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, Aquilla 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.
By this time my desire to go to sea had faded. Otherwise I might have pursued it. Since I had a trade and believed I was a good workman, I offered my services to the local printer, old Mr. William Bradford. He had been the first printer in Pennsylvania, but he had left during the quarrel with George Keith. He could not give me work. He had little to do and enough help already. But he said, "My son in Philadelphia has lately lost his principal hand, Aquilla Rose, by death. If you go there, I think he may employ you." Philadelphia was a hundred miles farther. I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy. I left my chest and belongings to be sent around 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.
While crossing the bay, a squall tore our rotten sails to pieces. It kept us from entering the Kill, and drove us onto Long Island. On the way, a drunken Dutchman who was also a passenger fell overboard. As he was sinking, I reached through the water to his head and pulled him up. We got him back aboard. The dunking sobered him a little, and he fell asleep. Before he slept, he took a book from his pocket and asked me to dry it for him. It turned out to be my old favorite, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, in Dutch. It was finely printed on good paper with copper engravings. This edition was presented better than I had ever seen the work in its original language. I later found it had been translated into most European languages. I suppose it has been more widely read than any other book, except perhaps the Bible. Honest John was the first I know of to mix narration and dialogue. This method is very engaging. In the most interesting parts the reader feels, as it were, brought into the company and present at the conversation. Defoe, in his Robinson Crusoe, Moll Flanders, Religious Courtship, Family Instructor, and other works, imitated it successfully. Richardson did the same in Pamela and other novels.
Kill van Kull. The channel that separates Staten Island from New Jersey to the north.
Samuel Richardson, the father of the English novel, wrote Pamela, Clarissa Harlowe, and the History of Sir Charles Grandison. These novels are written as letters.
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.
When we neared the island, we found it was a place where no landing was possible. A heavy surf broke on the stony beach. So we dropped anchor and swung toward the shore. Some people came down to the water’s edge and shouted to us, as we did to them. The wind was so high and the surf so loud that we could not hear each other. There were canoes on the shore. We made signs and shouted for them to fetch us. They either did not understand or thought it impossible, so they went away. Night came on, and we had no choice but to wait for the wind to ease. Meanwhile the boatman and I decided to try to sleep. We crowded into the scuttle with the Dutchman, who was still wet. Spray was beating over the head of our boat and leaked through, so we soon became almost as wet as he was. We lay like this all night with very little rest. When the wind eased the next day, we managed to reach Amboy before night. We had been thirty hours on the water with no food and only a bottle of filthy rum to drink, and the water we sailed on was 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 plentifully 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.
That evening I felt very feverish and went to bed. I had read somewhere that drinking a lot of cold water helped with fevers, so I followed the advice. I sweated heavily most of the night, and my fever left me. In the morning I crossed the ferry and continued my journey on foot. I had fifty miles to Burlington. I was told I would find boats there to 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 travesty 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.
It rained very hard all day. I was thoroughly soaked and by noon quite tired. So I stopped at a poor inn and stayed there all night. I began to wish I had never left home. I looked so miserable that they asked me many questions. From those questions I learned people suspected I was a runaway servant. I was in danger of being taken up on that suspicion. However, I went on the next day, and by evening reached an inn eight or ten miles from Burlington. It was kept by a Dr. Brown. He started a conversation while I took some refreshment. When he found I had read a little, he became very sociable and friendly. Our acquaintance continued as long as he lived. I imagine he had been an itinerant doctor. There was no town in England, or country in Europe, that he could not describe in detail. He had some education and was clever, but he was largely an unbeliever. Some years later he wickedly tried to mock the Bible in doggerel verse, as Cotton had done to Virgil. In doing this he made many facts look ridiculous, and he might have harmed 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 traveling, 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 of 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 stayed that night at his house. The next morning I reached Burlington. I was disappointed to find the regular boats had left just before I arrived. None were expected until Tuesday, and it was Saturday. So I went back to the old woman in town from whom I had bought gingerbread for the trip and asked her advice. She invited me to stay at her house until a boat left. I accepted because my feet were tired from walking. When she learned I was a printer, she wanted me to stay and work in the town. She did not know how much capital was needed to start. She was very hospitable. She gave me a dinner of ox-cheek and would accept only a pot of ale in return. I thought I would stay until Tuesday. That evening I walked by the river. A boat came by and I found it was going to Philadelphia. Several people were on board and they let me aboard. There was no wind, so we rowed all the way. About midnight, still not seeing the city, some of the party were sure we had already passed it and refused to row any further. The others did not know where we were. We headed for shore and turned into a creek. We landed near an old fence and used the rails to make a fire. The night was cold in October, and we stayed there until daylight. At daylight one of the men recognized the place as Cooper's Creek, a little above Philadelphia. We saw the city as soon as we left the creek. We arrived around eight or nine on 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 clothes 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 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 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.
I have given many details about my journey. I will do the same about my first arrival in the city. This lets you compare those unlikely beginnings with the position I later held there. I was in my work clothes. My best clothes were to come by sea. I was dirty from the journey. My pockets were stuffed with shirts and stockings. I did not know anyone or where to find lodging. I was tired from traveling, from rowing, and from lack of sleep. I was very hungry. I only had a Dutch dollar and about a shilling in copper coins. I gave the copper to the boatmen for my passage. They at first refused it because I had been rowing. I insisted they take it. Sometimes a person is more generous when he has little money than when he has plenty. Perhaps this is out of fear of being thought to have very 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 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 bade him give me three-penny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surpris'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, 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.
Then I walked up the street, gazing around, until near the market house I met a boy with bread. I had often made a meal of bread. I asked him where he got it and went at once to the baker's he directed me to, in Second Street. I asked for biscuit, meaning the kind we had in Boston, but it seems they were not made in Philadelphia. Then I asked for a three-penny loaf and was told they had none. I did not think about or know the difference in money, or how much cheaper bread was here, or the names of his breads. So I told him to 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. Having no room in my pockets, I walked off with a roll under each arm, eating the third. In this way I went up Market Street as far as Fourth Street, passing the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father. She was standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made a most awkward, ridiculous appearance, as I certainly did. Then I turned and went down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut Street, eating my roll all the way. Coming round, I found myself again at the Market Street wharf, near the boat I had come in. I went to it for a drink of the river water. Being filled by one of my rolls, I gave the other two to a woman and her child who had come 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' labour and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continu'd 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.
Refreshed, I walked up the street again. By then many people in clean clothes were walking the same way. I joined them and was led into the large Quaker meeting-house near the market. I sat down among them. I looked around for a while and heard nothing said. I was very drowsy from work and lack of sleep the previous night. I fell fast asleep and stayed that way until the meeting ended. Someone kindly woke me. This was, therefore, the first house I entered, 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.
As I walked back toward the river, I looked at people's faces. I met a young Quaker whose expression I liked. I spoke to him and asked where a stranger could find lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. He said, "There is one place here that takes in strangers, but it is not a respectable house. If you will walk with me, I'll show you a better one." He took me to the Crooked Billet on Water Street. There I had dinner. While I ate, people asked me several sly questions. From my youth and appearance, they seemed to suspect I might be a 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, traveling 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.
After dinner my sleepiness returned. I was shown to a bed and lay down without undressing. I slept until six in the evening. I was called to supper, then went to bed very early and slept soundly until the next morning. I made myself as tidy as I could and went to Andrew Bradford's printing shop. In the shop I found the old man, his father, whom I had seen in New York. He had traveled on horseback and had arrived in Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son. The son received me politely and gave me breakfast. He told me he did not need an extra hand at present, having recently been supplied with one. He said another printer in town, a man named Keimer, had just set up and might employ me. If Keimer did not, I was welcome to lodge at Bradford's house, and he would give me occasional work until fuller business came.
The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and when we found him, "Neighbour," 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 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 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.
The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer. When we found him, "Neighbor," says Bradford, "I have brought a young man in your line of business to see you. Perhaps you may need someone like him." Keimer asked me a few questions and put a composing stick in my hand to see how I worked. Then he said he would employ me soon, though he had nothing for me to do just then. He had never seen old Bradford before and took him for one of the townspeople who wished him well. So he began talking about his present undertaking and prospects. Bradford did not reveal that he was the other printer's father. When Keimer said he expected soon to get the greater part of the business into his own hands, Bradford led him on with crafty questions and little doubts he raised. In this way he got Keimer to explain all his plans, what influential backing he relied on, and how he meant to proceed. I stood by and heard it all. I saw at once that one of them was a crafty old sophist 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 shatter'd press, and one small, worn-out font of English, which he was then using himself, composing an Elegy on Aquilla 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 endeavour'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.
Keimer's printing house, I found, consisted of an old, shattered press and one small, worn-out set of English type. He was using it himself to compose an Elegy on Aquilla Rose, mentioned earlier. Rose was an intelligent young man, of excellent character, much respected in town. He was clerk of the Assembly and a decent poet. Keimer made verses too, but very poorly. He did not really write them. He would compose directly in the type from his head. So there was no copy, only one pair of cases, and the Elegy would likely use every letter. No one could help him. I endeavored to put his press into working order. He had not yet used it and did not understand it. I promised to come and print his Elegy as soon as it was ready. Then I returned to Bradford's. He gave me a small job for the moment, and I lodged and boarded there. A few days later Keimer sent for me to print the Elegy. He had now obtained another pair of cases and a pamphlet to reprint, and he set me to work on it.
Manuscript. Original handwritten document.
The frames that hold the type have two sections. The upper section holds capitals. The lower section holds small letters.
These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business. Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer, tho' something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of presswork. He had been one of the French prophets, 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 work'd 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 happen'd to see me eating my roll in the street.
I found both printers poorly qualified for their trade. Bradford had not been trained for it and was very illiterate. Keimer, though something of a scholar, was only a compositor and knew nothing about presswork. He had been one of the French prophets. He could perform their enthusiastic agitations. At that time he did not follow any particular religion. He would adopt parts of many on occasion. He was very ignorant of the world, and, as I afterward found, had a good deal of knavery in his character. He did not like my lodging at Bradford's while I worked with him. He had a house, but it had no furniture, so he could not lodge me. He found me a lodging at Mr. Read's mentioned before, who owned the house. By this time my chest and clothes had arrived, and I made a more respectable appearance in Miss Read's eyes than when she first happened to see me eating my roll in the street.
Protestants of the South of France became fanatical under the persecutions of Louis XIV. They believed they had the gift of prophecy. Their mottos were "No Taxes" and "Liberty of Conscience."
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, except my friend Collins, who was in my secret, and kept it when I wrote to him. At length, an incident happened that sent me back again much sooner than I had intended. I had a brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, master of a sloop that traded between Boston and Delaware. He being at Newcastle, forty miles below Philadelphia, heard there of me, and wrote me a letter mentioning the concern of my friends in Boston at my abrupt departure, assuring me of their good will to me, and that everything would be accommodated to my mind if I would return, to which he exhorted me very earnestly. I wrote an answer to his letter, thank'd him for his advice, but stated my reasons for quitting Boston fully and in such a light as to convince him I was not so wrong as he had apprehended.
I started to make acquaintances among the town's young people who loved reading. I spent my evenings with them and enjoyed myself. I earned money through hard work and frugality, and I lived comfortably. I tried to forget Boston as much as I could. I did not want anyone there to know where I lived, except my friend Collins. He knew my secret and kept it when I wrote to him. Eventually, something happened that sent me back sooner than I had planned. My brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, was the captain of a sloop that sailed between Boston and Delaware. He was at Newcastle, forty miles below Philadelphia, when he heard about me. He wrote to me and said my friends in Boston were worried about my sudden departure. He assured me they still wished me well and would arrange everything to my liking if I returned. He urged me very strongly to come back. I answered his letter and thanked him for his advice. I explained fully why I had left Boston. I wrote in such a way that he saw I was not as wrong as he had feared.