CHILDHOOD.
The town of Gilmanton, which is only forty-five miles from Portsmouth,
sixteen from Concord, and eighty from Boston, is, to a great extent, of
rocky and hilly surface, having within its limits a chain of eminences
that vary in height from three hundred to one thousand feet, called the
Suncook Range, which commences at the northern extremity, near the Lake,
and extending in a south-easterly direction through the town, divides
the head-springs of the Suncook and the Soucook rivers. These fruitful
highlands, covered in their early state with various kinds of hardwood,
interspread with ever-welcome evergreens, have some commanding
positions; especially the one called Peaked Hill, from whose summit the
observer discovers within the area of his extended prospect the State
House of Concord, the Grand Monadnock,[4] in Jaffrey and Dublin, the
Ascutney,[5] in Windsor, Vt., the Moosehillock, in Coventry,[6] Mount
Major, the highest summit in the town of Gilmanton,[7] and Mount
Washington,[8] which is the highest of the White Mountains. It was
amidst scenery like this that the early unfolding of the mind of Joseph
Badger occurred, where the spirit of beauty which everywhere finds
mediums of influence and approach to man, found some romantic symbols of
her presence, with which to impress the tender mind. Nature, which is
everywhere the hundred-handed educator, is an agency not to be omitted
even in speaking of childhood, for children see it from the heart and
learn from it unconsciously. But entering the field of personal
incident, let us listen to his own recorded memories.
"I cannot describe, as some have attempted to do, what
transpired when only two or three years of age; but when
four or five, I most distinctly remember going with my
sisters on a visit to my grandsire's, Gen. Joseph Badger.
It was but a few miles, and there being a school near, I
consented through much persuasion to remain and attend it.
The departure of my sisters was to me the severest trial I
had known, one of whom however remained to comfort me. Here
new and strange things, of which I had never before heard,
presented themselves to my mind. At evening the family and
servants were all called in. I was much surprised at the
gathering, and inquired the cause. My sister told me that
we were about to attend prayers. My young expectations were
raised to see something new, as before this I had never
heard of anything of the kind. Whilst we were assembled,
the old gentleman with the greatest solemnity leaning over
his chair with his face to the wall prayed some time. I
knew not what he said, nor to whom he spoke. His speaking
with his eyes shut, and all the rest standing in profound
silence, excited much anxiety in me for an explanation. As
soon as this new scene had closed and we had retired, I
remember having asked my sister to whom it was that my
grandsire had been speaking. This to me was a mystery, as I
saw no other standing by him. She told me that he spoke to
_God_. I saw at once from her description that I was wholly
ignorant of such a Being. She also told me that there was a
place of happiness and misery, that all the good people
went to heaven, and that the wicked must be burned up. I
thought my sister Mary the happiest person in the world,
because she knew so much about those great things; and
young as I was, the story she told me filled my mind with
solemnity; whilst the view she gave me of the certain doom
of the wicked caused me to weep much, for I thought that I
was one of that number. Impressions there made, and ideas
there formed never wore off my mind.
"But another scene opened to my view, which also much
surprised me. As there were several small children about
the house, they were all called up at evening to say their
prayers. They repeated the Lord's prayer, with some
additions. This made my young heart tremble, as I thought
they were all Christians, and I knew _I_ never prayed in my
life; and further, I knew not what to say. After all the
rest had gone through their prayers, I was called up. My
grandmother asked me if I ever prayed. I answered that I
never did. She then told me to say the words after her,
which I refused to do, from the feeling in my mind that the
name of God was so holy and so great that I could not
speak that word. I wept aloud as she enjoined on me this
practice, and was finally excused. I very much dreaded to
have night come again. For several nights I was excused,
and listened to the others; but finally she insisted on my
praying, telling me plainly that I should be _made_ to
pray. That night she prepared a large whip and applied it
to me severely several times before I would submit. At
length I repeated the prayer, and from that time adopted
the practice regularly. Through the influence of my sister,
I was afterwards induced to thank my grandmother for the
whipping, though I now think some milder measures had done
as well."
In those stern Puritan days, the whip was far from being an idle
instrument in teaching the rebellious young the _fear_ of the Lord.
Whatever was accepted as duty in religion, had no compromise with the
diversity of taste and inclination in the families of the faithful. The
reader, I think, will be unable to withhold his admiration from the
naturalness of the question which the child asked in relation to _whom_
it was that the praying man was speaking; and he will hardly fail to see
the difference between his first religious devotions and the free appeal
of ancient Scripture in saying, "Choose ye this day whom ye will serve,"
as the choice was made for him, and the rod was virtuous enough to see
it enacted. He remained at this place about two years, making
considerable proficiency in learning, and, as he thought, some in
religion. Among these, his childhood's musings, was the wonder that he
never heard his father pray, and why his brothers, who were older and of
more understanding than himself, never talked about God. "It is still a
great cause of lamentation to me," said he in riper years, "that men of
understanding dwell no more on the glories of the great Benefactor. In
my opinion, a sense of religion should be early awakened, as first
impressions are lasting, whether for good or for evil, and often appear
in future years as the governing influence, as the foundation of future
action. Ask the vilest man that whirls along in his career of evil, if
he never thinks of the warnings, instructions and prayers of his fond
parent in early days, and if he answers candidly he will say that they
often arise to his condemnation. The destinies of different men are
always teaching the worth of that holy wisdom which said, 'Train up a
child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart
from it.' In glancing back at the religion of my childhood, I find that
I was unconsciously Pharisaical, and leaned on the virtue of my prayers
and good works, although in the mixture there was a great degree of
sincerity and of heartfelt repentance. Although I was wholly ignorant,
probably, of the true love of God, I have always thought that, had I
then departed this life, I should have been happy."
I have alluded to the fact that Major Peaslee Badger was not a pietist,
and that in his family were no religious forms. At this time, and some
years after, his mind, revolting from the ordinary theological teaching
of the day, was inclined to a degree of general religious unbelief. The
minds of the children were not softened and controlled by religious
reverence, the absence of which is usually followed by a degree of
rudeness in regard to all religious form. But, following the child
Joseph to his own home, now that he had learned to love the voice of
prayer, we find him for a time determined in the way he had learned.
"On my return home," says he, "I missed my praying
grandfather and his religious instructions, which had been
frequent and impressive. I also missed my devoted
grandmother, by whose side, as the silence of night came
down, I had kneeled in prayer. Here I was lost, as our
family had no form of religious worship, and their minds
were on different subjects. For a long time I kept up my
form of prayer, but at last, from two reasons, fell from my
steadfastness, which were, that my school-mates none of
them ever prayed, but made much fun of me for this
practice; and my elder brothers, on knowing that I could
pray, used to coax and hire me to do so, and then subject
me to much laughter and derision for doing it. Here I left
my religious exercise, which had served to keep my mind in
a good moral state; and a reaction soon followed, that
found me a noted swearer, using the most extravagant
expressions that one of my age could easily command; a
course in which I was encouraged by my father's hired men,
who used to reward me with much praise and laughter. I well
remember, when eight years old, of being in the company of
several of Mr. Page's boys, who lived near my father's.
Amidst my swearing, they, being very steady, began to
rebuke me and to warn me of my danger. At first, I resisted
their discourse, but the force of their arguments was such
that I was compelled to yield. This restored me from my
wicked habit, brought back my former feelings, and many a
time did I think of it afterwards. It was also very
remarkable that in 1815 I should preach in the same place
and administer baptism to one of those young men. During
this dark interval of which I have spoken, there were times
in which I had solemn reflections; sickness and death,
when I heard of them, brought to my mind my former promise,
and my thoughts always arose to my Creator whenever I heard
the voice of thunder.
"When I was eight or nine years of age, I attended a
singing-school, in which I made rapid progress in the art,
sharing as I did, in common with our family, all of whom
were natural singers, a passionate love of music. With this
new employment I was greatly pleased. In the summer after I
was nine, I remember going to the Friends' meeting. There
was a small society in town, much despised by the popular.
Their dress and manner were new to me. It was thought in
those days a dreadful thing for a woman to speak in public;
and this was the first time that I had ever listened to a
female voice in meeting; and notwithstanding the prejudice
through which education had taught me to view them, the
persons who spake left on my mind the impression of their
sincerity. Not far from this time, I went to the
Congregational church to hear Mr. Smith. My father
inquired, on my return, if I remembered the text, to which
I replied in the negative. He then asked me if I could give
him one word the minister had spoken, to which I responded
that he said several times '_rambling wolves_,' a part of
the discourse that I could not have forgotten, as I had
heard stories of wolves and was afraid of them. I inquired
his meaning, when some of the family replied that he spoke
of the Freewill Baptists, who he said went about like
wolves, and much disturbed and deluded many good and honest
people. The occasion of this assault, as I afterwards
learned, was the great success which attended the preaching
of Elder Kendall and other of Christ's ministers in
Gilmanton and the adjoining town, where the happy effects
of the Gospel were being seen and felt."
It is indeed an old story in history, that the powerful and established
party in religion, medicine, science and politics becomes proscriptive
toward the new and the weaker organizations, a fact which cannot be
ascribed usually to the erroneousness of any one form of faith, so much
as to the natural proclivity of human nature to lord it over the weak
when put into possession of influence and power. Thus the persecuted
parties turn persecutors as soon as they win the summit of command; and
they who have tyrannized without a scruple, will at last plead for the
sanctity of individual rights as soon as they are the subjects of the
same oppression. But even these fierce winds of bigotry are able in some
degree to purify. The young and proscribed sect gets humility and
earnestness. A zeal and an enthusiasm also spring up that give them
power over the hearts of men. They grow noble through their sacrifices
and reliance on God.
"Not long after this several of the young people went to
hear the _Freewillers_, as they were at that time styled. I
accompanied them to the meeting, which was held in a
private dwelling, in a retired neighborhood, and composed
apparently of poor people. I thought they must be as bad as
I had heard them represented. They prayed, they wept, they
exhorted with much fervor and pathos, and notwithstanding I
so much hated their manners, something reached my heart
that robbed me for the time of all lightness and
irreverence. Robinson Smith was the minister who spoke at
this meeting, a strong, healthy man, of unusually clear and
commanding voice. He spoke with power. Some of our company
returned in solemnity of spirit, whilst others derided the
scene we had witnessed. Shortly after this, among my early
reminiscences of Gilmanton, was a weekly conference, in
which various persons spoke, offered prayers, and related
their experience in things pertaining to religion--a
meeting to which I was led sometimes from the examples of
others, sometimes from curiosity, and sometimes from an
inward desire to possess what Christians said they enjoyed.
Thus was my early nature swayed by strong emotions,
sometimes to good and sometimes to evil."
These pages, quoted from a private journal, written more than thirty
years ago, nearly conclude all that pertains to his early life in
Gilmanton. I have lingered thus long on these early years, because every
man is indicated by his earliest development--certainly that part of him
which may inhere in the natural character. It is true that man's latest
period contains all his previous stages, somewhat as the earth we now
inhabit contains the marks and proofs of all its previous states; yet,
it is not given us to see the historical succession in man from a glance
at the matured result. We follow the steps of nature, in whose procedure
childhood and youth are not only illustrations of the substantial
genius, temperament, and character, but are powerful _causes_ in the
performance of the remaining acts of life's drama. In these early years
of Joseph Badger, a strong emotional nature is exhibited--a nature that
could not be inactive--one that was easily reached by earnest moral and
religious appeal, and one that overflowed in a wild excess of energy
whenever the finer restraints of reverence were cast aside.