Part 1 (1/2)
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.