Isaac T. Hopper Part 1

Isaac T. Hopper.

by L. Maria Child.

PREFACE.

This biography differs from most works of the kind, in embracing fragments of so many lives. Friend Hopper lived almost entirely for others; and it is a striking ill.u.s.tration of the fact, that I have found it impossible to write his biography without having it consist largely of the adventures of other people.

I have not recounted his many good deeds for the mere purpose of eulogizing an honored friend. I have taken pleasure in preserving them in this form, because I cherish a hope that they may fall like good seed into many hearts, and bring forth future harvests in the great field of humanity.

Most of the strictly personal anecdotes fell from his lips in familiar and playful conversation with his sister, or his grand-children, or his intimate friends, and I noted them down at the time, without his knowledge. In this way I caught them in a much more fresh and natural form, than I could have done if he had been conscious of the process.

The narratives and anecdotes of fugitive slaves, which form such a prominent portion of the book, were originally written by Friend Hopper himself, and published in newspapers, under the t.i.tle of "Tales of Oppression." I have re-modelled them all; partly because I wished to present them in a more concise form, and partly because the princ.i.p.al actor could be spoken of more freely by a third person, than he could speak of himself. Moreover, he had a more dramatic way of _telling_ a story than he had of _writing_ it; and I have tried to embody his unwritten style as nearly as I could remember it. Where-ever incidents or expressions have been added to the published narratives, I have done it from recollection.

The facts, which were continually occurring within Friend Hopper's personal knowledge, corroborate the pictures of slavery drawn by Mrs.

Stowe. Her descriptions are no more fict.i.tious, than the narratives written by Friend Hopper. She has taken living characters and facts of every-day occurrence, and combined them in a connected story, radiant with the light of genius, and warm with the glow of feeling. But is a landscape any the less real, because there is suns.h.i.+ne on it, to bring out every tint, and make every dew-drop sparkle?

Who that reads the account here given of Daniel Benson, and William Anderson, can doubt that slaves are capable of as high moral excellence, as has ever been ascribed to them in any work of fiction? Who that reads Zeke, and the Quick Witted Slave, can p.r.o.nounce them a stupid race, unfit for freedom? Who that reads the adventures of the Slave Mother, and of poor Manuel, a perpetual mourner for his enslaved children, can say that the bonds of nature are less strong with them, than with their more fortunate white brethren? Who can question the horrible tyranny under which they suffer, after reading The Tender Mercies of a Slaveholder, and the suicide of Romaine?

Friend Hopper labored zealously for many, many years; and thousands have applied their best energies of head and heart to the same great work; yet the slave-power in this country is as strong as ever--nay, stronger.

Its car rolls on in triumph, and priests and politicians outdo each other in zeal to draw it along, over its prostrate victims. But, lo!

from under its crus.h.i.+ng wheels, up rises the bleeding spectre of Uncle Tom, and all the world turns to look at him! Verily, the slave-power is strong; but G.o.d and truth are stronger.

LIFE OF ISAAC T. HOPPER

Isaac Tatem Hopper was born in Deptford Towns.h.i.+p, 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 members.h.i.+p 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 fas.h.i.+on. 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 circ.u.mstances 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 gra.s.s would grow under it; and straightway he ran to see whether gra.s.s 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 a.s.sisted 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 astonis.h.i.+ng 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 quant.i.ty 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 pa.s.sing through a wood, tied him up to a tree, and gave him a tremendous thras.h.i.+ng. The boy threatened to tell of it; but he a.s.sured 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sistance of a neighbor, who occupied the next stall in the market. According to the fas.h.i.+on 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 bra.s.s 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 t.i.tle.

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 appet.i.te, 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 Was.h.i.+ngton, 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 Was.h.i.+ngton 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 blus.h.i.+ng 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 antic.i.p.ations 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.