Isaac Tatem Hopper was born in Deptford Township, near Woodbury, West
New-Jersey, in the year 1771, on the third day of December, which
Quakers call the Twelfth Month. His grandfather belonged to that
denomination of Christians, but forfeited membership in the Society by
choosing a wife from another sect. His son Levi, the father of Isaac,
always attended their meetings, but never became a member.
A family of rigid Presbyterians, by the name of Tatem, resided in the
neighborhood. While their house was being built, they took shelter for a
few days, in a meeting-house that was little used, and dug a pit for a
temporary cellar, according to the custom of new settlers in the forest.
The country at that time was much infested with marauders; but Mrs.
Tatem was an Amazon in physical strength and courage. One night, when
her husband was absent, and she was alone in the depths of the woods
with three small children, she heard a noise, and looking out saw a
band of thieves stealing provisions from the cellar. They entered the
meeting-house soon after, and she had the presence of mind to call out,
"Hallo, Jack! Call Joe, and Harry, and Jim! Here's somebody coming." The
robbers, supposing she had a number of stout defenders at hand, thought
it prudent to escape as quickly as possible. The next day, her husband
being still absent, she resolved to move into the unfinished house, for
greater security. The door had neither lock nor latch, but she contrived
to fasten it in some fashion. At midnight, three men came and tried to
force it open; but every time they partially succeeded, she struck at
them with a broad axe. This mode of defence was kept up so vigorously,
that at last they were compelled to retreat.
She had a daughter, who was often at play with neighbor Hopper's
children; and when Levi was quite a small boy, it used to be said
playfully that little Rachel Tatem would be his wife, and they would
live together up by the great white oak; a remarkable tree at some
distance from the homestead. The children grew up much attached to each
other, and when Levi was twenty-two years old, the prophecy was
fulfilled.
The young man had only his own strong hands and five or six hundred
acres of wild woodland. He grubbed up the trees and underbrush near the
big white oak, removed his father's hen-house to the cleared spot,
fitted it up comfortably for a temporary dwelling, and dug a cellar in
the declivity of a hill near by. To this humble abode he conducted his
young bride, and there his two first children were born. The second was
named Isaac Tatem Hopper, and is the subject of this memoir.
Rachel inherited her mother's energy and courage, and having married a
diligent and prudent man, their worldly circumstances gradually
improved, though their family rapidly increased, and they had nothing
but land and labor to rely upon. When Isaac was one year and a half old,
the family removed to a new log-house with three rooms on a floor,
neatly whitewashed. To these the bridal hen-house was appended for a
kitchen.
Isaac was early remarked as a very precocious child. He was always
peeping into everything, and inquiring about everything. He was only
eighteen months old, when the new log-house was built; but when he saw
them laying the foundation, his busy little mind began to query whether
the grass would grow under it; and straightway he ran to see whether
grass grew under the floor of the hen-house where he was born.
He was put to work on the farm as soon as he could handle a hoe; but
though he labored hard, he had plenty of time and strength left for all
manner of roguery. While he was a small fellow in petticoats, he ran
into a duck-pond to explore its depth. His mother pulled him out, and
said, "Isaac, if you ever go there again, I will make you come out
faster than you went in." He thought to himself, "Now I will prove
mother to be in the wrong; for I will go in as fast as I can, and surely
I can't come out any faster." So into the pond he went, as soon as the
words were out of her mouth.
A girl by the name of Polly assisted about the housework. She was
considered one of the family, and always ate at the same table,
according to the kindly custom of those primitive times. She always
called her mistress "Mammy," and served her until the day of her death;
a period of forty years. The children were much attached to this
faithful domestic; but nevertheless, Isaac could not forbear playing
tricks upon her whenever he had opportunity.--When he was five or six
years old, he went out one night to see her milk the cow. He had
observed that the animal kicked upon slight provocation; and when the
pail was nearly full, he broke a switch from a tree near by, slipped
round to the other side of the cow, and tickled her bag. She instantly
raised her heels, and over went Polly, milk-pail, stool, and all. Isaac
ran into the house, laughing with all his might, to tell how the cow had
kicked over Polly and the pail of milk. His mother went out immediately
to ascertain whether the girl was seriously injured.--"Oh, mammy, that
little rogue tickled the cow, and made her do it," exclaimed Polly.
Whereupon, Isaac had a spanking, and was sent to bed without his supper.
But so great was his love of fun, that as he lay there, wakeful and
hungry, he shouted with laughter all alone by himself, to think how
droll Polly looked when she rolled over with the pail of milk after her.
When he was seven or eight years old, his uncle's wife came one day to
the house on horseback. She was a fat, clumsy woman, and got on and off
her horse with difficulty. Isaac knew that all the family were absent;
but when he saw her come ambling along the road, he took a freak not to
tell her of it. He let down the bars for her; she rode up to the
horse-block with which every farm-house was then furnished, rolled off
her horse, and went into the house. She then discovered, for the first
time, that there was no one at home. After resting awhile, she mounted
to depart. But Isaac, as full of mischief as Puck, put the bars up, so
that she could not ride out. In vain she coaxed, scolded, and
threatened. Finding it was all to no purpose, she rode up to the block
and rolled off from her horse again.--Isaac, having the fear of her whip
before his eyes, ran and hid himself. She let down the bars for herself,
but before she could remount, the mischievous urchin had put the bars
up again and run away.--This was repeated several times; and the
exasperated visitor could never succeed in catching her tormentor. His
parents came home in the midst of the frolic, and he had a sound
whipping. He had calculated upon this result all the time, and the
uneasy feeling had done much to mar his sport; but on the whole, he
concluded such rare fun was well worth a flogging.
The boys at school were apt to neglect their lessons while they were
munching apples. In order to break up this disorderly habit, the master
made it a rule to take away every apple found upon them.--He placed such
forfeited articles upon his desk, with the agreement that any boy might
have them, who could succeed in abstracting them without being observed
by him. One day, when a large rosy-cheeked apple stood temptingly on the
desk, Isaac stepped up to have his pen mended. He stood very demurely at
first, but soon began to gaze earnestly out of the window, behind the
desk. The master inquired what he was looking at. He replied, "I am
watching a flock of ducks trying to swim on the ice. How queerly they
waddle and slide about!" "Ducks swim on ice!" exclaimed the
schoolmaster; and he turned to observe such an unusual spectacle. It was
only for an instant; but the apple meanwhile was transferred to the
pocket of his cunning pupil. He smiled as he gave him his pen, and
said, "Ah, you rogue, you are always full of mischief!"
The teacher was accustomed to cheer the monotony of his labors by a race
with the boys during play hours. There was a fine sloping lawn in front
of the school-house, terminating in a brook fringed with willows. The
declivity gave an impetus to the runners, and as they came among the
trees, their heads swiftly parted the long branches. Isaac tied a
brick-bat to one of the pendant boughs, and then invited the master to
run with him. He accepted the invitation, and got the start in the race.
As he darted through the trees, the brick merely grazed his hair. If it
had hit him, it might have cost him his life; though his mischievous
pupil had not reflected upon the possibility of such a result.
There was a bridge across the brook consisting of a single rail. One
day, Isaac sawed this nearly in two; and while the master was at play
with the boys, he took the opportunity to say something very
impertinent, for which he knew he should be chased. He ran toward the
brook, crossed the rail in safety, and instantly turned it over, so that
his pursuer would step upon it when the cut side was downward. It
immediately snapped under his pressure, and precipitated him into the
stream, while the young rogue stood by almost killing himself with
laughter. But this joke also came very near having a melancholy
termination; for the master was floated down several rods into deep
water, and with difficulty saved himself from drowning.
There was a creek not far from his father's house, where it was
customary to load sloops with wood. Upon one of these occasions, he
persuaded a party of boys to pry up a pile of wood and tip it into a
sloop, in a confused heap. Of course, it must all be taken out and
reloaded. When he saw how much labor this foolish trick had caused, he
felt some compunction; but the next temptation found the spirit of
mischief too strong to be resisted.
Coming home from his uncle's one evening, he stopped to amuse himself
with taking a gate off its hinges. When an old Quaker came out to see
who was meddling with his gate, Isaac fired a gun over his head, and
made him run into the house, as if an evil spirit were after him.
It was his delight to tie the boughs of trees together in narrow paths,
that people travelling in the dark, might hit their heads against them;
and to lay stones in the ruts of the road, when he knew that farmers
were going to market with eggs, in the darkness of morning twilight. If
any mischief was done for miles round, it was sure to be attributed to
Isaac Hopper. There was no malice in his fun; but he had such
superabounding life within him, that it _would_ overflow, even when he
knew that he must suffer for it. His boyish activity, strength, and
agility were proverbial. Long after he left his native village, the
neighbors used to tell with what astonishing rapidity he would descend
high trees, head foremost, clinging to the trunk with his feet.
The fearlessness and firmness of character, which he inherited from both
father and mother, manifested itself in many ways. He had a lamb, whose
horns were crooked, and had a tendency to turn in. His father had given
it to him for his own, on condition that he should keep the horns
carefully filed, so that they should not hurt the animal. He had a small
file on purpose, and took such excellent care of his pet, that it soon
became very much attached to him, and trotted about after him like a
dog. When he was about five or six years old, British soldiers came into
the neighborhood to seize provisions for the army, according to their
custom during our revolutionary war. They tied the feet of the tame
lamb, and threw it into the cart with other sheep and lambs. Isaac came
up to them in season to witness this operation, and his heart swelled
with indignation. He sprang into the cart, exclaiming, "That's _my_
lamb, and you shan't have it!" The men tried to push him aside; but he
pulled out a rusty jack-knife, which he had bought of a pedlar for
two-pence, and cut the rope that bound the poor lamb. A British officer
rode up, and seeing a little boy struggling so resolutely with the
soldiers, he inquired what was the matter. "They've stolen my lamb!"
exclaimed Isaac; "and they shan't have it. It's _my_ lamb!"
"_Is_ it your lamb, my brave little fellow?" said the officer. "Well,
they shan't have it. You'll make a fine soldier one of these days."
So Isaac lifted his lamb from the cart, and trudged off victorious. He
had always been a whig; and after this adventure, he became more decided
than ever in his politics. He often used to boast that he would rather
have a paper continental dollar, than a golden English guinea. The
family amused themselves by exciting his zeal, and Polly made him
believe he was such a famous whig, that the British would certainly
carry him off to prison. He generally thought he was fully capable of
defending himself; but when he saw four soldiers approaching the house
one day, he concluded the force was rather too strong for him, and
hastened to hide himself in the woods.
His temper partook of the general strength and vehemence of his
character. Having put a small quantity of gunpowder on the stove of the
school-house, it exploded, and did some injury to the master. One of the
boys, who was afraid of being suspected of the mischief, in order to
screen himself, cried out, "Isaac Hopper did it!"--and Isaac was
punished accordingly. Going home from school, he seized the informer as
they were passing through a wood, tied him up to a tree, and gave him a
tremendous thrashing. The boy threatened to tell of it; but he assured
him that he would certainly kill him if he did; so he never ventured to
disclose it.
In general, his conscience reproved him as soon as he had done anything
wrong, and he hastened to make atonement. A poor boy, who attended the
same school, usually brought a very scanty dinner. One day, the spirit
of mischief led Isaac to spoil the poor child's provisions by filling
his little pail with sand. When the boy opened it, all eagerness to eat
his dinner, the tears came into his eyes; for he was very hungry. This
touched Isaac's heart instantly. "Oh, never mind, Billy," said he. "I
did it for fun; but I'm sorry I did it.. Come, you shall have half of my
dinner." It proved a lucky joke for Billy; for from that day henceforth,
Isaac always helped him plentifully from his own stock of provisions.
Isaac and his elder brother were accustomed to set traps in the woods to
catch partridges. One day, when he was about six years old, he went to
look at the traps early in the morning, and finding his empty, he took a
plump partridge from his brother's trap, put it in his own, and carried
it home as his. When his brother examined the traps, he said he was sure
_he_ caught the bird, because there were feathers sticking to his trap;
but Isaac maintained that there were feathers sticking to his also.
After he went to bed, his conscience scorched him for what he had done.
As soon as he rose in the morning, he went to his mother and said, "What
shall I do? I have told a lie, and I feel dreadfully about it. That
_was_ Sam's partridge. I said I took it from my trap; and so I did; but
I put it in there first."
"My son, it is a wicked thing to tell a lie," replied his mother. "You
must go to Sam and confess, and give him the bird."
Accordingly, he went to his brother, and said, "Sam, here's your
partridge. I did take it out of my trap; but I put it in there first."
His brother gave him a talking, and then forgave him.
Being a very bright, manly boy, he was intrusted to carry grain several
miles to mill, when he was only eight years old. On one of these
occasions, he arrived just as another boy, who preceded him, had
alighted to open the gate. "Just let me drive in before you shut it,"
said Isaac, "and then I shall have no need to get down from my wagon."
The boy patiently held the gate for him to pass through; but, Isaac,
without stopping to thank him, whipped up his horse, arrived at the mill
post haste, and claimed the right to be first served, because he was the
first comer. When the other boy found he was compelled to wait, he
looked very much dissatisfied, but said nothing. Isaac chuckled over
his victory at first, but his natural sense of justice soon suggested
better thoughts. He asked himself whether he had done right thus to take
advantage of that obliging boy? The longer he reflected upon it, the
more uncomfortable he felt. At last, he went up to the stranger and said
frankly, "I did wrong to drive up to the mill so fast, and get my corn
ground, when you were the one who arrived first; especially as you were
so obliging as to hold the gate open for me to pass through. I was
thinking of nothing but fun when I did it. Here's sixpence to make up
for it." The boy was well pleased with the amend thus honorably offered,
and they parted right good friends.
At nine years old, he began to drive a wagon to Philadelphia, to sell
vegetables and other articles from his father's farm; which he did very
satisfactorily, with the assistance of a neighbor, who occupied the next
stall in the market. According to the fashion of the times, he wore a
broad-brimmed hat, and small-clothes with long stockings. Being
something of a dandy, he prided himself upon having his shoes very
clean, and his white dimity small clothes without spot or blemish. He
caught rabbits, and sold them, till he obtained money enough to purchase
brass buckles for his knees, and for the straps of his shoes. The first
time he made his appearance in the city with this new finery, he felt
his ambition concerning personal decoration completely satisfied. The
neatness of his dress, and his manly way of proceeding, attracted
attention, and induced his customers to call him "THE LITTLE GOVERNOR."
For several years, he was universally known in the market by that title.
Fortunately, his father had no wish to obtain undue advantage in the
sale of his produce; for had it been otherwise, his straight-forward
little son would have proved a poor agent in transacting his affairs.
One day, when a citizen inquired the price of a pair of chickens, he
answered, with the utmost simplicity, "My father told me to sell them
for fifty cents if I could; and if not, to take forty."
"Well done, my honest little fellow!" said the gentleman, smiling, "I
will give you whatever is the current price. I shall look out for you in
the market; and whenever I see you, I shall always try to trade with
you." And he kept his word.
When quite a small boy, he was sent some distance of an errand, and
arrived just as the family were about to sit down to supper. There were
several pies on the table, and they invited him to partake. The long
walk had whetted his appetite, and the pies looked exceedingly tempting;
but the shyness of childhood led him to say, "No, I thank you." When he
had delivered his message, he lingered, and lingered, hoping they would
ask him again. But the family were Quakers, and they understood yea to
mean yea, and nay to mean nay. They would have considered it a mere
worldly compliment to repeat the invitation; so they were silent. Isaac
started for home, much repenting of his bashfulness, and went nearly
half of the way revolving the subject in his mind. He then walked back
to the house, marched boldly into the supper-room, and said, "I told a
lie when I was here. I did want a piece of pie; but I thought to be sure
you would ask me again." This explicit avowal made them all smile, and
he was served with as much pie as he wished to eat.
The steadfastness of his whig principles led him to take a lively
interest in anecdotes concerning revolutionary heroes. His mother had a
brother in Philadelphia, who lived in a house formerly occupied by
William Penn, at the corner of Second Street and Norris Alley. This
uncle frequently cut and made garments for General Washington, Benjamin
Franklin, and other distinguished men. Nothing pleased Isaac better than
a visit to this city relative; and when there, his boyish mind was much
occupied with watching for the famous men, of whom he had heard so much
talk. Once, when General Washington came there to order some garments,
he followed him a long distance from the shop. The General had observed
his wonder and veneration, and was amused by it. Coming to a corner of
the street, he turned round suddenly, touched his hat, and made a very
low bow. This playful condescension so completely confused his juvenile
admirer, that he stood blushing and bewildered for an instant, then
walked hastily away, without remembering to return the salutation. The
tenderness of spirit often manifested by him, was very remarkable in
such a resolute and mischievous boy. There was an old unoccupied barn in
the neighborhood, a favorite resort of swallows in the Spring-time. When
he was about ten years old, he invited a number of boys to meet him the
next Sunday morning, to go and pelt the swallows. They set off on this
expedition with anticipations of a fine frolic; but before they had gone
far, Isaac began to feel a strong conviction that he was doing wrong. He
told his companions he thought it was very cruel sport to torment and
kill poor little innocent birds; especially as they might destroy
mothers, and then the little ones would be left to starve. There was a
Quaker meeting-house about a mile and a half distant, and he proposed
that they should all go there, and leave the swallows in peace. But the
boys only laughed at him, and ran off shouting, "Come on! Come on!" He
looked after them sorrowfully for some minutes, reproaching himself for
the suffering he had caused the poor birds. He then walked off to
meeting alone; and his faithfulness to the light within him was followed
by a sweet peacefulness and serenity of soul. The impression made by
this incident, and the state of mind he enjoyed while in meeting, was
one of the earliest influences that drew him into the Society of
Friends.--When he returned home, he heard that one of the boys had
broken his arm while stoning the swallows, and had been writhing with
pain, while he had been enjoying the consolations of an approving
conscience.
At an early age, he was noted for being a sure shot, with bow and arrow,
or with gun. A pair of king-birds built in his father's orchard, and it
was desirable to get rid of them, because they destroy honey-bees. Isaac
watched for an opportunity, and one day when the birds flew away in
quest of food for their young, he transfixed them both at once with his
arrow. At first, he was much delighted with this exploit; but his
compassionate heart soon became troubled about the orphan little ones,
whom he pictured to himself as anxiously expecting the parents that
would never return to feed them again. This feeling gained such strength
within him, that he early relinquished the practice of shooting, though
he found keen excitement in the pursuit, and was not a little proud of
his skill.
Once, when he had entrapped a pair of partridges, he put them in a box,
intending to keep them there. But he soon began to query with himself
whether creatures accustomed to fly must not necessarily be very
miserable shut up in such a limited space. He accordingly opened the
door. One of the partridges immediately walked out, but soon returned to
prison to invite his less ventursome mate. The box was removed a few
days after, but the birds remained about the garden for months, often
coming to the door-step to pick up crumbs that were thrown to them. When
the mating-season returned the next year, they retired to the woods.
From earliest childhood he evinced great fondness for animals, and
watched with lively interest all the little creatures of the woods and
fields. He was familiar with all their haunts, and they gave names to
the localities of his neighborhood. There was Turkey Causeway, where
wild turkies abounded; and Rabbit Swamp, where troops of timid little
rabbits had their hiding places; and Squirrel Grove, where many
squirrels laid in their harvest of acorns for the winter; and Panther
Bridge, where his grandfather had killed a panther.
Once, when his father and the workmen had been cutting down a quantity
of timber, Isaac discovered a squirrel's nest in a hole of one of the
trees that had fallen. It contained four new-born little ones, their
eyes not yet opened. He was greatly tempted to carry them home, but they
were so young that they needed their mother's milk. So after examining
them, he put them back in the nest, and with his usual busy helpfulness
went to assist in stripping bark from the trees. When he went home from
his work, toward evening, he felt curious to see how the mother squirrel
would behave when she returned and found her home was gone. He
accordingly hid himself in a bush to watch her proceedings. About dusk,
she came running along the stone wall with a nut in her mouth, and went
with all speed to the old familiar tree. Finding nothing but a stump
remaining there, she dropped the nut and looked around in evident
dismay. She went smelling all about the ground, then mounted the stump
to take a survey of the country. She raised herself on her hind legs and
snuffed the air, with an appearance of great perplexity and distress.
She ran round the stump several times, occasionally raising herself on
her hind legs, and peering about in every direction, to discover what
had become of her young family. At last, she jumped on the prostrate
trunk of the tree, and ran along till she came to the hole where her
babies were concealed. What the manner of their meeting was nobody can
tell; but doubtless the mother's heart beat violently when she
discovered her lost treasures all safe on the warm little bed of moss
she had so carefully prepared for them. After staying a few minutes to
give them their supper, she came out, and scampered off through the
bushes. In about fifteen minutes, she returned and took one of the young
ones in her mouth, and carried it quickly to a hole in another tree,
three or four hundred yards off, and then came back and took the others,
one by one, till she had conveyed them all to their new home. The
intelligent instinct manifested by this little quadruped excited great
interest in Isaac's observing mind. When he drove the cows to pasture,
he always went by that tree, to see how the young family were getting
along. In a short time, they were running all over the tree with their
careful mother, eating acorns under the shady boughs, entirely
unconscious of the perils through which they had passed in infancy.
Some time after, Isaac traded with another boy for a squirrel taken from
the nest before its eyes were open. He made a bed of moss for it, and
fed it very tenderly. At first, he was afraid it would not live; but it
seemed healthy, though it never grew so large as other squirrels. He did
not put it in a cage; for he said to himself that a creature made to
frisk about in the green woods could not be happy shut up in a box. This
pretty little animal became so much attached to her kind-hearted
protector, that she would run about after him, and come like a kitten
whenever he called her. While he was gone to school, she frequently ran
off to the woods and played with wild squirrels on a tree that grew
near his path homeward. Sometimes she took a nap in a large knot-hole,
or, if the weather was very warm, made a cool bed of leaves across a
crotch of the boughs, and slept there. When Isaac passed under the tree,
on his way from school, he used to call "Bun! Bun! Bun!" If she was
there, she would come to him immediately, run up on his shoulder, and so
ride home to get her supper.
It seemed as if animals were in some way aware of his kindly feelings,
and disposed to return his confidence; for on several occasions they
formed singular intimacies with him. When he was six or seven years old,
he spied a crow's nest in a high tree, and, according to his usual
custom, he climbed up to make discoveries. He found that it contained
two eggs, and he watched the crow's movements until her young ones were
hatched and ready to fly. Then he took them home. One was accidentally
killed a few days after, but he reared the other, and named it Cupid.
The bird became so very tame, that it would feed from his hand, perch on
his shoulder, or his hat, and go everywhere with him. It frequently
followed him for miles, when he went to mill or market. He was never put
into a cage, but flew in and out of the house, just as he pleased. If
Isaac called "Cu! Cu!" he would hear him, even if he were up in the
highest tree, would croak a friendly answer, and come down directly. If
Isaac winked one eye, the crow would do the same. If he winked his other
eye, the crow also winked with his other eye. Once when Cupid was on his
shoulder, he pointed to a snake lying in the road, and said "Cu!
Cu!"--The sagacious bird pounced on the head of the snake and killed him
instantly; then flew back to his friend's shoulder, cawing with all his
might, as if delighted with his exploit. If a stranger tried to take
him, he would fly away, screaming with terror. Sometimes Isaac covered
him with a handkerchief and placed him on a stranger's shoulder; but as
soon as he discovered where he was, he seemed frightened almost to
death. He usually chose to sleep on the roof of a shed, directly under
Isaac's bed-room window. One night he heard him cawing very loud, and
the next morning he said to his father, "I heard Cupid talking in his
sleep last night." His father inquired whether he had seen him since;
and when Isaac answered, "No," he said, "Then I am afraid the owls have
taken him." The poor bird did not make his appearance again; and a few
days after, his bones and feathers were found on a stump, not far from
the house. This was a great sorrow for Isaac. It tried his young heart
almost like the loss of a brother.
His intimacy with animals was of a very pleasant nature, except on one
occasion, when he thrust his arm into a hollow tree, in search of
squirrels, and pulled out a large black snake. He was so terrified, that
he tumbled headlong from the tree, and it was difficult to tell which
ran away fastest, he or the snake. This incident inspired the bold boy
with fear, which he vainly tried to overcome during the remainder of his
life. There was a thicket of underbrush between his father's farm and
the village of Woodbury. Once, when he was sent of an errand to the
village, he was seized with such a dread of snakes, that before entering
among the bushes, he placed his basket on an old rail, knelt down and
prayed earnestly that he might pass through without encountering a
snake. When he rose up and attempted to take his basket, he perceived a
large black snake lying close beside the rail. It may well be believed
that he went through the thicket too fast to allow any grass to grow
under his feet.
When he drove the cows to and from pasture, he often met an old colored
man named Mingo. His sympathizing heart was attracted toward him,
because he had heard the neighbors say he was stolen from Africa when he
was a little boy. One day, he asked Mingo what part of the world he came
from; and the poor old man told how he was playing with other children
among the bushes, on the coast of Africa, when white men pounced upon
them suddenly and dragged them off to a ship. He held fast hold of the
thorny bushes, which tore his hands dreadfully in the struggle. The old
man wept like a child, when he told how he was frightened and distressed
at being thus hurried away from father, mother, brothers and sisters,
and sold into slavery, in a distant land, where he could never see or
hear from them again. This painful story made a very deep impression
upon Isaac's mind; and, though he was then only nine years old, he made
a solemn vow to himself that he would be the friend of oppressed
Africans during his whole life.
He was as precocious in love, as in other matters. Not far from his
home, lived a prosperous and highly respectable Quaker family, named
Tatum. There were several sons, but only one daughter; a handsome child,
with clear, fair complexion, blue eyes, and a profusion of brown
curly hair. She was Isaac's cousin, twice removed; for their
great-grandfathers were half-brothers. When he was only eight years old,
and she was not yet five, he made up his mind that little Sarah Tatum
was his wife. He used to walk a mile and a half every day, on purpose to
escort her to school. When they rambled through the woods, in search of
berries, it was his delight to sit beside her on some old stump, and
twist her glossy brown ringlets over his fingers. A lovely picture they
must have made in the green, leafy frame-work of the woods--that fair,
blue-eyed girl, and the handsome, vigorous boy! When he was fourteen
years old, he wrote to her his first love-letter. The village
schoolmaster taught for very low wages, and was not remarkably
well-qualified for his task; as was generally the case at that early
period. Isaac's labor was needed on the farm all the summer;
consequently, he was able to attend school only three months during the
winter. He was, therefore, so little acquainted with the forms of
letter-writing, that he put Sarah's name inside the letter, and his own
on the outside. She, being an only daughter, and a great pet in her
family, had better opportunities for education. She told her young lover
that was not the correct way to write a letter, and instructed him how
to proceed in future. From that time, they corresponded constantly.
Isaac likewise formed a very strong friendship with his cousin Joseph
Whitall, who was his schoolmate, and about his own age. They shared
together all their joys and troubles, and were companions in all boyish
enterprises. Thus was a happy though laborious childhood passed in the
seclusion of the woods, in the midst of home influences and rustic
occupations. His parents had no leisure to bestow on intellectual
culture; for they had a numerous family of children, and it required
about all their time to feed and clothe them respectably. But they were
worthy, kind-hearted people, whose moral precepts were sustained by
their upright example. His father was a quiet man, but exceedingly firm
and energetic. When he had made up his mind to do a thing, no earthly
power could turn him from his purpose; especially if any question of
conscience were involved therein. During the revolutionary war, he
faithfully maintained his testimony against the shedding of blood, and
suffered considerably for refusing to pay military taxes. Isaac's mother
was noted for her fearless character, and blunt directness of speech.
She was educated in the Presbyterian faith, and this was a source of
some discordant feeling between her and her husband. The preaching of
her favorite ministers seemed to him harsh and rigid, while she regarded
Quaker exhortations as insipid and formal. But as time passed on, her
religious views assimilated more and more with his; and about
twenty-four years after their marriage, she joined the Society of
Friends, and frequently spoke at their meetings. She was a spiritual
minded woman, always ready to sympathise with the afflicted, and
peculiarly kind to animals. They were both extremely hospitable and
benevolent to the poor. On Sunday evenings, they convened all the family
to listen to the Scriptures and other religious books.--In his journal
Isaac alludes to this custom, and says: "My mind was often solemnized by
these opportunities, and I resolved to live more consistently with the
principles of christian sobriety."
When he was sixteen years old, it became a question to what business he
should devote himself.--There was a prospect of obtaining a situation
for him in a store at Philadelphia; and for that purpose it was deemed
expedient that he should take up his abode for a while with his maternal
uncle, whose house he had been so fond of visiting in early boyhood. He
did not succeed in obtaining the situation he expected, but remained in
the city on the look-out for some suitable employment. Meanwhile, he was
very helpful to his uncle, who, finding him diligent and skillful, tried
to induce him to learn his trade.--It was an occupation ill-adapted to
his vigorous body and active mind; but he was not of a temperament to
fold his hands and wait till something "turned up;" and as his uncle was
doing a prosperous business, he concluded to accept his proposition.
About the same time, his beloved cousin, Joseph Whitall, was sent to
Trenton to study law. This was rather a severe trial to Isaac's
feelings. Not that he envied his superior advantages; but he had sad
forebodings that separation would interrupt their friendship, and that
such a different career would be very likely to prevent its renewal.
They parted with mutual regret, and did not meet again for several
years.
When Isaac bade adieu to the paternal roof, his mother looked after him
thoughtfully, and remarked to one of his sisters, "Isaac is no common
boy.--He will do something great, either for good or evil." She called
him back and said, "My son, you are now going forth to make your own way
in the world. Always remember that you are as good as any other person;
but remember also that you are no better." With this farewell
injunction, he departed for Philadelphia, where he soon acquired the
character of a faithful and industrious apprentice.
But his boyish love of fun was still strong within him, and he was the
torment of all his fellow apprentices. One of them, named William
Roberts, proposed that they should go together into the cellar to steal
a pitcher of cider. Isaac pulled the spile, and while William was
drawing the liquor, he took an unobserved opportunity to hide it. When
the pitcher was full, he pretended to look all around for it, without
being able to find it. At last, he told his unsuspecting comrade that he
must thrust his finger into the hole and keep it there, while he went to
get another spile. William waited and waited for him to return, but when
an hour or more had elapsed, his patience was exhausted, and he began to
Halloo!--The noise, instead of bringing Isaac to his assistance, brought
the mistress of the house, who caught the culprit at the cider-barrel,
and gave him a severe scolding, to the infinite gratification of his
mischievous companion.
Once, when the family were all going away, his uncle left the house in
charge of him and another apprentice, telling them to defend themselves
if any robbers came. Having a mind to try the courage of the lads, he
returned soon after, and attempted to force a window in the back part of
the house, which opened upon a narrow alley inclosed by a high fence. As
soon as Isaac heard the noise, he seized an old harpoon that was about
the premises, and told his companion to open the window the instant he
gave the signal. His orders were obeyed, and he flung the harpoon with
such force, that it passed through his uncle's vest and coat, and nailed
him tight to the fence. When he told the story, he used to say he never
afterward deemed it necessary to advise Isaac to defend himself.
Among the apprentices was one much older and stouter than the others. He
was very proud of his physical strength, and delighted to play the
tyrant over those who were younger and weaker than himself. When Isaac
saw him knocking them about, he felt an almost irresistible temptation
to fight; but his uncle was a severe man, likely to be much incensed by
quarrels among his apprentices. He knew, moreover, that a battle between
him and Samson would be very unequal; so he restrained his indignation
as well as he could. But one day, when the big bully knocked him down,
without the slightest provocation, he exclaimed, in great wrath, "If you
ever do that again, I'll kill you. Mind what I say. I tell you I'll kill
you."
Samson snapped his fingers and laughed, and the next day he knocked him
down again. Isaac armed himself with a heavy window-bar, and when the
apprentices were summoned to breakfast, he laid wait behind a door, and
levelled a blow at the tyrant, as he passed through. He fell, without
uttering a single cry. When the family sat down to breakfast, Mr. Tatem
said, "Where is Samson?"