Memoir of Rev. Joseph Badger / Fourth Edition

CHAPTER II. CHILDHOOD.

The town of Gilmanton, which is only forty-five miles from Portsmouth, sixteen from Concord, and eighty from Boston, is, to a great extent, of rocky and hilly surface, having within its limits a chain of eminences that vary in height from three hundred to one thousand feet, called the Suncook Range, which commences at the northern extremity, near the Lake, and extending in a south-easterly direction through the town, divides the head-springs of the Suncook and the Soucook rivers. These fruitful highlands, covered in their early state with various kinds of hardwood, interspread with ever-welcome evergreens, have some commanding positions; especially the one called Peaked Hill, from whose summit the observer discovers within the area of his extended prospect the State House of Concord, the Grand Monadnock,[4] in Jaffrey and Dublin, the Ascutney,[5] in Windsor, Vt., the Moosehillock, in Coventry,[6] Mount Major, the highest summit in the town of Gilmanton,[7] and Mount Washington,[8] which is the highest of the White Mountains. It was amidst scenery like this that the early unfolding of the mind of Joseph Badger occurred, where the spirit of beauty which everywhere finds mediums of influence and approach to man, found some romantic symbols of her presence, with which to impress the tender mind. Nature, which is everywhere the hundred-handed educator, is an agency not to be omitted even in speaking of childhood, for children see it from the heart and learn from it unconsciously. But entering the field of personal incident, let us listen to his own recorded memories.

"I cannot describe, as some have attempted to do, what transpired when only two or three years of age; but when four or five, I most distinctly remember going with my sisters on a visit to my grandsire's, Gen. Joseph Badger. It was but a few miles, and there being a school near, I consented through much persuasion to remain and attend it. The departure of my sisters was to me the severest trial I had known, one of whom however remained to comfort me. Here new and strange things, of which I had never before heard, presented themselves to my mind. At evening the family and servants were all called in. I was much surprised at the gathering, and inquired the cause. My sister told me that we were about to attend prayers. My young expectations were raised to see something new, as before this I had never heard of anything of the kind. Whilst we were assembled, the old gentleman with the greatest solemnity leaning over his chair with his face to the wall prayed some time. I knew not what he said, nor to whom he spoke. His speaking with his eyes shut, and all the rest standing in profound silence, excited much anxiety in me for an explanation. As soon as this new scene had closed and we had retired, I remember having asked my sister to whom it was that my grandsire had been speaking. This to me was a mystery, as I saw no other standing by him. She told me that he spoke to God. I saw at once from her description that I was wholly ignorant of such a Being. She also told me that there was a place of happiness and misery, that all the good people went to heaven, and that the wicked must be burned up. I thought my sister Mary the happiest person in the world, because she knew so much about those great things; and young as I was, the story she told me filled my mind with solemnity; whilst the view she gave me of the certain doom of the wicked caused me to weep much, for I thought that I was one of that number. Impressions there made, and ideas there formed never wore off my mind.

"But another scene opened to my view, which also much surprised me. As there were several small children about the house, they were all called up at evening to say their prayers. They repeated the Lord's prayer, with some additions. This made my young heart tremble, as I thought they were all Christians, and I knew I never prayed in my life; and further, I knew not what to say. After all the rest had gone through their prayers, I was called up. My grandmother asked me if I ever prayed. I answered that I never did. She then told me to say the words after her, which I refused to do, from the feeling in my mind that the name of God was so holy and so great that I could not speak that word. I wept aloud as she enjoined on me this practice, and was finally excused. I very much dreaded to have night come again. For several nights I was excused, and listened to the others; but finally she insisted on my praying, telling me plainly that I should be made to pray. That night she prepared a large whip and applied it to me severely several times before I would submit. At length I repeated the prayer, and from that time adopted the practice regularly. Through the influence of my sister, I was afterwards induced to thank my grandmother for the whipping, though I now think some milder measures had done as well."

In those stern Puritan days, the whip was far from being an idle instrument in teaching the rebellious young the fear of the Lord. Whatever was accepted as duty in religion, had no compromise with the diversity of taste and inclination in the families of the faithful. The reader, I think, will be unable to withhold his admiration from the naturalness of the question which the child asked in relation to whom it was that the praying man was speaking; and he will hardly fail to see the difference between his first religious devotions and the free appeal of ancient Scripture in saying, "Choose ye this day whom ye will serve," as the choice was made for him, and the rod was virtuous enough to see it enacted. He remained at this place about two years, making considerable proficiency in learning, and, as he thought, some in religion. Among these, his childhood's musings, was the wonder that he never heard his father pray, and why his brothers, who were older and of more understanding than himself, never talked about God. "It is still a great cause of lamentation to me," said he in riper years, "that men of understanding dwell no more on the glories of the great Benefactor. In my opinion, a sense of religion should be early awakened, as first impressions are lasting, whether for good or for evil, and often appear in future years as the governing influence, as the foundation of future action. Ask the vilest man that whirls along in his career of evil, if he never thinks of the warnings, instructions and prayers of his fond parent in early days, and if he answers candidly he will say that they often arise to his condemnation. The destinies of different men are always teaching the worth of that holy wisdom which said, 'Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.' In glancing back at the religion of my childhood, I find that I was unconsciously Pharisaical, and leaned on the virtue of my prayers and good works, although in the mixture there was a great degree of sincerity and of heartfelt repentance. Although I was wholly ignorant, probably, of the true love of God, I have always thought that, had I then departed this life, I should have been happy."

I have alluded to the fact that Major Peaslee Badger was not a pietist, and that in his family were no religious forms. At this time, and some years after, his mind, revolting from the ordinary theological teaching of the day, was inclined to a degree of general religious unbelief. The minds of the children were not softened and controlled by religious reverence, the absence of which is usually followed by a degree of rudeness in regard to all religious form. But, following the child Joseph to his own home, now that he had learned to love the voice of prayer, we find him for a time determined in the way he had learned.

"On my return home," says he, "I missed my praying grandfather and his religious instructions, which had been frequent and impressive. I also missed my devoted grandmother, by whose side, as the silence of night came down, I had kneeled in prayer. Here I was lost, as our family had no form of religious worship, and their minds were on different subjects. For a long time I kept up my form of prayer, but at last, from two reasons, fell from my steadfastness, which were, that my school-mates none of them ever prayed, but made much fun of me for this practice; and my elder brothers, on knowing that I could pray, used to coax and hire me to do so, and then subject me to much laughter and derision for doing it. Here I left my religious exercise, which had served to keep my mind in a good moral state; and a reaction soon followed, that found me a noted swearer, using the most extravagant expressions that one of my age could easily command; a course in which I was encouraged by my father's hired men, who used to reward me with much praise and laughter. I well remember, when eight years old, of being in the company of several of Mr. Page's boys, who lived near my father's. Amidst my swearing, they, being very steady, began to rebuke me and to warn me of my danger. At first, I resisted their discourse, but the force of their arguments was such that I was compelled to yield. This restored me from my wicked habit, brought back my former feelings, and many a time did I think of it afterwards. It was also very remarkable that in 1815 I should preach in the same place and administer baptism to one of those young men. During this dark interval of which I have spoken, there were times in which I had solemn reflections; sickness and death, when I heard of them, brought to my mind my former promise, and my thoughts always arose to my Creator whenever I heard the voice of thunder.

"When I was eight or nine years of age, I attended a singing-school, in which I made rapid progress in the art, sharing as I did, in common with our family, all of whom were natural singers, a passionate love of music. With this new employment I was greatly pleased. In the summer after I was nine, I remember going to the Friends' meeting. There was a small society in town, much despised by the popular. Their dress and manner were new to me. It was thought in those days a dreadful thing for a woman to speak in public; and this was the first time that I had ever listened to a female voice in meeting; and notwithstanding the prejudice through which education had taught me to view them, the persons who spake left on my mind the impression of their sincerity. Not far from this time, I went to the Congregational church to hear Mr. Smith. My father inquired, on my return, if I remembered the text, to which I replied in the negative. He then asked me if I could give him one word the minister had spoken, to which I responded that he said several times 'rambling wolves,' a part of the discourse that I could not have forgotten, as I had heard stories of wolves and was afraid of them. I inquired his meaning, when some of the family replied that he spoke of the Freewill Baptists, who he said went about like wolves, and much disturbed and deluded many good and honest people. The occasion of this assault, as I afterwards learned, was the great success which attended the preaching of Elder Kendall and other of Christ's ministers in Gilmanton and the adjoining town, where the happy effects of the Gospel were being seen and felt."

It is indeed an old story in history, that the powerful and established party in religion, medicine, science and politics becomes proscriptive toward the new and the weaker organizations, a fact which cannot be ascribed usually to the erroneousness of any one form of faith, so much as to the natural proclivity of human nature to lord it over the weak when put into possession of influence and power. Thus the persecuted parties turn persecutors as soon as they win the summit of command; and they who have tyrannized without a scruple, will at last plead for the sanctity of individual rights as soon as they are the subjects of the same oppression. But even these fierce winds of bigotry are able in some degree to purify. The young and proscribed sect gets humility and earnestness. A zeal and an enthusiasm also spring up that give them power over the hearts of men. They grow noble through their sacrifices and reliance on God.

"Not long after this several of the young people went to hear the Freewillers, as they were at that time styled. I accompanied them to the meeting, which was held in a private dwelling, in a retired neighborhood, and composed apparently of poor people. I thought they must be as bad as I had heard them represented. They prayed, they wept, they exhorted with much fervor and pathos, and notwithstanding I so much hated their manners, something reached my heart that robbed me for the time of all lightness and irreverence. Robinson Smith was the minister who spoke at this meeting, a strong, healthy man, of unusually clear and commanding voice. He spoke with power. Some of our company returned in solemnity of spirit, whilst others derided the scene we had witnessed. Shortly after this, among my early reminiscences of Gilmanton, was a weekly conference, in which various persons spoke, offered prayers, and related their experience in things pertaining to religion—a meeting to which I was led sometimes from the examples of others, sometimes from curiosity, and sometimes from an inward desire to possess what Christians said they enjoyed. Thus was my early nature swayed by strong emotions, sometimes to good and sometimes to evil."

These pages, quoted from a private journal, written more than thirty years ago, nearly conclude all that pertains to his early life in Gilmanton. I have lingered thus long on these early years, because every man is indicated by his earliest development—certainly that part of him which may inhere in the natural character. It is true that man's latest period contains all his previous stages, somewhat as the earth we now inhabit contains the marks and proofs of all its previous states; yet, it is not given us to see the historical succession in man from a glance at the matured result. We follow the steps of nature, in whose procedure childhood and youth are not only illustrations of the substantial genius, temperament, and character, but are powerful causes in the performance of the remaining acts of life's drama. In these early years of Joseph Badger, a strong emotional nature is exhibited—a nature that could not be inactive—one that was easily reached by earnest moral and religious appeal, and one that overflowed in a wild excess of energy whenever the finer restraints of reverence were cast aside.

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