The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin (4 page)

At length, a fresh difference arising between my brother and me,
I took upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that he would not
venture to produce the new indentures. It was not fair in me to
take this advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first
errata of my life; but the unfairness of it weighed little with me,
when under the impressions of resentment for the blows his passion
too often urged him to bestow upon me, though he was otherwise
not an ill-natur'd man: perhaps I was too saucy and provoking.

When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting
employment in any other printing-house of the town, by going round
and speaking to every master, who accordingly refus'd to give me work.
I then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where
there was a printer; and I was rather inclin'd to leave Boston
when I reflected that I had already made myself a little obnoxious
to the governing party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings of the
Assembly in my brother's case, it was likely I might, if I stay'd,
soon bring myself into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscrete
disputations about religion began to make me pointed at with horror
by good people as an infidel or atheist. I determin'd on the point,
but my father now siding with my brother, I was sensible that,
if I attempted to go openly, means would be used to prevent me.
My friend Collins, therefore, undertook to manage a little for me.
He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop for my passage,
under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of his, that had
got a naughty girl with child, whose friends would compel me to
marry her, and therefore I could not appear or come away publicly.
So I sold some of my books to raise a little money, was taken on
board privately, and as we had a fair wind, in three days I found
myself in New York, near 300 miles from home, a boy of but 17,
without the least recommendation to, or knowledge of any person in
the place, and with very little money in my pocket.

My inclinations for the sea were by this time worne out, or I
might now have gratify'd them. But, having a trade, and supposing
myself a pretty good workman, I offer'd my service to the printer
in the place, old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first
printer in Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel
of George Keith. He could give me no employment, having little to do,
and help enough already; but says he, "My son at Philadelphia
has lately lost his principal hand, Aquila Rose, by death;
if you go thither, I believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was
a hundred miles further; I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy,
leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea.

In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails
to pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill and drove us upon
Long Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too,
fell overboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the water
to his shock pate, and drew him up, so that we got him in again.
His ducking sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first
out of his pocket a book, which he desir'd I would dry for him.
It proved to be my old favorite author, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress,
in Dutch, finely printed on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better
than I had ever seen it wear in its own language. I have since found
that it has been translated into most of the languages of Europe,
and suppose it has been more generally read than any other book,
except perhaps the Bible. Honest John was the first that I know
of who mix'd narration and dialogue; a method of writing very engaging
to the reader, who in the most interesting parts finds himself,
as it were, brought into the company and present at the discourse.
De Foe in his Cruso, his Moll Flanders, Religious Courtship,
Family Instructor, and other pieces, has imitated it with success;
and Richardson has done the same, in his Pamela, etc.

When we drew near the island, we found it was at a place where there
could be no landing, there being a great surff on the stony beach.
So we dropt anchor, and swung round towards the shore. Some people
came down to the water edge and hallow'd to us, as we did to them;
but the wind was so high, and the surff so loud, that we could
not hear so as to understand each other. There were canoes on
the shore, and we made signs, and hallow'd that they should fetch us;
but they either did not understand us, or thought it impracticable,
so they went away, and night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait
till the wind should abate; and, in the meantime, the boatman and I
concluded to sleep, if we could; and so crowded into the scuttle,
with the Dutchman, who was still wet, and the spray beating over
the head of our boat, leak'd thro' to us, so that we were soon
almost as wet as he. In this manner we lay all night, with very
little rest; but, the wind abating the next day, we made a shift
to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty hours on the water,
without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of filthy rum,
and the water we sail'd on being salt.

In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went in to bed;
but, having read somewhere that cold water drank plentifully was good
for a fever, I follow'd the prescription, sweat plentiful most of
the night, my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry,
I proceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington,
where I was told I should find boats that would carry me the rest
of the way to Philadelphia.

It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soak'd, and by noon
a good deal tired; so I stopt at a poor inn, where I staid all night,
beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so miserable
a figure, too, that I found, by the questions ask'd me, I was
suspected to be some runaway servant, and in danger of being taken
up on that suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got
in the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington,
kept by one Dr. Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I
took some refreshment, and, finding I had read a little, became very
sociable and friendly. Our acquaintance continu'd as long as he
liv'd. He had been, I imagine, an itinerant doctor, for there was no
town in England, or country in Europe, of which he could not give
a very particular account. He had some letters, and was ingenious,
but much of an unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after,
to travestie the Bible in doggrel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil.
By this means he set many of the facts in a very ridiculous light,
and might have hurt weak minds if his work had been published;
but it never was.

At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reach'd Burlington,
but had the mortification to find that the regular boats were gone
a little before my coming, and no other expected to go before Tuesday,
this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town,
of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the water, and ask'd
her advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till a passage
by water should offer; and being tired with my foot travelling,
I accepted the invitation. She understanding I was a printer,
would have had me stay at that town and follow my business,
being ignorant of the stock necessary to begin with. She was
very hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox-cheek with great good will,
accepting only a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself
fixed till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the evening
by the side of the river, a boat came by, which I found was going
towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in,
and, as there was no wind, we row'd all the way; and about midnight,
not having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident
we must have passed it, and would row no farther; the others knew
not where we were; so we put toward the shore, got into a creek,
landed near an old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire,
the night being cold, in October, and there we remained till daylight.
Then one of the company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little
above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek,
and arriv'd there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning,
and landed at the Market-street wharf.

I have been the more particular in this description of my journey,
and shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may
in your mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure
I have since made there. I was in my working dress, my best
cloaths being to come round by sea. I was dirty from my journey;
my pockets were stuff'd out with shirts and stockings, and I
knew no soul nor where to look for lodging. I was fatigued
with travelling, rowing, and want of rest, I was very hungry;
and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and about
a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the boat
for my passage, who at first refus'd it, on account of my rowing;
but I insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more
generous when he has but a little money than when he has plenty,
perhaps thro' fear of being thought to have but little.

Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house
I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and,
inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's
he directed me to, in Secondstreet, and ask'd for bisket,
intending such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not
made in Philadelphia. Then I asked for a three-penny loaf,
and was told they had none such. So not considering or knowing
the difference of money, and the greater cheapness nor the names
of his bread, I made him give me three-penny worth of any sort.
He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surpriz'd
at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my pockets,
walk'd off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I
went up Market-street as far as Fourth-street, passing by the door
of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing at the door,
saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward,
ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut-street and
part of Walnut-street, eating my roll all the way, and, corning round,
found myself again at Market-street wharf, near the boat I came in,
to which I went for a draught of the river water; and, being filled
with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that
came down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther.

Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way.
I joined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of
the Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy thro'
labor and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep,
and continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind
enough to rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in,
or slept in, in Philadelphia.

Walking down again toward the river, and, looking in the faces
of people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I lik'd, and,
accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could
get lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners.
"Here," says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it
is not a reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll show thee
a better." He brought me to the Crooked Billet in Water-street. Here
I got a dinner; and, while I was eating it, several sly questions were
asked me, as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance,
that I might be some runaway.

After dinner, my sleepiness return'd, and being shown to a bed,
I lay down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening,
was call'd to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept
soundly till next morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could,
and went to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop
the old man his father, whom I had seen at New York, and who,
travelling on horseback, had got to Philadelphia before me.
He introduc'd me to his son, who receiv'd me civilly, gave me
a breakfast, but told me he did not at present want a hand,
being lately suppli'd with one; but there was another printer
in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ me;
if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would
give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business
should offer.

The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer;
and when we found him, "Neighbor," says Bradford, "I have brought
to see you a young man of your business; perhaps you may want such
a one." He ask'd me a few questions, put a composing stick in my
hand to see how I work'd, and then said he would employ me soon,
though he had just then nothing for me to do; and, taking old Bradford,
whom he had never seen before, to be one of the town's people that
had a good will for him, enter'd into a conversation on his present
undertaking and projects; while Bradford, not discovering that he
was the other printer's father, on Keimer's saying he expected
soon to get the greatest part of the business into his own hands,
drew him on by artful questions, and starting little doubts,
to explain all his views, what interests he reli'd on, and in what
manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by and heard all,
saw immediately that one of them was a crafty old sophister,
and the other a mere novice. Bradford left me with Keimer, who was
greatly surpris'd when I told him who the old man was.

Keimer's printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shatter'd press,
and one small, worn-out font of English which he was then using himself,
composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an ingenious
young man, of excellent character, much respected in the town,
clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too,
but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his
manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head.
So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy
likely to require all the letter, no one could help him.
I endeavor'd to put his press (which he had not yet us'd, and of
which he understood nothing) into order fit to be work'd with;
and, promising to come and print off his Elegy as soon as he
should have got it ready, I return'd to Bradford's, who gave me
a little job to do for the present, and there I lodged and dieted,
A few days after, Keimer sent for me to print off the Elegy.
And now he had got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint,
on which he set me to work.