CHAPTER IV.
The Plants Came from England to Branford, between Two Hundred and Three Hundred Years ago—Still Own the Lands First Acquired—Henry’s Father Died of Typhus Fever when Henry was about Six Years Old—His Tender Recollection of his Mother—Henry’s First Day at School—His Natural Diffidence—Mr. Plant’s After-Dinner Speeches—His Mother’s Second Marriage—Stepfather Kind to Henry—Thrown by a Plough Horse and nearly Killed—Attended School at Branford—Engaged on Steamboat Line Running between New Haven and New York—On Leaving, Promised a Captaincy—Marriage—Express Business—Leaves New Haven and Goes to New York—Romantic Experience in Florida.
THE Plants settled in Branford at an early date, and their descendants still own the lands on which their ancestors first settled over two hundred years ago. It will be seen, by referring to the genealogical table at the end of this volume, that Anderson Plant was of the fifth generation from John Plant, who resided in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1639. Anderson Plant was the father of Henry B. Plant, the subject of this biography. He is described as a farmer in good circumstances, of amiable disposition, fond of outdoor sports, gunning being a favorite amusement. He died when Henry was six years of age, and, consequently, Mr. Plant does not remember much about his father. He can recall, how his father once came in, with a friend, from a morning’s duck shooting, and threw down half a dozen ducks on the floor. At another time, his father took him by the hand to see something that was happening in the town which had drawn out the people, but he does not remember what it was. His father died of typhus fever, and he himself also had the fever, and was so ill that he knew nothing of his loss until he was partially recovered from the dreadful disease.
One week after the father’s death, the father’s youngest sister died, and Henry’s sister also died a few days following, when she was about a year old. He was then left alone with his mother.
She was the only daughter of the Honorable Levi Bradley. He was a member of the Legislature and also a musician who taught a singing school. Mr. Plant remembers that his mother sat with the choir in front of the pulpit and led the singing in the Congregational Church. She had been brought up in the Episcopal Church, and though her father did not approve of it, she deemed it her duty to go with her husband to his church.
“One of the first recollections I have of my mother,” says Mr. Plant, “was on a Christmas Eve, when she dressed me up neatly, took me on her knees, talked affectionately to me, and sang that beautiful vesper hymn, ‘Adeste Fideles’; even now, whenever I hear it, it brings tears to my eyes.” This explains tears the author has seen in his eyes while listening to the orchestra in the music-room, but knew not then what were their tender and sacred association. Little did that mother realize the mighty power, the subduing influence, the enduring benediction to her child of that simple act, the outgoing of the maternal heart. The hallowed influence of that sacred hour has never been effaced through long years, in the whirl of business, in the varied conflicts incident to a public life, in close contact with civil war, within sound of the booming cannon, and the groans of the dying, away in far distant lands, and on stormy seas. Yet amid all, the hallowed influence of that sacred hour, when a mere child on a mother’s knee, has never been effaced. How well it accords with what the poet wrote:
“I had a mother once like you,
Who o’er my pillow hung,
Kissed from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my infant tongue.
“She, when the nightly couch was spread,
Would bow my infant knee,
And place her hand upon my head,
And kneeling, pray for me.
“Youth came; the props of virtue ruled;
But oft at day’s decline,
A marble touch my brow could feel,
Dear mother was it thine?