THE RUNAWAY.
Not long after James was released from prison, a fresh difficulty
arose between Benjamin and himself. In the quarrel they seemed to
forget that they were brothers, who ought to be united by strong ties
of affection. James continued to be passionate and domineering,
treating his brother with harshness, sometimes even beating him,
notwithstanding he was the nominal publisher and editor of a paper.
Benjamin thought he was too old to be treated thus--whipped like a
little boy--and the result was that he asserted his freedom.
"I am my own man from this time," he cried, holding up his indenture
which his brother returned to him, as we saw in a former chapter, in
order to evade the officers of justice. "These papers make me free,
and I shall take advantage of them to leave you," and he fairly shook
them in James's face.
"You know that I never gave them up because I relinquished the bargain
we had made," said James. "If you use them to assert your freedom,
you will be guilty of a base act."
"I _shall_ so use the papers," replied Benjamin defiantly. "I have
borne such treatment long enough, and I shall submit no longer."
"We shall see about that," continued James. "Father will have a word
to say about it, you will find."
"Yes, and he will probably say that you have abused me, and that you
ought to control your temper and treat me better," responded Benjamin.
"He always has decided in my favour, and I have no fears about his
decision now."
It was not fair in Benjamin to take this advantage of his brother, and
he knew it, but his resentment triumphed over his regard for right at
the time. James returned his indenture only that he might be able to
publish the paper unmolested. It was a deceitful arrangement in the
first place, and Benjamin's use of the papers to assert his liberty
was no more unfair and sinful than was James's device to make him the
proprietor of the paper, and thus evade the law. James was paid in his
own coin. He laid a plan to cheat the government, and he got cheated
himself. He was snared in the work of his own hands. This, however,
did not justify Benjamin in his course, as he afterwards saw, and
frankly confessed.
Benjamin persisted in asserting his freedom, and James appealed to his
father. After the latter had examined the affair, all the while
knowing that James was passionate and overbearing, he decided against
Benjamin. The advantage which the latter took of James to gain his
freedom probably influenced Mr. Franklin to decide in favour of the
former. This was unexpected by Benjamin, and was not received with a
very good grace. It did not change his determination, however, and he
was still resolved to be free. He refused to labour any more for his
brother, and went forth to look for employment elsewhere. There were a
number of other printers in the town, to whom he applied for work; but
he found, to his surprise, that his brother had anticipated him, and
been round to persuade them not to hire him.
"He has violated a solemn contract," said he to one, "and he will
violate any contract he will make with you. Besides, if you refuse to
hire him, he will be obliged to return and labour for me."
The printers all sympathized with James, and accordingly refused to
give Benjamin work. He found himself in a very unpleasant situation on
that account, without the means of earning his bread, and, in one
sense, without a home, since he had disregarded his father's counsel
in not returning to his brother. He learned, also, that some good
people considered him no better than an infidel.
"Nothing less than the loosest sceptic," said one good man. "He hates
the truth with all his heart, as much that he writes plainly shows.
His influence in the community is very bad, and it is growing worse
and worse."
Good people thus misjudged Benjamin. Some went so far as to call him
an "atheist." His attacks upon the clergy and government, in his
paper, created so much excitement, that he was understood to mean
worse than he did.
All these things served to wean Benjamin from Boston, and he decided
on seeking his fortune elsewhere. He embraced the first opportunity to
confer with his old friend, John Collins, on the subject.
"John, I am going to New York," he said.
"To New York?" exclaimed John. "What has started you off there?"
"Enough to start anybody. I have been banged about long enough, and
now can get no work at all; so I must go or starve."
"How so?" inquired John, "I don't understand you?"
"The case is just this," said Benjamin. "James has treated me very
harshly for a long time, and I have submitted. But I had a good
opportunity to make myself free, and I have improved it. When James
was put into prison for libel, he returned me my indenture with a
discharge written on the back, to show in case the government
interfered with my publishing the paper. He did not mean, of course,
that I should be released from my obligations to him; but he has
treated me so unmercifully lately that I have taken advantage of the
paper, and broken my engagement with him."
"You have got round him this time, certainly," said John. "How does he
feel about it?"
"He has appealed to father, and father has decided against me, and
advised me to go back; but I am not at all disposed to do it."
"I would work in some other printing-office," added John, "before I
would go to New York."
"But I can get work nowhere else. I have been to every office, and
they all refuse to employ me, because my brother went to them before
me, and told his story, and made them promise not to hire me."
"I suppose he thought by so doing to compel you to come back to him,"
suggested John.
"I suppose so; but he will find himself mistaken. I shall go to New
York as soon as I can get away."
"What does your father say about your going off so far?"
"I have said nothing to him about it, and do not intend to do so. He
would stop my going at once if he knew it."
"How can you get away without letting him know it?"
"That remains to be seen," answered Benjamin. "I shall want some of
your help about it, I guess."
"I am at your service," said John, "though it seems very little that I
can do to hasten your flight;" but he had hardly uttered the last
sentence before a new thought flashed upon his mind, and he added with
great earnestness, "Yes, I can, too; I have seen the captain of that
New York sloop in the harbour, and I can make a bargain with him to
take you there."
"But he will want to know who I am, and will refuse to take me when he
finds that I am a runaway."
"I can manage that, if you will leave it to me," answered John. "I
will pledge you that he will never know that your name is Franklin."
"I agree, then, to commit myself to your care. See that you manage the
affair well, for to New York I must go."
They parted; and John hurried away to see the aforesaid captain.
"Can you take a friend of mine to New York?" he asked.
"That depends on circumstances," answered the captain. "Who is your
friend?"--a very natural inquiry,--precisely such a one as Benjamin
thought would be made.
"He is a young man about my age, a printer, and he is going to New
York to get work," replied John.
"Why don't he get work in Boston?" inquired the captain.
John saw that there was no evading the captain's questions, and so he
suddenly resolved to fabricate a story, in other words, to tell a base
lie.
"Well," said John, "if I must tell you the whole story, the case is
this. He is a young fellow who has been flirting with a girl, who
wants to marry him, and now her parents are determined that he shall
marry her, and he is determined that he will not, and he proposes to
remove secretly to New York. He would have come to see you himself,
but it is not safe for him to appear out so publicly, and therefore he
sent me to do the business."
A youth who can fabricate a falsehood so unblushingly as John did this
is a candidate for ruin. The reader will not be surprised to learn,
before the whole story is told, that he became a miserable, wicked
man. This single lie proved that he was destitute of moral principle,
and would do almost anything to carry his project.
For some unaccountable reason, the captain was taken with this device,
and consented to carry Benjamin to New York. He arranged to receive
him clandestinely, and to have him on his way before any suspicion of
his plans was awakened.
John hastened to inform Benjamin of the success of his enterprise, and
to congratulate him upon his fair prospect of getting away.
"Money is the next thing," said Benjamin. "I can't go without money. I
must sell my books for something, though I dislike to part with them."
"They will sell quick enough," said John, "and will bring you a very
pretty sum to start with."
Benjamin lost no time in disposing of his little library for what it
would bring, and he managed to get his clothes together without
exciting suspicion; and, with the assistance of John, he boarded the
sloop privately just before she sailed.
"Good luck to you, Ben," said John, as they shook hands.
"Good bye," answered Benjamin with a heavy heart, just beginning to
feel that he was going away from home. "See that you tell no tales out
of school."
Thus they parted; and the sloop sailed for New York, where she arrived
in three days. Benjamin did not know a person in that city, nor had he
a single letter of recommendation to any one, and the money in his
pocket was but a trifle. It was in October, 1723, that he arrived in
New York. Think of a lad seventeen years of age running away from
home, entering a large city without a solitary acquaintance, and
possessing scarcely money enough to pay for a week's board! He must
have carried some sad, lonely feelings in his heart along those
strange streets, and possibly his conscience sorely upbraided him for
his course.
Benjamin behaved very unwisely and wickedly in this affair. Although
his brother was severely harsh in his treatment of him, it was not
sufficient reason for his running away from home, and he was
thoroughly convinced of this at an early day. Such an act is one of
the most flagrant sins that a youth can commit, although circumstances
may render it less guilty in some cases than in others. In the case of
Benjamin, the unkind treatment which he received at the hand of his
brother mitigated his sin, though it by no means excused it.
There is not a more unpleasant occurrence in the whole life of
Benjamin Franklin than this quarrel with his brother. We charge the
difficulty mainly upon James, of course; but this does not blot out
the unpleasantness of the affair. A quarrel between brothers is always
painful in the extreme, and is discreditable to all parties concerned.
Dr. Watts has very beautifully written, for the admonition of little
children, what older ones may well ponder:--
"Whatever brawls disturb the street,
There should be peace at home:
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet,
Quarrels should never come.
"Birds in their little nests agree;
And 'tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight.
"Hard names, at first, and threat'ning words,
That are but noisy breath,
May grow to clubs and naked swords,
To murder and to death."
At this crisis of Benjamin's life, it seemed as if he was on the
highway to ruin. There is scarcely one similar case in ten, where the
runaway escapes the vortex of degradation. Benjamin would not have
been an exception, but for his early religious culture and the grace
of God.
The case of William Hutton, who was the son of very poor parents, is
not altogether unlike that of Benjamin Franklin. He was bound to his
uncle for a series of years, but was treated by him so harshly that he
ran away, at seventeen years of age. The record is, that "on the 12th
day of July, 1741, the ill-treatment he received from his uncle, in
the shape of a brutal flogging, with a birch-broom handle of white
hazel, which almost killed him, caused him to run away." A dark
prospect was before him, since "he had only twopence in his pocket, a
spacious world before him, and no plan of operation." Yet he
afterwards became an author of some celebrity, and a most exemplary
and esteemed man. He lived to the age of ninety, his last days being
gladdened by the reflection of having lived a useful life, and the
consciousness of sharing the confidence of his fellow-men.