Franklin

by Davidson Butler

  Benjamin Franklin’s father Josiah had a large family - four children with his first wife and ten with his second. Benjamin remembered “thirteen sitting at one time at his table.” He was the youngest son and had two younger sisters. Josiah could not afford to send Benjamin to college, so the boy went to a school that offered only arithmetic and writing.

  When Benjamin was ten, Josiah put him to work in the family candle and soap business. Benjamin cut wicks, filled the dipping mold, worked behind the counter, and ran errands. He soon realized he “disliked the trade.”

  Benjamin implored his father to allow him to become a sailor. Josiah, however, refused – one of his older sons had perished at sea. Josiah urged Benjamin to choose another occupation, taking the boy around Boston to let him see bricklayers, carpenters, and other tradesmen. Though their skill fascinated Benjamin, he saw no trade that interested him.

  Swimming, meanwhile, did interest him. Benjamin learned to swim almost as soon as he could walk, and he later experimented with ways to swim faster: “I made two oval palettes, each about ten inches long and six broad, with a hole for the thumb, in order to retain it fast in the palm of my hand. They much resembled a painter’s palettes. In swimming I pushed the edges of these forward, and I struck the water with their flat surfaces, and I drew them back . . . I swam faster by means of these palettes, but they fatigued my wrists. I also fitted to the soles of my feet a kind of sandals; but I was not satisfied with them because I observed that the stroke is partly given by the inside of the feet and the ankles, and not entirely with the soles of the feet. . . .”

  Later, he used a toy as a swimming aid. While flying a kite near a pond, Benjamin tied the kite string to a stake, took off his clothes, and jumped into the water. The kite continued to fly, and he decided to fly it and swim at the same time. He jumped out of the water, grabbed the string, and then jumped back in. Rolling onto his back, he held the string as the kite became a sail. He asked his friend to take his clothes to other bank. “My kite . . . carried me quite over without the least fatigue and with the greatest pleasure imaginable,” he wrote. “I was only obliged occasionally to halt a little in my course, and resist its progress, when it appeared that by following too quick I lowered the kite too much.”

  Benjamin was always the leader, although sometimes he got his friends into trouble. They enjoyed fishing for minnows on the edge of a marsh. It often became a “quagmire” into which they sank, muddying their clothes. Deciding they needed a wharf, Benjamin spotted stones intended for a new house near the marsh. In the evening, after the men working on the house went home, Benjamin and his friends hauled the stones to the marsh and built their “little wharf.” The next morning, the workmen discovered the stones missing, and they learned the identity of the thief. Benjamin’s father lectured his son that “nothing was useful which was not honest.”

  By then, Josiah had decided Benjamin would become a Boston printer like his older brother, James Franklin. So at the age of twelve, Benjamin was bound as an apprentice to his brother until he reached twenty-one. Benjamin learned how to set type and operate a printing press. In his spare time, he continued to read every book he could borrow or buy. “Often I sat up in my room reading the greatest part of the night,” he said.

  Benjamin decided to become a writer. He liked poetry and wrote “little pieces” he showed James, who urged him to compose ballads. He penned two: “The Lighthouse Tragedy,” about the drowning of a ship’s captain and his two daughters, and “A Sailor’s Song,” about the capture of the pirate Blackbeard. James printed both and sent Benjamin out to sell copies. “The Lighthouse Tragedy” sold “wonderfully,” and Benjamin thought he would become an acclaimed poet. But Josiah told him his poetry was poor. Moreover, verse-makers were generally beggars. He encouraged Benjamin to write prose.

  Around this time, Benjamin became friends with another young Bostonian, John Collins, also an avid reader. The boys liked to debate issues, sometimes putting their arguments into writing. When Josiah pointed out Benjamin’s writing was inferior to Collins’, Benjamin worked to improve. He found a copy of The Spectator, the English newspaper written by Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, and thought “the writing excellent.” He made notes on how each sentence was structured. He also tried to improve his vocabulary by turning Spectator essays into rhyme. To find a different sound for a rhyme, he was forced to use new words.

  While struggling to improve his writing, Benjamin did not neglect other parts of his education. Ashamed of his failure to learn arithmetic, he bought a textbook and taught himself the essentials. He acquired another skill: After reading a book about Socrates by the Greek historian Xenophon, he decided he liked Socrates’ way of arguing by asking questions. Dropping his habit of “abrupt contradiction and positive argumentation,” he pretended to be a “humble enquirer and doubter” and soon became “very artful and expert in drawing people even of superior knowledge into . . . difficulties out of which they could not extricate themselves.”

  Meanwhile, James had begun to publish a newspaper, The New England Courant. Along with the news, he included essays. Sensing his brother was envious of his writing skill, Benjamin wrote an unsigned essay and slipped it under the door of the printing house. James showed the essay to some contributors, and Benjamin listened with “exquisite pleasure” while the men praised the quality of the writing and tried to guess the author’s identity.

  Under the name Silence Dogood, Franklin described himself as the widow of a country minister and commented on the manners and morals of New England. Mrs. Dogood’s fourth essay was critical of Harvard College. Noting that most parents considered their finances instead of their children’s aptitude in deciding whether to send them to this “temple of learning,” she observed that, as a result, at graduation “every beetle-scull seem’dwell satisfy’d with his own portion of learning, tho’ perhaps he was e’en just as ignorant as ever.” After graduation, she lamented, “Some . . . took to merchandising, others to traveling, some to one thing, some to another, and some to nothing; and many . . . liv’d as poor as churchmice, being unable to dig, and asham’d to beg, and to live by their wits it was impossible.” No wonder so many became ministers, Mrs. Dogood concluded. All they had learned at Harvard was how to “carry themselves handsomely, and enter a room genteely (which might as well be acquir’d at a dancing school).” She urged parents not to be so “blind to their children’s dulness, and insensible of the solidity of their sculls.”

  Mrs. Dogood contributed fourteen essays to The New England Courant before Franklin confessed his identity to his brother. James was displeased. The brothers began quarreling and taking their disputes to their father. Josiah tended to favor Benjamin, so James settled arguments with his fists. Benjamin wanted his apprenticeship to end.

  Benjamin’s opportunity to leave his brother arrived a few months later. James criticized the Massachusetts Assembly and was imprisoned for a month. With his brother jailed, Benjamin ran the Courant. Eventually, James was released, but he was ordered to stop printing his paper. To circumvent this ruling, James transferred ownership to Benjamin. To make this act legal, he released Benjamin from his apprenticeship and had him sign a new indenture.

  Soon, a new argument erupted between the brothers. James resorted to his fists. Benjamin, knowing James would not enforce the indenture he had signed, told his brother he considered himself free and quit his job. James warned other printers in Boston not to give Benjamin any work. Josiah disapproved of Benjamin’s decision. Since Benjamin was only seventeen, his family legally could force him to stay in Boston. He decided to run away.

  Benjamin’s friend Collins arranged for him to set sail to New York. Benjamin sold some of his books to raise money, and in three days, he was 300 miles “from home .
. . without the least recommendation to or knowledge of any person in the place.” Finding no work for printers, he moved to Philadelphia.

  The trip was miserable. Storms turned a journey of two or three hours into thirty without food or water. The runaway trudged across central New Jersey on foot through rain, arriving in Philadelphia at 9 a.m. Sunday, filthy and exhausted. He bought bread and then went to church with some Quakers, falling asleep during their service. A friendly Quaker took him to the Crooked Billet Tavern on Water Street, where Benjamin rented a room and slept most of the day and night. The next morning, he sought work.

  He found a part-time job with Samuel Keimer, whose printing equipment consisted of “an old shatter’d press” and one small worn-out font of English type. Keimer had a beard and long hair and wore dirty, tattered clothes. He lived in a house with no furniture.

  Keimer liked to argue about religion, but he found Benjamin too much for him. “I us’d to work him so with my Socratic method,” Benjamin said, “and trepann’d him so often by questions apparently so distant from any point we had in hand and yet by degrees led to the point . . . that at last he grew ridiculously cautious and would hardly answer me the most common question without asking first, What do you intend to infer from that?” Keimer was so impressed with Benjamin that he asked him to help establish a new religion. Keimer proposed to preach the doctrines, and Benjamin would refute opponents.

  Meanwhile, they found little printing. With money low, Benjamin suggested they become vegetarians. He had experimented with this diet in Boston and knew he could tolerate it. But Keimer was “a great glutton” and found the diet unendurable. Finally, Keimer could stand the meals no longer and ordered a roast pig. He invited Ben and two women to dine with him, but the neighborhood cook brought the pig before the guests arrived. Keimer, Ben said, ate the whole animal before they came.

  Benjamin’s brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, was captain of a vessel that traded between Boston and Delaware. Holmes heard Benjamin was in Philadelphia and wrote him a letter, urging him to return to Boston. Benjamin replied, and Holmes showed his letter to Pennsylvania Governor Sir William Keith, hoping he would urge the runaway to go home. Instead, Keith, impressed by Benjamin’s writing skill, wanted to set up the young man as a printer in Philadelphia. Keith went to Keimer’s shop and told Benjamin his intention. Delighted, Benjamin returned to Boston with a letter from Governor Keith, encouraging Josiah to loan his son money to set up a printing shop.

  Josiah Franklin did not address the matter for days. Finally, he expressed his displeasure with the idea. To Benjamin’s chagrin, Josiah wrote Keith, thanking him for the offer but declining to risk the money. The cost of equipping a small print shop was about £100.

  Benjamin’s brother, James, refused to rehire him, so Josiah gave the young man permission to return to Philadelphia. Josiah urged Benjamin to work hard and save money. By the time he was twenty-one, he ought to have enough to set himself up in business; if he “came near the matter,” Josiah would give him the rest.

  Benjamin’s friend, John Collins, decided to return to Philadelphia with him. Benjamin met Collins in New York. Benjamin was surprised to discover his friend was fond of gambling and brandy. He had been drunk every day since his arrival in New York. Benjamin was soon funding Collins’ room and travel, and the two fought often.

  The friendship ended one night in a fight between the two while on a rowboat. Collins was drunk and swung his fists at Benjamin. Benjamin nearly threw Collins overboard. After the incident, the pair barely spoke again. A few weeks later, Collins left for the West Indies to work as a tutor for the sons of a wealthy planter. Collins promised to repay his debts, “but I never heard of him after,” Benjamin said.

  Meanwhile, Governor Keith remained determined to set Benjamin up as a printer. “Give me an inventory of the things necessary to be had from England,” he said, “and I will send for them. You shall repay me when you are able.”

  Benjamin did as asked, but Keith had another idea. Why didn’t Benjamin go to England and choose the equipment personally? He might be able to arrange with booksellers and stationers to import and sell their books and paper. The offer was irresistible - an opportunity to see London, the greatest city in the world. Benjamin accepted, unaware he had made his first serious mistake.

  For some time, he had been seeing Deborah Read, daughter of a Philadelphia shopkeeper. They were in love and talking marriage, but the prospect of a long voyage made Benjamin delay marriage until he returned. He left Deborah heartbroken and sailed for England. Governor Keith assured Benjamin he was sending ahead letters recommending him to important men in England, which would enable Ben to buy equipment on the governor’s credit.

  After a stormy voyage, the ship reached London on December 24, 1724. Benjamin soon discovered Governor Keith had not written any letters of credit. Baffled, he sought out a friend he had made on the voyage, Philadelphia merchant Thomas Denham. Benjamin explained the purpose of his trip. Denham laughed at the notion Keith would give Benjamin a letter of credit because, he said, the governor had “no credit to give.” Why had Keith deceived an inexperienced young man? Denham explained, “He wished to please everybody, and having little to give, he gave expectations.”

  “What should I do?” Benjamin asked. He was 3,000 miles from home and penniless.

  Franklin did what he knew best how to do - he went to work as a printer. Soon he was as good as his English counterparts. In fact, he worked harder and longer than most. At eighteen, he stood almost six feet tall, with muscular arms and shoulders. Most printers needed both hands to carry type up and down stairs, but Franklin carried one in each hand. The master printer, noting his speed, gave Franklin all the work that needed to be done quickly and paid him more than fellow journeymen.

  Franklin tried to save money but found it difficult. A friend, James Ralph, who had come with him, struggled to become a writer, finding little work. Franklin fed and housed him. Although he had a wife in Philadelphia, Ralph fell in love with a woman who ran a millinery shop. They lived together, and the scandal cost her friends and her business. Franklin soon was supporting her, too. In desperation, Ralph took a teaching job in the country. His English “wife” continued to visit Franklin, who found himself falling in love with her. When Franklin suggested he take Ralph’s place, the lady informed Ralph, who rushed back to London, where he denounced Franklin and informed him his debts to Franklin –£27 – were canceled.

  Franklin struggled to save for his voyage back to Philadelphia. It took almost two years, and without Ralph, he was lonely and homesick.

  Franklin almost gave up printing to open a swimming school. After making friends with another printer, Franklin taught him and another man how to swim in two visits to the Thames.

  One day, on a trip down the river with this man and his friends, the printer told everyone that Franklin was a remarkable swimmer. Few Englishmen could swim, and everyone was curious to see Franklin perform. He removed most of his clothes, leaped into the Thames, and swam from Chelsea to Blackfriar’s - about three and a half miles. He dove, floated on his back, and swam under water, all of which “surpriz’d and pleas’d those to whom they were novelties.”

  A wealthy Englishman heard about this performance and asked Franklin to call on him. His sons were preparing to leave for Europe, he explained, and he would like them to learn how to swim. He offered Franklin a substantial amount, and Franklin realized he could make a lot of money teaching Englishmen how to swim. He gave up the idea, though, and told his customer he could not teach his sons. Franklin was returning to America.

  Thomas Denham, the merchant who had told Franklin about Governor Keith, kept in touch with his friend. He offered to take Franklin back to Philadelphia and give him a job as his clerk in a store he planned to open. Franklin accepted. “I was grown tired of London,” he said, “remember’d with pleasure the happy months I had spent in Pennsylvania, and wish’d again to see it.”

  On the voyage back t
o Philadelphia, Franklin kept a journal. In it, he described the towns they passed while sailing down the Channel, and once on the ocean, recorded the weather, the fish they caught, and his fellow voyagers. For the first time, he revealed one talent that would make him famous - the keen eye of a scientist.

  “This afternoon we took up several branches of gulfweed,” he wrote on September 28, 1726. Gulfweed was the vegetation that grew in the Gulf Stream, the ocean river that runs from the Gulf of Mexico across the Atlantic. “One of these branches had something peculiar in it. In common with the rest, it had a leaf about three-quarters of an inch long, indented like a saw, and a small yellow berry, filled with nothing but wind; besides which it bore a fruit of the animal kind, very surprising to see. It was a small shellfish like a heart, the stalk by which it proceeded from the branch being partly of a grizzly kind. Upon this one branch of the weed, there were near forty of these vegetable animals; the smallest of them, near the end, contained a substance somewhat like an oyster, but the larger were visibly animated, opening their shells every moment, and thrusting out a set of unformed claws, not unlike those of a crab; but the inner part was still a kind of soft jelly. Observing the weed more narrowly, I spied a small crab crawling along it, about as big as the head of a tenpenny nail, and of a yellowish color, like the weed itself. This gave me some reason to think that he was a native of the branch; that he had not long since been in the same condition with the rest of those little embryos that appeared in the shells, this being the method of their generation; and that, consequently, all the rest of this odd kind of fruit might be crabs in due time. To strengthen my conjecture, I have resolved to keep the weed in salt water, renewing it every day till we come onshore, by this experiment to see whether any more crabs will be produced or not in this manner.”

  The next day, Franklin found another crab much smaller than the previous one, and it convinced him his hypothesis was correct. But the weed could not survive in a small pot of water; the rest of the embryos died. The following day, Franklin hauled in more gulfweed and found “three living, perfect crabs, each less than the nail of my little finger.” He noticed one had “a thin piece of the white shell which I before noticed as their covering while they remained in the condition of embryos, sticking close to his natural shell upon his back.”