Isaac T. Hopper: A True Life

by Lydia Maria Child

The man seemed embarrassed, but smiled as he answered, "Why, sir, you certainly fill the throne very respectably."

There were several noblemen in the room, who seemed to be extremely amused by these unusual proceedings.

At a place called Jordans, about twenty-two miles from London, he visited the grave of William Penn.

In his journal, he says: "The ground is surrounded by a neat hedge, and is kept in good order. I picked some grass and moss from the graves of William Penn, Thomas Ellwood, and Isaac Pennington; and some ivy and holly from the hedge; which I intend to take with me to America, as a memorial of my visit. I entered the meeting-house, and sat on the benches which had been occupied by George Fox, William Penn, and George Whitehead, in years long since passed away. It brought those old Friends so distinctly before the view of my mind, that my heart was ready to exclaim, 'Surely this is no other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.' I cannot describe my feelings. The manly and majestic features of George Fox, and the mournful yet benevolent countenance of Isaac Pennington, seemed to rise before me. But this is human weakness. Those men bore the burthen and heat of their own day; they faithfully used the talents committed to their trust; and I doubt not they are now reaping the reward given to faithful servants. It is permitted us to love their memories, but not to idolize them. They could deliver neither son or daughter by their righteousness; but only their own souls."

"In the great city of London everything tended to satisfy me that the state of our religious Society is generally very low. A light was once kindled there, that illuminated distant lands. As I walked the streets, I remembered the labors, the sufferings, and the final triumph of those illustrious sons of the morning, George Fox, George Whitehead, William Penn, and a host of others; men who loved not their lives in comparison with the holy cause of truth and righteousness, in which they were called to labor. These worthies have been succeeded by a generation, who seem disposed to garnish the sepulchres of their fathers, and live upon the fruit of their labors, without submitting to the power of that Cross, which made them what they were. There appears to me to be much formality and dryness among them; though there are a few who mourn, almost without hope, over the desolation that has been made by the world, the flesh, and the devil."

There were many poor emigrants on board the merchant ship, in which Friend Hopper returned home. He soon established friendly communication with them, and entered with sympathy into all their troubles. He made frequent visits to the steerage during the long voyage, and always had something comforting and cheering to say to the poor souls. There was a clergyman on board, who also wished to benefit them, but he approached them in an official way, to which they did not so readily respond. One day, when he invited the emigrants to join him in prayer, an old Irish woman replied, "I'd rather play a game o' cards, than hear you prache and pray." She pointed to Friend Hopper, and added, "He comes and stays among us, and always spakes a word o' comfort, and does us some good. But you come and prache and pray, and then you are gone. One look from that Quaker gintleman is worth all the praching and praying that be in you."

The vessel encountered a dense fog, and ran on a sand bank as they approached the Jersey shore. A tremendous sea was rolling, and dashed against the ship with such force, that she seemed every moment in danger of being shattered into fragments. If there had been a violent gale of wind, all must have been inevitably lost. The passengers were generally in a state of extreme terror. Screams and groans were heard in every direction. But Friend Hopper's mind was preserved in a state of great equanimity. He entreated the people to be quiet, and try to keep possession of their faculties, that they might be ready to do whatever was best, in case of emergency. Seeing him so calm, they gathered closely round him, as if they thought he had some power to save them. There was a naval officer on board, whose frenzied state of feeling vented itself in blasphemous language. Friend Hopper, who was always disturbed by irreverent use of the name of Deity, was peculiarly shocked by it under these solemn circumstances. He walked up to the officer, put his hand on his shoulder, and looking him in the face, said, "From what I have heard of thy military exploits, I supposed thou wert a brave man; but here thou art pouring forth blasphemies, to keep up the appearance of courage, while thy pale face and quivering lips show that thou art in mortal fear. I am ashamed of thee. If thou hast no reverence for Deity thyself, thou shouldst show some regard for the feelings of those who have." The officer ceased swearing, and treated his adviser with marked respect. A friendship was formed between them, which continued as long as the captain lived.

The clergyman on board afterward said to Friend Hopper, "If any other person had talked to him in that manner, he would have knocked him down."

In about two hours, the vessel floated off the sandbar and went safely into the harbor of New-York. At the custom-house, the clergyman was in some perplexity about a large quantity of books he had brought with him, on which it was proposed to charge high duties. "Perhaps I can get them through for thee," said Friend Hopper. "I will try." He went up to the officer, and said, "Isn't it a rule of the custom-house not to charge a man for the tools of his trade?" He replied that it was. "Then thou art bound to let this priest's books pass free," rejoined the Friend. "Preaching is the trade he gets his living by; and these books are the tools he must use." The clergyman being aware of Quaker views with regard to a paid ministry, seemed doubtful whether to be pleased or not, with such a mode of helping him out of difficulty. However, he took the joke as good naturedly as it was offered, and the books passed free, on the assurance that they were all for his own library.

Friend Hopper's bookstore in New-York was a place of great resort for members of his own sect. His animated style of conversation, his thousand and one anecdotes of runaway slaves, his descriptions of keen encounters with the "Orthodox," in the process of separation, attracted many listeners. His intelligence and well-known conscientiousness commanded respect, and he was held in high estimation by his own branch of the Society, though the opposite party naturally entertained a less favorable opinion of the "Hicksite" champion. Such a character as he was must necessarily always be a man of mark, with warm friends and bitter enemies.