dark curtains hung with rings upon a
brass rod. The door of the seance room was situated at a right angle with that
of the cabinet, both opening upon a square landing, and, to make "assurance
doubly sure," the door of the seance room was left open, so that the eyes of the
sitters at that end commanded a view, during the entire sitting, of the outside
of the locked and gummed-over cabinet door. To make this fully understood, I
append a diagram of the two rooms. By the position of these doors, it will be
seen how impossible it would have been for anybody to leave or enter the cabinet
without being detected by the sitters, who had their faces turned towards the
seance room door.
The first materialization that appeared that evening was a bride, dressed in her
bridal costume; and a gentleman, who was occupying a chair in the front row, and
holding a white flower in his hand, immediately rose, went up to her, embraced
her, and whispered a few words, then gave her the white flower, which she
fastened in the bosom of her dress, after which he bowed slightly to the
company, and, instead of resuming his seat, left the room. Mr. Abrow then said
to me, "If you like, madam, you can take that seat now," and as the scene had
excited my curiosity I accepted his offer, hoping to find some one to tell me
the meaning of it. I found myself next to a very sweet-looking lady, whom I
afterwards knew personally as Mrs. Seymour. "Can you tell me why that gentleman
left so suddenly?" I asked her in a whisper. "He seldom stays through a seance;
" she replied; "he is a business man, and has no time to spare, but he is here
every night. The lady you saw him speak to is his wife. She died on her wedding
day, eleven years ago, and he has never failed to meet her on every opportunity
since. He brings her a white flower every time he comes. She appears always
first, in order that he may be able to return to his work." This story struck me
as very interesting, and I always watched for this gentleman afterwards, and
never failed to see him waiting for his bride, with the white flower in his
hand.
"Do you expect to see any friends tonight?" I said to my new acquaintance. "O!
yes!" she replied. "I have come to see my daughter 'Bell.' She died some years
ago, and I am bringing up the two little children she left behind her. I never
do anything for them without consulting their mother. Just now I have to change
their nurse, and I have received several excellent characters of others, and I
have brought them here this evening that 'Bell' may tell me which to write for.
" I have the pattern for the children's winter frocks, too," she continued,
producing some squares of woollen cloths, "and I always like to let 'Bell' choose
which she likes best." This will give my readers some idea of how much more the
American spiritualists regard their departed friends as still forming part of
the Home Circle, and interested in their domestic affairs. "Bell" soon after
made her appearance, and Mrs. Seymour brought her up to me. She was a young
woman of about three or four and twenty, and looked very happy and smiling. She
perused the servants' characters as practically as her mother might have done,
but said she would have none of them, and Mrs. Seymour was to wait till she
received some more. The right one had not come yet. She also looked at the
patterns, and indicated the one she liked best. Then, as she was about to
retire, she whispered to her mother, and Mrs. Seymour said, to my surprise (for
it must be remembered I had not disclosed my name to her), "Bell tells me she
knows a daughter of yours in the Spirit life, called 'Florence.' Is that the
case?" I answered I had a daughter of that name; and Mrs. Seymour added " 'Bell'
says she will be here this evening, that she is a very pure and very elevated
spirit, and they are great friends." Very shortly after this, Mr. Abrow
remarked, "There is a young girl in the cabinet now, who says that if her
mother's name is 'Mrs. Richardson' she must have married for the third time
since she saw her last, for she was 'Mrs. Lean' then." At this remark I laughed;
and Mr. Abrow said, "Is she come for you, madam? Does the cap fit?" I was
obliged to acknowledge then that I had given a false name in order to avoid
recognition. But the mention of my married name attracted no attention to me,
and was only a proof that it had not been given from any previous knowledge of
Mr. Abrow's concerning myself I was known in the United States as "Florence
Marryat" only, and to this day they believe me to be still "Mrs. Ross-Church,"
that being the name under which my first novels were written.
So I recognized Florence at once in the trick that had been played me, and had
risen to approach the curtain, when she came bounding out and ran into my arms.
I don't think I had ever seen her look so charming and girlish before. She
looked like an embodiment of sunshine. She was dressed in a low frock which
seemed manufactured of lace and muslin, her hair fell loose down her back to her
knees, and her hands were full of damask roses. This was in December, when
hothouse roses were selling for a dollar a piece in Boston, and she held,
perhaps, twenty. Their scent was delicious, and she kept thrusting them under my
nose, saying, "Smell my roses, Mother. Don't you wish you had my garden? We have
fields of them in the Summer Land! O! how I wish you were there." "Shan't I come
soon, darling?" I said. "No! not yet," replied Florence. "You have a lot of work
to do still. But when you come, it will be all flowers for you and me." I asked
her if she knew "Bell," and she said, "O! yes! We came together this evening."
Then I asked her to come and speak to 'Bell's' mother, and her manner changed at
once. She became shy and timid, like a young girl, unused to strangers, and
quite hung on my arm, as I took her up to Mrs. Seymour's side. When she had
spoken a few words to her in a very low voice, she turned to me and said, I must
go now, because we have a great surprise for you this evening--a very great
surprise." I told her I like great surprises, when they were pleasant ones, and
Florence laughed, and went away. I found that her debut had created such a
sensation amongst the sitters--it being so unusual for a materialized spirit to
appear so strong and perfect on the first occasion of using a medium that I felt
compelled to give them a little explanation on the subject. And when I told them
how I had lost her as a tiny infant of ten days old--how she had returned to me
through various media in England, and given such unmistakable proofs of her
identity-and how I, being a stranger in their country, and only landed there a
few weeks, had already met her through Mrs Williams, Mrs Hatch and Miss
Berry--they said it was one of the most wonderful and perfect instances of
materialization they had ever heard of. And when one considers how perfect the
chain is, from the time when Florence first came back to me as a child, too weak
to speak, or even to understand where she was, to the years through which she
had grown and became strong almost beneath my eyes, till she could 'bound' (as I
have narrated) into my arms like a human being, and talk as distinctly as (and
far more sensible than) I did myself, I think my readers will acknowledge also,
that hers is no common story, and that I have some reason to believe in
Spiritualism.
On Christmas Eve I happened to be in Boston, and disengaged, and as I found it
was a custom of the American spiritualists to hold meetings on that anniversary
for the purpose of seeing their Spirit Friends, I engaged a seat for the
occasion. I arrived some time before the seance commenced, and next to me was
seated a gentleman, rather roughly dressed, who was eyeing everything about him
with the greatest attention. Presently he turned to me and said, rather
sheepishly, "Do you believe in this sort of thing?" "I do," I replied, "and I
have believed in it for the last fifteen years." "Have you ever seen anybody
whom you recognized?" he continued. " Plenty," I said. Then he edged a little
nearer to me, and lowered his voice. "Do you know," he commenced, "that I have
ridden on horseback forty miles through the snow today to be present at this
meeting, because my old mother sent me a message that she would meet me here! I
don't believe in it, you know. I've never been at a seance before, and I feel as
if I was making a great fool of myself now, but I couldn't neglect my poor old
mother's message, whatever came of it." "Of course not," I answered, "and I hope
your trouble will be rewarded."
I had not much faith in my own words, though because I had seen people
disappointed again and again over their first seance, from either the Spirits of
their friends being too weak to materialize, or from too many trying to draw
power at once, and so neutralizing the effect on all. My bridegroom friend was
all ready on that occasion with his white flowers in his hand and I ventured to
address him and tell him how very beautiful I considered his wife's fidelity and
his own. He seemed pleased at my notice, and began to talk quite freely about
her. He told me she had returned to him before her body was buried, and had been
with him ever since. "She is so really and truly my wife," he said, "as I
received her at the altar, that I could no more marry again than I could if she
were living in my house." When the seance commenced she appeared first as usual,
and her husband brought her up to my side. "This is Miss Florence Marryat,
dear," he said (for by this time I had laid aside my incognita with the Berrys).
"You know her name, don't you?" "O! yes," she answered, as she gave me her
hand," I know you quite well. I used to read your books." Her face was covered
with her bridal veil, and her husband turned it back that I might see her. She
was a very pretty girl of perhaps twenty--quite a gipsy, with large dark eyes and
dark curling hair, and a brown complexion. "She has not altered one bit since
the day we were married," said her husband, looking fondly at her, "whilst I
have grown into an old man." She put up her hand and stroked his cheek. "We
shall be young together some day," she said. Then he asked her if she was not
going to kiss me, and she held up her face to mine like a child, and he dropped
the veil over her again and led her away.
The very next Spirit that appeared was my rough friend's mother, and his
astonishment and emotion at seeing her were very unmistakable. When first he
went up to the cabinet and saw her his head drooped, and his shoulders shook
with the sobs he could not repress. After a while he became calmer, and talked
to her, and then I saw him also bringing her up to me. I must bring my mother to
you, " he said, "that you may see she has really come back to me." I rose, and
the old lady shook hands with me. She must have been, at the least, seventy
years old, and was a most perfect specimen of old age. Her face was like wax,
and her hair like silver; but every wrinkle was distinct, and her hands were
lined with blue veins. She had lost her teeth, and mumbled somewhat in speaking,
and her son said, "She is afraid you will not understand what she says; but she
wants you to know that she will be quite happy if her return will make me
believe in a future existence." "And will it?" I asked. He looked at his mother.
"I don't understand it," he replied. "It seems too marvelous to be true; but how
can I disbelieve it, when here she is?" And his words were so much the echo of
my own grounds for belief, that I quite sympathized with them.
John Powles, and Ted, and Florence, all came to see me that evening; and when I
bid Florence "good-bye" she said, "oh, it isn't 'good-bye' yet, Mother! I'm
coming again, before you go." Presently something that was the very farthest
thing from my mind--that had, indeed, never entered it--happened to me. I was told
that a young lady wanted to speak to me, and on going up to the cabinet I
recognized a girl whom I knew by sight, but had never spoken to--one of a large
family of children, living in the same terrace in London as myself, and who had
died of malignant scarlet fever about a year before. "Mrs. Lean," she said,
hurriedly, noting my surprise, "don't you know me? I am May --." "Yes, I do
recognize you, my dear child," I replied; "but what makes you come to me?"
"Minnie and Katie are so unhappy about me," she said. "They do not understand.
They think I have gone away. They do not know what death is--that it is only like
going into the next room, and shutting the door." "And what can I do, May?" I
asked her. "Tell them you have seen me, Mrs. Lean. Say I am alive--more alive
than they are; that if they sit for me, I will come to them and tell them so
much they know nothing of now." "But where are your sisters?" I said. She looked
puzzled. I don't know. I can't say the place; but you will meet them soon, and
you will tell them." "If I meet them, I certainly will tell them," I said; but I
had not the least idea at that moment where the other girls might be. Four
months later, however, when I was staying in London, Ontario, they burst
unexpectedly into my hotel room, having driven over (I forget how many miles) to
see me play. Naturally I kept my promise; but though they cried when "May" was
alluded to, they evidently could not believe my story of having seen her, and
so, I suppose, the poor little girl's wish remains ungratified. I think the
worst purgatory in the next world must be to find how comfortably our friends
get on without us in this.
As a rule, I did not take much interest in the spirits that did not come for me;
but there was one who appeared several times with the Berrys, and seemed quite
like an old friend to me. This was "John Brown," not her Majesty's "John Brown,"
but the hero of the song "Hang John Brown on a sour apple tree, But his soul
goes touting around. Glory! glory! Halleluia! For his soul goes touting around."
when I used to hear this song sung with much shouting and some profanity in
England, I imagined (and I fancy most people did) that it was a comic song in
America. But it was no such thing. It was a patriotic song, and the motive is
(however comically put) to give glory to God, that, although they may hang "John
Brown" on a sour apple tree, his soul will yet "go touting around."' So, rightly
or wrongly, it was explained to me. John Brown is a patriotic hero in America,
and when he appeared, the whole room crowded round to see him. He was a short
man, with a singularly benevolent countenance, iron grey hair, mutton-chop
whiskers and deep china blue eyes. A kind of man, as he appeared to me, made for
deeds of love rather than heroism, but from all accounts he was both kind and
heroic. A gentleman present on Christmas eve pushed forward eagerly to see the
materialization, and called out, "Aye! that's him-- that's my old friend--that's
John Brown--the best man that ever trod this earth."
Before this evening's seance was concluded Mr. Abrow said, "There is a little
lady in the cabinet at present who announces herself as a very high personage.
She says she is the Princess Gertrude." " What did you say, Mr. Abrow?" I
exclaimed, unable to believe my own ears. " 'The Princess Gertie,' Mother,"'
said Florence, popping her head out of the curtains. "You've met her before in
England, you know."' I went up to the cabinet, the curtains divided, there stood
my daughter Florence as usual, but holding in front of her a little child of
about seven years old. I knelt down before this Spirit of my own creation. She
was a fragile looking little creature, very fair and pale, with large grey eyes
and brown hair lying over her forehead. She looked like a lily with her little
white hands folded meekly in front of her. "Are you my little Gertie, darling?"
I said. "I am the Princess Gertie, " she replied, "and Florence says you are my
mother." "And are you glad to see me, Gertie?" I asked. She looked up at her
sister, who immediately prompted her. "Say, 'Yes, Mother,' Gertie." "Yes!
Mother," repeated the little one like a parrot. 'Will you come to me,
darling?' I said. 'May I take you in my arms?' 'Not this
evening, Mother,' whispered Florence, 'you couldn't. She is
attached to me. We are tied together. You couldn't separate us. Next time,
perhaps, the 'Princess' will be stronger, and able to talk more. I will take her
back now.' 'But where is 'Yonnie'? I asked,
and Florence laughed. 'Couldn't manage two of them at once,' she said. 'Yonnie'
shall come another day,' and I returned to my seat, more mystified than usual. I
alluded to the Princess Gertie in my account of the mediumship of
Bessie
Fitzgerald, and said that my allusion would find its signification further on.
At that time I had hardly believed it could be true that the infants who had
been born prematurely and never breathed in this world should be living,
sentient Spirits to meet me in the next, and half thought some grown Spirit must
be tricking me for its own pleasure. But here, in this strange land, where my
blighted babies had never been mentioned or thought of, to meet the Princess Gertie
here, calling herself by her own name, and brought by her sister Florence, set
the matter beyond a doubt. It recalled to my mind how once, long before, when
Aimee (Mr. Arthur Colman's guide), on being questioned as to her occupation in
the Spirit Spheres, had said she was a little nurse-maid, and
that Florence was one too, my daughter had added, Yes! I'm Mamma's nurse-maid.
I have enough to do to look after her babies.
I had struck up a pleasant acquaintanceship with Mrs. Seymour, Bell's mother, by that time, and when I went back to my seat and told her what had occurred, she said to me, I wish you would share the expenses of a private seance with me here. We can have one all to ourselves for ten dollars (two pounds), and it would be so charming to have an afternoon quite alone with our children and friends. I agreed readily, and we made arrangements with Mr. Abrow before we left that evening to have a private sitting on the afternoon following Christmas Day, when no one was to be admitted except our two selves. When we met there the seance room was lighted with gas as for the evening, but we preferred to close the door. Helen Berry was the medium, and Mr. Abrow only sat with us. The rows of chairs looked very empty without any sitters, but we established ourselves on those which faced the cabinet in the front row. The first thing which happened was the advent of the Squaw, looking as malignant and vicious as ever, who crept in her dirty blanket, with her black hair hanging over her face, and deliberately took a seat at the further end of the room. Mr. Abrow was unmistakably annoyed at the occurrence. He particularly disliked the influence of this spirit, which he considered had a bad effect on the seance. He first asked her why she had come, and told her her Brave was not coming, and to go back to him. Then he tried severity, and ordered her to leave the seance, but it was all in vain. She kept her seat with persistent obstinacy, and showed no signs of budging. I thought I would try what kindness would do for her, and approached her with that intention, but she looked so fierce and threatening, that Mr. Abrow begged me not to go near her, for fear she should do me some harm. So I left her alone, and she kept her seat through the whole of the seance, evidently with an eye upon me, and distrusting my behaviour
217
when removed from the criticism of the public. Her presence, however, seemed to make no difference to our spirit friends. They trooped out of the cabinet one after another, until we had Mrs. Seymour's brother and her daughter Bell, who brought little Jimmie (a little son who had gone home before herself) with her, and Florence,Ted and John Powles, all so happy and strong and talkative, that I told Mrs. Seymour we only wanted a tea-table to think we were holding an At Home. Last, but not least (at all events in her own estimation) came the Princess Gertie. Mr. Abrow tried to make friends with her, but she repulsed his advances vehemently. I don't like you, Mr. Mans, she kept on saying, you's nasty. I don't like any mans. They's all nasty. When I told her she was very rude, and Mr. Abrow was a very kind gentleman and loved little children, she still persisted she wouldn't speak to no mans. She came quite alone on this occasion, and I took her in my arms and carried her across to Mrs. Seymour. She was a feather weight. I felt as if I had nothing in my arms. I said to Mrs. Seymour, Please tell me what this child is like. I am so afraid of my senses deceiving me that I cannot trust myself Mrs. Seymour looked at her and answered, She has a broad forehead, with dark brown hair cut across it, and falling straight to her shoulders on either side. Her eyes are a greyish blue, large and heavy lidded, her nose is short, and her mouth decided for such a child.This testimony, given by a stranger, of the apparition of a child that had never lived, was an exact description (of course in embryo) of her father, Colonel Lean, who had never set foot in America. Perhaps this is as good a proof of identity as I have given yet. Our private seance lasted for two hours, and although the different spirits kept on entering the cabinet at intervals to gain more power, they were all with us on and off during the entire time. The last pleasant thing I saw was my dear Florence making the Princess kiss her hand
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in farewell to me, and the only unpleasant one, the sight of the sulky Squaw creeping in after them with the evident conviction that her afternoon had been wasted.