I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come round by sea.
I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out with shirts
and stockings; I knew no soul nor where to look for lodging. I was
fatigued with traveling, 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 refused 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 through
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 Second Street, and asked for biscuit, 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 bade him give
me three-penny-worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great
puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having
no room in my pockets, walked 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, coming 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 through 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 liked 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 returned, and, being shown to a bed, I lay
down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening, was called
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, traveling on horseback, had got
to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received
me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present
want a hand, being lately supplied 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
asked me a few questions, put a composing stick in my hand to see how
I worked, 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 of the town’s people that had a good will for him,
entered into a conversation on his present undertaking and prospects;
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 interest he
relied 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 surprised when I told him who the old man was.
Keimer’s printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shattered press,
and one small, worn-out font of English [_type_], 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 letters, no one could help him. I endeavored to put
his press (which he had not yet used, and of which he understood
nothing) into order fit to be worked with; and, promising to come and
print off his elegy as soon as he should have got it ready, I returned
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.
These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business.
Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer,
though something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing
of presswork. He had been one of the French prophets [_a group of
French Protestants known as Camisards, persecuted under Louis XIV_],
and could act their enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did not
profess any particular religion, but something of all on occasion; was
very ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterward found, a good deal
of the knave in his composition. He did not like my lodging at
Bradford’s while I worked with him. He had a house, indeed, but
without furniture, so he could not lodge me; but he got me a lodging
at Mr. Read’s, before mentioned, who was the owner of his house; and,
my chest and clothes being come by this time, I made rather a more
respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss Read than I had done when
she first happened to see me eating my roll in the street.
I began now to have some acquaintance among the young people of the
town that were lovers of reading, with whom I spent my evenings very
pleasantly; and gaining money by my industry and frugality, I lived
very agreeably, forgetting Boston as much as I could, and not desiring
that any there should know where I resided.
Franklin was an industrious, ambitious young man who had thoroughly
mastered the trade of printer before leaving Boston. In Philadelphia, he
set up his own printing business and prospered so much that he was able
to retire at the age of 42. The rest of his life he devoted to public
enterprises and to scientific investigation. He was instrumental in
founding a hospital, the academy that became the University of
Pennsylvania, and the American Philosophical Society. He initiated
projects for providing police protection, street lighting, cleaning, and
paving in Philadelphia. He served as postmaster-general for the
colonies, and later represented them in England as events moved toward
the Revolution. One of his many public-spirited projects was the
establishment of a lending library, and in the selection that follows he
tells just how he got the library started.
At the time I established myself in Pennsylvania, there was not a good
bookseller’s shop in any of the colonies to the southward of Boston.
In New York and Philadelphia the printers were indeed stationers; they
sold only paper, etc., almanacs, ballads, and a few common
school-books. Those who loved reading were obliged to send for their
books from England; the members of the Junto [_Franklin’s club_] had
each a few. We had left the alehouse, where we first met, and hired a
room to hold our club in. I proposed that we should all of us bring
our books to that room, where they would not only be ready to consult
in our conferences, but become a common benefit, each of us being at
liberty to borrow such as he wished to read at home. This was
accordingly done, and for some time contented us.
Finding the advantage of this little collection, I proposed to render
the benefit from books more common, by commencing a public
subscription library. I drew a sketch of the plan and rules that would
be necessary, and got a skilful conveyancer, Mr. Charles Brockden, to
put the whole in form of articles of agreement to be subscribed, by
which each subscriber engaged to pay a certain sum down for the first
purchase of books, and an annual contribution for increasing them. So
few were the readers at that time in Philadelphia, and the majority of
us so poor, that I was not able, with great industry, to find more
than fifty persons, mostly young tradesmen, willing to pay down for
this purpose forty shillings each, and ten shillings per annum. [_A
shilling in Franklin’s day was worth perhaps $1.50 in today’s money._]
On this little fund we began. The books were imported; the library was
opened one day in the week for lending to the subscribers, on their
promissory notes to pay double the value if not duly returned. The
institution soon manifested its utility, was imitated by other towns,
and in other provinces. The libraries were augmented by donations;
reading became fashionable; and our people, having no public
amusements to divert their attention from study, became better
acquainted with books, and in a few years were observed by strangers
to be better instructed and more intelligent than people of the same
rank generally are in other countries....
This library afforded me the means of improvement by constant study,
for which I set apart an hour or two each day, and thus repaired in
some degree the loss of the learned education my father once intended
for me. Reading was the only amusement I allowed myself. I spent no
time in taverns, games, or frolics of any kind; and my industry in my
business continued as indefatigable as it was necessary.
[Illustration: A Woman Captured by Indians]