THE GIFT OF A FARM
Did you ever hold a camera film to the light? All things are turned
about; the right side becomes the left, and the first object in view
appears to be the last, at the extreme end of the picture. So it seems
when we take a mental review of the past,—the point of contact is
reversed and we can balance accurately the lights and shadows that appear.
To the mind of Robert Fulton, about to make a venture which called for
courage,—a voyage to an unknown land,—the chief aim of his life was the
care of his mother, whom he must leave behind. The longer he thought, the
more was he convinced that better than a sum of money, which might be
lost or stolen, would be the gift of a farm-home where she could settle
down to enjoy an old age of security and peace.
We can well imagine that he cast about in his mind properly to determine
the best location for this purchase. It appears that a relative, the
Rev. Joseph Smith, had been called to the pastorate of the Presbyterian
Church in the town of Hopewell, Washington County, Pennsylvania. In order
that his mother might have the care and protection of this relative,
Robert Fulton decided to buy the new home in Hopewell. He selected a farm
of more than eighty acres on Cross Creek, a fertile spot near running
water, not unlike the farm which had been his mother’s earlier home and
his own birthplace.
The long journey through the wilderness which lay between the two
settlements had to be made by coach or wagon. It was like a fresh
start in life to Mrs. Fulton and her family, three growing daughters
and the young lad, Abraham, now about sixteen years of age. The “big
brother,” Robert, was looked upon with great admiration; his success in
Philadelphia, his friendship with the famous Franklin and other prominent
men of the country, and his tangible gift of the new home—all proofs
of his industry—must have filled the mother’s heart with gratitude and
pardonable pride, as she looked, with mingled joy and anxiety, at her
tall son battling with ill health yet resolved to conquer that and every
other obstacle to success. He must indeed have been a son and brother to
be proud of!
The new home was in Hopewell Township, one mile northeast of the present
little village of Buffalo near Pittsburgh. It was sold to “Robert
Fulton, miniature painter of Philadelphia,” for about $400.00—not a large
amount for a home, to be sure, but it was quite a sum in those days. We
know the land had been cleared, cultivated, and planted, a great help
toward its establishment as a productive farm. Upon it was a two-story
peaked-roof dwelling having a central hallway and a kitchen extension.
Chimneys at both ends provided generous hearths for winter comfort and a
tall spreading tree in front gave grateful shade through summer heat. In
an old colored print of the scene several cows are shown in the pasture
near the creek and an adjacent log cabin was probably used as a cattle
barn.
It has been stated that Robert Fulton gave the farm to his mother on his
twenty-first birthday, a generous way to prove that “it is more blessed
to give than to receive.” Most of us are looking for gifts on similar
happy occasions; it is another and a better way to celebrate them by a
gift to the mother who gave us birth. The deed is dated May 6th, and
Robert’s birthday did not occur until November 14th, but the actual
taking possession of the home may have been deferred until the latter
date.
During the month of September of the same year, Robert Fulton also
purchased for seventy-five dollars four lots in the town of Washington,
Pennsylvania, which, through the enterprise of its pioneer settler, John
Hoge, had just been surveyed and mapped into streets. Washington seemed a
promising field for investment and Mr. Hoge a man of integrity and good
judgment. Fulton had great confidence in him, and while in England sent
letters and remittances of money for his mother in Mr. Hoge’s care.
It appears that Fulton bought these four lots with the thought that they
would provide home sites for his sisters and brother when they married.
He later conveyed them to the three sisters, and in a letter to his
mother, directed that the fourth lot be sold to pay the remainder of his
indebtedness to Mr. Pollack for the purchase of the farm.
In 1786 Isabella Fulton married Peyton Cooke. In February of that year
he obtained a deed for “a lot of ground and hewed logs for a home.” At
the end of the document appear these words, “By Peyton Cooke’s direction,
this deed is made for Robert Fulton.” Probably Fulton had advanced money
for the transaction.
Some time later, Elizabeth Fulton, or Peggy as she was called in her
brother’s letters, became the wife of a Mr. Scott, who probably died in
a few years, for his wife and children made their home on the farm with
her mother, and its ownership was secured to her by Robert Fulton’s will
in 1815.
In 1790 Mary Fulton, or “Polly,” married David Morris, a nephew of
Benjamin West. Mr. Morris was a man of local prominence and his
intelligence seems to have rendered him the most companionable of Robert
Fulton’s brothers-in-law.
Abraham Smith Fulton, the only brother, is said to have opened a school
in the town of Washington. During his later life he was employed by his
brother in running an early steamboat on the Ohio River. Some time after
this, in overseeing the building of a log house, on a bluff not far from
Pittsburgh, he was instantly killed by the collapse of the structure.
[Illustration: BUILDING FORMERLY OCCUPIED BY CALEB JOHNSON’S SCHOOL,
LANCASTER, PENNSYLVANIA.]
This, in brief, is the story of the sisters and brother of Robert Fulton.
Through eighteen years’ absence in Europe his love for them remained
true; and when he made his will, in 1814, he left to each a legacy, and
relinquished all right to money which he had at different times lent them.
Mr. Morris built the home for his wife, Polly Fulton, upon the lot
adjoining Mr. Hoge’s home, given her by her brother. A letter, written by
Robert Fulton to his mother, from London, June 14th, 1790, alludes to the
happy event. It shows so clearly his unchanging love and generosity that
I quote it in full:
DEAR MOTHER;
I have rec’d yours of January 29th, 1790, and am happy to
hear of the good health of the family which is the first
consideration and nearest my heart. May Heaven continue to Shed
that blessing on you and I shall be happy.
I can easy conceive your garden to be the best in Washington;
Gardening ever was your delight, besides you have a taste for
that kind of cultivation which perhaps the people of your
Western Country are Strangers to.
Be assured my Ideas often hover around the little spot. I think
I see it improved by your Industrious hand whilst the flowers
of Spring lend their aid to beautify the scene; but chief of
all I think I see you on a Sunday evening contemplatively
walking on the grounds and with Silent pleasure viewing the
labours of the week. And thus each evening Reflect with
pleasure on the past day. So shall time pass on and pleasure
Crown the evening of life. Here I could enter into a Chain of
those Ideas which Crowd upon a heart sensible of the feelings
of a fond mother and the affection due from a child, but I must
be silent and only answer your letter.
It has given me much pleasure that you do not wish me to
hurry home till I complete my study. Indeed it is of so much
importance my gaining all possible knowledge that should I now
return I might have it to repent of ever after. And our hearing
so frequently from each other is some reason why we should be
more easy in the subject.
You tell me Polly is going to be Mar(r)yed. May she be happy,
but I will write to her on the subject.…
As for the pictures for Polly, she should have them with
pleasure but I do not paint anything so Small and the carryage
of any of my paintings would be very expensive but whenever I
conveniently can I will send you my own picture.
I am just getting ready to go to France for 3 months and am
afraid I shall not have time to write to Abraham but give my
best love to him and all friends and believe me to be with
Continued affection,
Your loving son,
ROBERT FULTON.
So Polly wanted some of her brother’s pictures to hang in her new home;
and the home itself was built upon one of the four lots purchased by her
generous brother.
But let us turn in thought to the young Robert Fulton bidding farewell
to his mother and family, in that autumn of 1786. It is probable that he
sailed from New York, for in a later letter he mentions friends in that
city and also in Baltimore, where he had stopped on his way to Virginia.
He was not empty-handed; he carried forty guineas in his purse and one
letter of introduction which was worth more than money, for it was from
the great Benjamin Franklin to the American artist, Benjamin West, then
at the height of his fame in London and soon to become president of the
Royal Academy.
The vessel spread its white sails and turned forth upon the ocean for the
long voyage to England; and one brave passenger, the Pennsylvania boy,
Robert Fulton, set his face forward with eager hope toward a new world.