Israel Brayton’s father was John Brayton, son of Israel Brayton, grandson of Preserved Brayton; all of Somerset. Letters from John Brayton to his son Israel were in the barrel. So we know.

Israel, you notice, was named for his grandfather. Other members of his family were three older sisters; Mary, Sarah, and Nancy. Their letters also were in the barrel—nice little letters to brother Israel. And nice little bills, too, from brother Israel. He had an elder brother who died young, at sea; and the barrel holds letters from another brother—he wrote from Warren. We gather that at one time he was Captain of a ship that did some trading along the coast—Captain Stephen. Israel had, also, five younger brothers and sisters. They are not in the barrel but he had them.

At the time of Israel’s birth, in 1792, this rapidly increasing family was living in an old farmhouse, built in 1715, on the crest of its own one hundred and seventy-five acre farm in Somerset on the West Shore of the Taunton River near the river’s mouth. They had a fine view of Mount Hope Bay from their southern windows. There was a well-filled family graveyard in the back orchard, a little red schoolhouse up the road “on William Read’s land,” built partly with Brayton money, a stone wharf for Brayton boats down by the river.

When Israel was four years old, his father built a larger farmhouse, nearer the river bank, and in this new house the little Braytons of Israel’s generation grew up. Their elders were talking about the Late War. They meant the War of the Revolution. Having suffered severely from the effects of that victory on their business, they were trying to make good. Some of their most prosperous and competent neighbors had been loyal to the Crown. They were simply not there any more. And they were missed. Others, it was suspected, had been loyal in secret, as has been lately proved. It had done them no good. They were ruined with the rest. And all about on the farms were the crippled and the pensioned men.

Conditions were getting better, slowly; a few new houses had been built, a few new ships had been launched. Nobody around here between the Revolution and the War of 1812 seems to have been expecting such utter disaster as another war. But even before the actual declaration of war, in 1812, their world to their consternation went to pieces. Again Somerset ships were taken by British ships. Somerset, Swansea, Trojan, and Scrabbletown men—sailors before the mast—were pressed. The ship yards of Somerset, Dighton, Berkeley, Assonet, Warren, Bristol, Providence, Lee’s River, everywhere—closed down, and commerce ceased to be. Israel’s people had lived on their farms but they had lived by their shipyards and their shipping.

When the War of 1812 was officially declared on June 18th, Israel was 20 years old. His father was on the draft board of the town. Of course Israel went off with the other Somerset men to fight the Britishers. They went, I think, as far as New Bedford.

Israel incurred a disability, if the barrel is to be trusted. He was discharged from the Army. There is a good deal in the barrel about this disability. Israel in after days thought he should be excused from military drill. When the local Militia would not excuse him, he just stayed away. There is a note in the barrel acknowledging the payment of his fine for so doing. In order to get out of drill, which was time-consuming at least, for the Militia rarely met in Israel’s village, Israel eventually had to have affadavits from two local doctors as to his disability. His sister had married Dr. Winslow, Dr. Lloyd Brayton was his cousin. The authorities were skeptical. Dr. Winslow’s second letter did the trick. The first was not accepted.

In August, 1813, as soon as he was free of the Army, Israel married. His bride was a neighbor’s girl, Keziah Anthony, daughter of David Anthony and his wife Submit Wheeler. The Anthony farm lay east of Lee’s River, not an hour’s walk across the fields from the Brayton Farm on the Taunton. Keziah was Israel’s third cousin, and kinship was of much account. You knew what you were getting. The marriage was most practical. Israel, just come of age, not physically strong, had to start out on his own. He needed help. And both the Anthony and the Wheeler connections, as was expected, proved useful. There are hundreds of communications in the barrel from Hezekiah Anthony of Providence and David Anthony of Troy, both brothers of Israel’s wife, both prosperous merchants in their day. There is a helpful letter from Nathaniel Wheeler, her uncle.

But nobody could be very useful in 1813. With all the shipping stopped and the shipyards closed, there was no berth for Israel in any countinghouse, no need for him as supercargo—a man with a lame back isn’t much good on a farm.

Israel took his bride up state to Foxboro, where he taught in the District School. In Foxboro or thereabouts—boundary lines were changing fast—their first child was born, little Mary, who, herself, at the age of eighteen was teaching school in Fall River. You know perhaps that later in life she gave the B.M.C. Durfee High School to the City of Fall River in memory of her son.

The family was always interested in education and Israel served on the School Committee of Swansea for years and preserved in the barrel a number of letters from various people who wanted jobs.

In 1815, after the President had ratified the Treaty of Ghent on February 17th, and the War was surely over, Israel and Kezia and little Mary left Foxboro for their own part of the world, where, in the small village of Scrabbletown near Swansea, Israel began his career as a Trader. And went to Providence and bought that first account book of which I have told you.