Chapter 15

"I am sorry you should have any uneasiness on my account, and, if it were a thing possible for one to alter his opinions in order to please another's, I know none whom I ought more willingly to oblige in that respect than yourselves. But, since it is no more in a man's power to _think_ than to _look_ like another, methinks all that should be expected from me is to keep my mind open to conviction; to hear patiently, and examine attentively, whatever is offered me for that end; and, if after all I continue in the same errors, I believe your usual charity will induce you rather to pity and excuse than blame me; in the mean time your care and concern for me is what I am very thankful for.

"My mother grieves that one of her sons is an Arian, another an Arminian; what an Arminian or an Arian is, I can not say that I very well know. The truth is, I make such distinctions very little my study. I think vital religion has always suffered when orthodoxy is more regarded than virtue; and the Scriptures assure me that at the last day we shall not be examined what we _thought_, but what we _did_; and our recommendation will not be that we said, _Lord! Lord_! but that we did good to our fellow-creatures. See Matt. xx.

"As to the free masons, I know no way of giving my mother a better account of them than she seems to have at present (since it is not allowed that women should be admitted into that secret society). She has, I must confess, on that account, some reason to be displeased with it; but, for any thing else, I must entreat her to suspend her judgment till she is better informed, unless she will believe me when I assure her that they are in general a very harmless sort of people, and have no principles or practices that are inconsistent with religion and good manners.

"B. FRANKLIN."

His sister also, later on, in her great anxiety for his spiritual welfare, wrote to him, and he replied as follows:

"PHILADELPHIA, July 28, 1743.

"_Dearest Sister Jenny_,--I took your admonition very kindly, and was far from being offended at you for it. If I say any thing about it to you, 't is only to rectify some wrong opinions you seem to have entertained of me; and this I do only because they give you some uneasiness, which I am unwilling to be the occasion of. You express yourself as if you thought I was against worshipping of God, and doubt that good works would merit heaven; which are both fancies of your own, I think, without foundation. I am so far from thinking that God is not to be worshipped, that I have composed and wrote a whole book of devotions for my own use; and I imagine there are few if any in the world so weak as to imagine that the little good we can do here can merit so vast a reward hereafter.

"There are some things in your New England doctrine and worship which I do not agree with; but I do not therefore condemn them, or desire to shake your belief or practice of them. We may dislike things that are nevertheless right in themselves; I would only have you make me the same allowance, and have a better opinion both of morality and your brother. Read the pages of Mr. Edwards' late book, entitled, 'Some Thoughts concerning the present Revival of Religion in New England,' from 367 to 375, and, when you judge of others, if you can perceive the fruit to be good, do not terrify yourself that the tree may be evil; be assured it is not so, for you know who has said, 'Men do not gather grapes off thorns, and figs off thistles.'

"I have not time to add, but that I shall always be your affectionate brother,

"B. FRANKLIN.

"P.S. It was not kind in you, when your sister commended good works, to suppose she intended it a reproach to you. 'T was very far from her thoughts."

The sequel will show much more concerning the skepticism of Franklin; and that the time came when he saw the folly of such unbelief, and gave his adherence to the Christian religion. At the same time, he learned from experience the danger of reading infidel publications, and warned the young against following his example. Indeed, there is good reason to believe that, as early as 1728, when he was but twenty-two years of age, he was not so much of an infidel as some of his friends supposed; for then he prepared a code of morals and belief for his own use, entitled "Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion." In this document he avows his belief in "One Supreme, most perfect Being," and prays to "be preserved from atheism, impiety, and profaneness." Under the head of "Thanks" occur the following:

"For peace and liberty, for food and raiment, for corn, and wine, and milk, and every kind of healthful nourishment,--Good God, I thank Thee!

"For the common benefits of air and light, for useful fire and delicious water,--Good God, I thank Thee!

"For knowledge, and literature, and every useful art, for my friends and their prosperity, and for the fewness of my enemies,--Good God, I thank Thee!

"For all my innumerable benefits, for life, and reason, and the use of speech; for health, and joy, and every pleasant hour,--Good God, I thank Thee!"

It is true, there is not much religion in these things; and though they may have been adopted to satisfy the demands of conscience only, they prove that he was not an atheist, as many supposed.

Benjamin's experience with skeptical and infidel books recalls the experience of two young men, when about the same age, with publications of kindred character, which came very near depriving the United States of two good Presidents.

Before Abraham Lincoln began the study of law, he was connected with a clique or club of young men, who made light of religion, and read books that treated it as a delusion. It was at this time that he read Paine's "Age of Reason" and Volney's "Ruins," through which he was influenced to array himself against the Bible for a time,--as much of a skeptic, almost, as any one of his boon companions. But his early religious training soon asserted itself, and we hear no more of hostility to religion as long as he lived. On the other hand, when he was elected President, he spoke as follows to his friends and neighbors, who had assembled at the station to bid him adieu on leaving for Washington, on the eve of the late bloody Civil war:

"My Friends: No one not in my position can appreciate the sadness I feel at this parting. To this people I owe all that I am. Here I have lived more than a quarter of a century. Here my children were born, and here one of them lies buried. I know not how soon I shall see you again. A duty devolves on me, which is greater, perhaps, than that which has devolved upon any other man since the days of Washington. He never would have succeeded except for the aid of Divine Providence, upon which he at all times relied. I feel that I can not succeed without the same Divine aid which sustained him, and on the same Almighty Being I place my reliance for support; and I hope you, my friends, will pray that I may receive that Divine assistance, without which I can not succeed, but with which success is certain. Again I bid you all an affectionate farewell."

When James A. Garfield became a member of the "Black Salter's" family, he found "Marryatt's Novels," "Sinbad the Sailor," "The Pirates' Own Book," "Jack Halyard," "Lives of Eminent Criminals," "The Buccaneers of the Caribbean Seas"; and being a great reader, he sat up nights to read these works. Their effect upon him was to weaken the ties of home and filial affection, diminish his regard for religious things, and create within him an intense desire for a seafaring life. Nothing but a long and painful sickness, together with the wise counsels of his mother and a popular teacher, saved him from a wild and reckless life upon the sea, by leading him to Christ and a nobler life, in consequence of which his public career was one of honor, and closed in the highest office of the land.

Neither Lincoln nor Garfield would have been President of the United States if the spell, with which the influence of corrupt books bound them for the time, had not been broken by juster views of real life and nobler aims.

XVIII.

HOW HE QUIT BOSTON.

"I tell you how it is, John," exclaimed Benjamin, under great excitement; "I have withstood my brother's ill treatment as long as I am going to. I shall leave him."

"How is that, Ben? I thought your brother would treat you with more consideration after you immortalized yourself as an editor. I knew you had a hard time with him before the _Courant_ was started." John Collins knew somewhat of Benjamin's troubles, the first two years of his apprenticeship.

"He has been worse since my prominence on the _Courant_; that is, at times. I think my success aroused his jealousy, so that it fretted him to see me, his apprentice, occupy a higher position than himself. Once in a while he has seemed to be pleased with my prominence on the paper, and then again it annoyed him."

"I should think you had helped him out of trouble enough to stir up his gratitude a little, even if he had no pride in possessing so bright a brother."

"Brother! brother!" exclaimed Benjamin. "He never thought of that relation. I was his apprentice, to be lorded over until twenty-one years of age. I do not think he would have treated the greatest stranger as an apprentice more unkindly than he has me. He seemed to think that the relation of master to an apprentice obliterates all blood relationship."

"That is unfortunate for both of you," remarked John, "but most unfortunate for him, whom public opinion will judge as a brother, and not as a master. But how will you get along with your indenture if you leave him?"

"I am justified by the circumstances in using the indenture, on the back of which is his own endorsement of my freedom. He released me from all obligations to him, that I might run the paper when he could not."

"But the understanding between you was, if I remember, that it was only a formality to evade the action of the General Court. He did not mean that you should take advantage of it and refuse to serve him."

"That is true; but I say the circumstances justify me in using it as if he really meant to give me my freedom. He has another indenture which I signed, designed to be kept private, but he won't dare to bring that out to the light of day, because it may get him into further trouble with the General Court."

"You have the advantage of him there, I see, if you see fit to avail yourself of it. Does James know how you feel about it?"

"He ought to know, for I have told him that I should leave him if he continued to treat me as he has done. Probably he does not believe that I shall quit, but I am not responsible for that. He ought to see that such treatment would cause any apprentice to leave his master."

"What does he do that is so bad?" inquired John.

"He undertook to flog me, the other day. He did strike me, but I showed him that I believed in self-defense, and he desisted. He has beaten me often. I did not like the looks of an elder brother licking a younger one, and so I put myself in a position to make such a scene impossible."

"Well, I do not think that such a scene is particularly attractive," responded John in his droll way. "Such a scene in the theatre would be tragedy, I think; it could not be comedy in a civilized land."

"That is no worse than other things he does. If he would get mad and beat me, and then be kind and considerate for a while, I should be quite well satisfied. But he is constantly domineering over me, as if he meant I should realize all the while that he is my legal master."

"Does your father know about it?"

"Yes, and he has been decidedly in my favor until now. We have often laid our differences before him, and in nearly every instance, he has supported me. But for some reason, since the last trouble he has upheld James. Perhaps it was because I did not allow James to beat me as masters often do their apprentices."

"What do you propose to do if you leave your brother?" continued John.

"Go to New York. I can find work there. If there is nothing there for an extra printer to do, I will turn my hand to something else. I shall leave Boston."

"Why not get into one of the other printing offices in town? I do not want you should quit Boston until I do."

"For two good reasons. The first is that my connection with the _Courant_ stirred up the officials of the government, so that I am obnoxious to them; and the second is, that my religious opinions have become so well known, and have been so misrepresented, that ministers and other good people consider me no better than an atheist. I prefer to go among strangers, where I can have a chance to make a record for myself."

"Better make a record here,--the best chance in the world. Here people know who you are, or they ought to know by this time. Take my advice, and secure a place in another printing office in Boston."

The result of this interview with John was, that Benjamin resolved to secure a position in Boston if he could. But when he applied, subsequently, for a situation, each printer declined to employ him. James had been to them, anticipating that he might take this step, and warned them against making any bargain with him. He assured them that he should take legal steps, under the indenture of apprenticeship, to maintain his rights if they employed him. Besides, he told them that Benjamin did not believe the Christian religion, and he had no respect for those who did; that, in short, he was "no better than an atheist."

James meant to compel Benjamin to continue to work for him; and he thought if no other printer would hire him, that would end the trouble. But the opposite effect was produced. It determined Benjamin to quit Boston as soon as he could arrange for the change, though he did not make known his decision to his brother. Probably his brother did not dream of his leaving Boston for New York, or any other place. However, Benjamin embraced the first opportunity to announce to him that he should quit.

"I am my own man from this time," he cried, holding up his indenture which his brother had returned to him. "This paper makes me free, and I shall take advantage of it to leave you," and he shook the document in James' face.

"You know that I never gave up the indenture because I relinquished the bargain we had made. If you use it to assert and establish your freedom, you will be guilty of a mean, contemptible act."

"I shall so use it!" and Benjamin was very defiant when he said it. "I have borne your abuse long enough, and I will bear it no longer."

"We shall see about that. Father will have a word to say about it, you will find. You are not of age yet." James spoke with remarkable coolness for him, in the circumstances. He probably realized that Benjamin had the advantage of him.

"Neither father nor any other man can force me to work for you any longer. You have even been around to other printers, to influence them not to employ me; and you have lied about me, telling them that I am an atheist, and other things as bad."

"I told them nothing but the truth," replied James. "You know as well as I do, that you believe Shaftesbury instead of the Bible."

"Well, no matter what I believe. I shall not work for you another day. I will resort to the most menial employment for my bread and butter before I will serve a man who will treat his own brother like a slave." And again Benjamin flourished his indenture before the eyes of James, defiantly.

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 _Courant_ unmolested. It was a deceitful arrangement in the first place, and Benjamin's use of the indenture to assert his liberty was no more unfair and sinful than was James' 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. In his "Autobiography" he said:

"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-natured man. Perhaps I was too saucy and provoking."

There is no doubt that Benjamin erred in the matter. He was by nature headstrong and independent; and, perhaps, he was more self-willed on account of his success in the business. But, after all allowances are made, James must be regarded as the chief offender in the troubles, and on him the responsibility for it rests in a large measure.

Benjamin lost no time in reporting his decision to John.

"I am going to New York as soon as I can get away," he said. "What do you suppose that fellow has done? He has been around to the other printers and threatened to enforce his claim to my services if they hire me; and he lied about me, also. It is settled that I shall go to New York. I am not going to be banged about any more."

"Well, it seems rather necessary for you to go somewhere if you can't get work here," answered John. "But how am I going to get along without you, Ben? Couldn't you turn your hand to something else?"

"I could, but I won't. I am fully resolved to quit Boston soon, and I am satisfied that I must leave clandestinely, or I shall not get away."

"How is that? Expect that your brother will lay violent hands upon you to prevent?"

"I expect that he and father together will prevent my leaving, if possible."

"Have you spoken with your father about it?"

"No, I have not; nor do I intend to. He sides with James now, and that is enough for me. I shall say nothing to him about the matter."

"Perhaps he thinks you will leave Boston if you leave James," suggested John. "He may think that you will clear out and go to sea. He has not forgotten your old hankering for a life on the wave."

"Possibly; but I have no desire now to go to sea. I have a trade that I like, and I shall stick to it until I am forced out of it."

"How do you propose to get to New York? Got any plans ahead?"

"Yes, a plan is all that I have got. It remains to be seen how I can carry it out. I do not think I can accomplish my purpose without your help."

"I am at your service now, Ben, as ever before; only I would like to understand just what I can do."

"That is what I want to talk with you about. I am not yet clear as to my best way of escape. If I go by land, on foot, they may send officers after me, and overtake me before I get half way there."

"Of course it would be poor policy for you to go by land, if you can possibly go by water. There is a New York sloop in the harbor, and no doubt it will return soon."

"But how can I get aboard? The captain will want to know who I am, and if he knows that I am a runaway apprentice, he will refuse me a passage."

"I can manage that," said John. "I know the captain, and I think I can arrange with him to take you."

"Yes, but he will want large pay for it. Of course he will not take me to New York without some money arrangement, and I have precious little money to give him."

"You can sell some of your books," suggested John. "You will not take them to New York with you, and you can sell them readily."

"That is a good idea, John; I will reduce it to practice at once. I shall not want much money anyway. But suppose the captain is very inquisitive about me, how will you get along with the case? He must be somewhat suspicious when a Boston boy wants to be taken to New York on the sly."

"You leave that to me; I have no doubt that I can smuggle you through. He shall not know even that your name is Franklin."

"Well, then, I will commit myself to your care. See that you manage adroitly, even if you have to make a package of me for transportation. I am going to New York if I am obliged to walk there."

"I will go to see the captain at once, Ben; and I will be back with my report in two hours. Be on hand, and see if I do not make a good bargain for your passage. You always have succeeded, and I think you will succeed now."

"Be off, then, in a jiffy, and I will run out to see where I can dispose of my books. I will be back in two hours, and meet you here."

They parted, and John hurried away to see the captain. He found him on board his sloop.

"Can you take a friend of mine to New York?" he asked.

"That depends on circumstances," replied the captain. "Who is your friend? Can't take a pauper or a criminal, you know."

"He is neither one nor the other. He is a young man about my age, a printer by trade, and he is going to New York to find work."

"Why doesn't he find work in Boston? There are more printers in Boston than there are in New York."

"That may be; but he prefers to work in New York. He's tired of Boston."

"Perhaps Boston is tired of him--is that so? I want to accommodate, but I don't want to get anybody into trouble, nor get there myself."

John saw that there was no evading the captain's questions, and so he resolved to tell the false story he had thought of on his way to the sloop.

"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 as determined that he will not; and he proposes to remove secretly to New York. He would have come to see you himself, but his coming might awaken suspicion on the part of some one acquainted with the affair, who might see him and know him. So I came to do the business for him."

"He is in a fix, sure," answered the captain; "if there is any man in the world I would help, it is the man who is trying to escape from the girl he don't want to marry. How much will he pay for his passage?"

"He will pay your price if it is reasonable. He is not a pauper, though he has not much of a money surplus. He will satisfy you as to that."

"Send him along, then; this sloop will sail on Saturday at two o'clock, P.M. He better not come aboard until just before we sail, or somebody may upset his plans, and the girl get him, after all."

"All right; he will be here on the mark, and I shall be with him to see him off," answered John, as he turned upon his heels to report his success to Benjamin.

A youth who can fabricate a falsehood so unblushingly as John did the foregoing is already on the road to ruin. The reader will not be surprised to learn, before the whole story is told, that he became a miserable, reckless sort of a man. This lie proved that he was destitute of moral principle and would do almost any thing to carry his point.

That the captain should have been taken in by such a ruse is inexplicable. But, no doubt, the thought of receiving good pay for his passage led him to receive the passenger. It was so much gain to receive a few dollars from an unexpected source.

"The bargain is made, and your passage to New York is assured," exclaimed John to Benjamin, when they met, at the end of two hours.

"Have any trouble to accomplish it? You did not awaken his suspicion, did you?" replied Benjamin, evidently relieved of considerable anxiety by the announcement.

"No trouble, of course; I did not mean to have any, if lying would prevent it."

"Then you had to resort to falsehood to carry your point, did you? How was that, John?"