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  Franklin attacked the problem in the Pennsylvania Gazette, with a dialogue among citizens X, Y, and Z.

  “For my part,” said Z, “I am no coward, but hang me if I’ll fight to save the Quakers.”

  X replied, “That is to say you won’t pump ship because it’ll save the rats as well as yourself.”

  In late November came the worst news from the defenseless frontier. A Shawnee tribe surprised the German village of Gnadenhutten, killing all but a few, who escaped to the woods. The victims had been pacifists, like the Quakers. Terror swept Pennsylvania. Farmers abandoned their homesteads and crowded into villages. Governor Morris begged Franklin to organize 300 rangers and lead them to the frontier.

  Franklin accepted the assignment. He knew little about military affairs, but he knew how to lead. William, with his military experience, took charge of logistics. “My son was of much use to me,” Franklin wrote. He named his son his personal aide-de-camp and secretary to the defense commission. William enlisted many of his young friends in the militia; they were well-trained horsemen and could afford to equip themselves. Franklin marched his rangers to the frontier, organized militia in a number of towns, then advanced to Gnadenhutten, slogging through cold, sleet, and rain. He spent his fiftieth birthday in a German farmer’s barn, wet from an all-day march. Native-American snipers fired from a distance, but they didn’t have the fortitude to engage Franklin’s well-armed force.

  Franklin and his son directed the army in building a fort. Franklin noticed, on days the men worked hard, they were “good-natured and cheerful,” while on days when rain forced them to be idle, they were irritable, “finding fault with their pork, the bread, etc., and in continual ill-humour.”

  The small army had a Presbyterian chaplain, Charles Beatty, who came to Franklin complaining the men “did not generally attend his prayers and exhortations.” As a soldier of the Lord, he was hoping Franklin would issue an order, forcing the men to worship under threat of punishment. Instead, Franklin suggested the chaplain double as steward of the rum. (The men were guaranteed a quarter-pint of rum a day, half in the morning and half in the evening.) He advised Beatty to distribute the rum after prayers, and the chaplain took his advice. “Never were prayers more generally and more punctually attended,” Franklin said.

  The frontier secured, the Franklins returned to Philadelphia, where they encountered more unrest between the Assembly and the ruling party. The £5,000 the Penns supposedly donated to the war consisted of back rents in Pennsylvania that the Assembly would have to collect. Franklin led the Assembly in a mass march through the streets to deliver a “remonstrance” to the governor. When the governor insisted his instructions be followed, the Assembly ordered another resolution, “That a commissioner or commissioners be appointed to go home to England, in behalf of the people of this province, to solicit a removal of the grievances we labor under by reason of Proprietary instructions.” Franklin was chosen for the job, and he took William with him both to serve as chief assistant and to complete law studies at the Inns of Court, in London.

  William still had hopes of marrying Elizabeth Graeme, his beloved Betsy. In an attempt to secure her father’s blessing of their union, Betsy promised that William would cease participating in political smear campaigns on behalf of Franklin, with whom Dr. Graeme had long feuded. Much of what William wrote under his pseudonym Humphrey Scourge had targeted Dr. Graeme’s friends. William agreed he would set aside his pen.

  If he were to accompany his father to London, though, his plans with Betsy would have to wait. William needed convincing. In the bargain, Franklin revised his will to make William his heir and executor. He also agreed to pay for William’s legal education in London. But then, as the father and son set out on their journey, Franklin began to note the expenses paid on William’s behalf. These ranged from routine – meals, lodging, and clothes – to the cost of passage, which was quite high. It was evident from this ledger that Franklin expected repayment.

  The Franklins rented rooms in a house on Craven Street, just off The Strand, one of the most fashionable streets in London and a few blocks from government offices in the Palace of Whitehall and the Houses of Parliament. Franklin wrote to Deborah about the accommodations: “As you desire to know several particulars about me, I now let you know that I lodge in Craven Street near Charing Cross, Westminster; we have four rooms, furnished, and everything about us pretty genteel.” A widow, Margaret Stevenson, who had an attractive daughter, Polly, owned the home. Franklin soon took the Stevensons as a second family; Polly became like a daughter. She was intelligent, and Franklin encouraged her to study science and ask questions. During the next several years, he wrote her several letters about scientific topics, such as why black cloth absorbs more heat than white. He urged Polly to marry and raise a family, making it clear he hoped William would propose and she would become his daughter-in-law.

  But William was too busy enjoying London. He did not particularly like the studious Polly, and he believed Betsy was waiting for him in Philadelphia, though since arriving in London, he had written her only once, on his arrival.

  William continued to study law at the Inns of Courts. For two years, he prepared for his bar examinations while clerking for a London barrister. In his free time, he wrote volumes on the history of the Pennsylvania legislature, though he found himself increasingly compelled by English law and its monarchy. He was also becoming, as customs required, an English gentleman; he learned to play cards and fence and acquired the proper etiquette for court and society. When his sister wrote from Philadelphia about the latest fashions, William replied with a lecture on the proper style of lace cuffs worn by English barristers.

  Before long, William was again wielding his pen against his father’s political foes. His letters to London newspapers attacking Penn propagandists were sent anonymously. But then two long letters criticizing the American militia under Franklin as weak drew William out. To give his counter-argument weight, he boldly signed his name, identifying himself as an officer with direct knowledge of the militia’s competence. His letter was printed in the London Citizen, and then the Gentleman’s Magazine, bringing him some celebrity.

  Word reached the Graeme family in Philadelphia of William’s broken promise to avoid politics. His loyalty to his father, William feared, had become “the bane of my future happiness.” Betsy reacted furiously; in her letter to William, she called him “a collection of party malice.” William protested, making a feeble attempt to reconcile their relationship, but the truth was his affection for her had already faded. “Forget the man who in all probability could never have it in his power to be so happy as to contribute to your happiness,” he wrote in his final letter to Betsy. “I, only I, have to learn forgetfulness.” The engagement was over.

  William had already met and fallen in love with someone else – a dependent woman named Elizabeth Downes, daughter of a West Indian planter. She was pretty, with a gentle disposition. But she refused to marry William since he depended on his father for his considerable expenses and had no other means of support. At one point, William told his father, “I am extremely oblig’d to you for your care in supplying me with money” and assured his father he would never forget his “paternal affection.”

  Franklin had been generous, particularly after his recovery that first autumn in London from a bout of pleurisy, which labored his breathing and laid him up for months. His hostess, Mrs. Stevenson, had been a gentle caregiver, and William had dutifully attended to Franklin’s business and causes. Franklin’s generosity was born of gratitude and relief at having recovered his health. In buying sprees, they stocked up practical items: wheels of cheese, shoes, and sewing supplies. Still, to William, Franklin preached self-restraint and self-discipline. Franklin wrote in verse intended for William:

  I know, dear son, ambition fills your mind,

  And in life’s voyage is the impelling wind,

  But at the helm let sober reason stand

  To steer the b
ark with heaven-directed hand.”

  He also counseled William, who was now in his thirties, that it was counter-productive to stay out late, following that adage from Poor Richard’s Almanack: “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.” But Franklin often ignored his own advice. In London, he quickly became a popular figure, a member of private clubs, and entertained friends every evening.

  Perhaps the best example of Franklin’s ability to gain friends in England was a letter from William Strahan, the richest, most powerful printer in London, publisher of an influential newspaper and of books such as Samuel Johnson’s famed dictionary. Strahan wrote to Franklin’s partner, David Hall, illustrating that in Franklin’s six years in England, his friendship with the American had become the most important relationship in his life, outside his family.

  Strahan began by telling “Dear Davie” - Hall had worked as an apprentice for him before joining Franklin in Philadelphia - that he would never have seen Franklin in England “had my power been in any measure equal to my inclination.” It was amazing, Strahan wrote, the way Franklin, with his talents and abilities, had won the admiration and affection of “the greatest geniuses of this country,” as well as businessmen like himself. Franklin knew how “to level himself for the time to the understandings of his company, and to enter without affectation into their amusements and chitchat.” He made people from all walks of life “his affectionate friends.”

  Strahan said, “I never found a person in my whole life more thoroughly to my mind . . . . It would much exceed the bounds of a letter to tell you in how many views, and on how many accounts, I esteem and love him . . . Suffice it to say that I part with him with infinite regret and sorrow. I know not where to find his equal, nor can the chasm his departure leaves in my social enjoyments and happiness ever be filled up. There is something in his leaving us even more cruel than a separation by death; it is like an untimely death, where we part with a friend to meet no more, with a whole heart, as we say in Scotland.”

  Franklin was magnetic, decked out in expensive suits and the finest wig. Women were drawn to him, and he took advantage by constantly flirting. Strahan wrote to Franklin’s wife Deborah a warning: “Now, madam, as I know the ladies here consider him in exactly the same light as I do, upon my word I think I should come over with all convenient speed to look after your interest. Not but that I think him as faithful as any man breathing, but who knows what repeated and strong temptation may in time, and while he is at so great a distance from you, accomplish.”

  Persistent rumors of Franklin’s infidelity reached Deborah, who wrote to her husband in despair. Franklin reassured her, “I am concerned that so much trouble should be given to you by idle reports. . . . Be satisfied, my dear, that while I have my senses, and God vouchsafes me his protection, I shall do nothing unworthy the character of an honest man, and one that loves his family.” But sometime later, a visitor from Philadelphia would stumble upon evidence of Franklin’s affairs. Finding the door at the Craven Street home unlocked, Charles Willson Peale – an artist and close friend of William’s – let himself him. Peering through another door, left ajar, he witnessed Franklin kissing and fondling a young woman on his lap.

  Like his father, William found it difficult to control his carnal desires, and soon he informed Franklin he was a grandfather. A son, whom William named William Temple, had been born to a woman historians never have identified. She may have had a hat shop, and Franklin uncharacteristically loaned money to set up a business after she sent him a flurry of desperate letters. Franklin insisted his son accept responsibility and gave him money to place the child with a good family in the country, who would raise him until he went to school. The Franklins implored their friend William Strahan to keep a close watch on the boy and hide his paternity for the time being.

  With William’s help, Franklin forced the Penns to agree to be taxed by the Pennsylvania Assembly. To this victory, Franklin added a personal one. Through friends close to the British throne, he secured an appointment for William as governor of New Jersey. For William, it achieved another goal. Now well on his way to becoming his own man, William was at last a worthy match for the lady Elizabeth Downes. He was a self-confident man, in his mid-thirties, with an honorary master of law degree from Oxford and a public office awaiting him in America.

  Franklin could sense his son pulling away. Embittered by his son’s choice of a bride, he left London a few weeks before the wedding. He wrote a sad farewell to Polly Stevenson, who he had hoped to convince William to wed: “Adieu, my dearest child. I will call you so. Why should I not call you so since I love you with all the tenderness, all the fondness of a father? Adieu. May the God of all goodness shower down his choices blessings upon you and make you infinitely hazier than . . . marriage to William could have made you. Adieu.”

  Franklin told his friend William Strahan he felt so depressed on leaving England that Strahan’s “persuasions and arguments” had affected him. “The attraction of reason is at present for the other side of the water, but that of inclination will be for this side. You know which usually prevails. I shall probably make but this one vibration and settle here forever. Nothing will prevent it, if I can, as I hope I can, prevail with Mrs. F. to accompany me.”

  William and Elizabeth were married at St. George’s Church on Hanover Square in a ceremony conducted by her brother. Strahan described the bride as “as good a soul as breathes, and they are very happy in one another. She is indeed a favorite with all who knew her.” Elizabeth knew nothing of her husband’s illegitimate son, and William decided to keep the secret a while longer. As he prepared to leave London, he made arrangements with Strahan to provide for Temple - as he called the boy – from New Jersey. He wrote a will, naming Elizabeth and Temple as his heirs.

  Less than a week later, William Franklin kneeled before King George III to accept his commission as royal governor of New Jersey. Franklin was absent for his son’s oath of office. In letters to his favorite sister, Franklin omitted news of both William’s marriage and his appointment, which resulted in her learning about it in the Boston newspapers. Back in America, he arranged a grand reception for his son that included a salute from members of William’s old cavalry unit. Franklin’s carriage took Elizabeth home. Franklin, meanwhile, laid out his plans for William’s governorship. With his son as a governor directly under the rule of the crown, Franklin saw an opportunity to run the Penns out of Pennsylvania.

  Franklin never had forgotten William’s description of the Ohio Valley. With the French defeated, this area was English territory. He had discussed with friends in England the possibility of founding a colony there as William Penn had founded Pennsylvania. What better way to train his son than to inherit the responsibility this political experiment would leave him.

  With haste, father and son set off on horseback for New Jersey, escorted by a royal cavalcade. Franklin would not miss this milestone. William mounted the steps of an old stone courthouse, where his commission was read aloud, and after a short speech, he claimed his post.

  Franklin returned to Philadelphia, already longing to return to London. He tried to persuade Deborah to go with him. He was serious about spending the rest of his life there. In a letter to an English friend, he said, “Why should that petty island, which compared to America is but like a stepping stone in a book, scarce enough of it above water to keep one’s shoes dry; why, I say, should that little island, enjoy in almost every neighborhood, more sensible, virtuous and elegant minds, than we can collect in ranging a hundred leagues of our vast forests?” From Philadelphia, he assured Strahan, “In two years at farthest I hope to settle all my affairs in such a manner, as that I may then conveniently remove to England, provided we can persuade the good woman to cross the seas.”

  But the good woman, afraid of ships and water, refused to cross an ocean. Franklin began building a new house in Philadelphia, and Governor William Franklin soon was telling Strahan his father was planning to spend
his remaining years in America.

  By now, Franklin was fifty-nine, an old man in a century when most died in their forties and fifties. Yet Franklin did not act old. He had the burly, bulky vigor of middle age, despite a paunch that sometimes prompted him to call himself Dr. Fatsides.

  When war with the Indians erupted on the Pennsylvania frontier, the need to tax the Penns’ estates again became a problem in the colony’s Assembly. Franklin, elected in absentia during his years in England, prepared the tax bill in accordance with his agreement with the Penns. Then he discovered the Penns had instructed their governor not to permit any taxation on their lands that exceeded the lowest taxes that individual owners paid on the cheapest land in the colony.

  Infuriated but calm, Franklin marshaled his forces and rammed through a bill petitioning the king to remove the government of Pennsylvania from the Penns immediately. Despite the opposition of Penn supporters, the Assembly appointed Franklin to take the petition to London and secure approval from the king and his Privy Councilors. Franklin assured Deborah he would return within twelve months. Escorted by 300 men on horseback, he rode to Chester on the Delaware, where the ship, King of Prussia, waited. Cannon boomed as he went aboard, and the crowd sang a revised version of “God Save the King”:

  O LORD our GOD arise,

  Scatter our Enemies,

  And make them fall.

  Confound their Politicks,

  Frustrate such Hypocrites,

  Franklin, on Thee we fix,

  GOD Save us all

  Thy Knowledge rich in Store,

  On Pennsylvania pour,

  Thou (sic) great Blessing

  Long to defend our Laws,

  Still give us greater Cause,

  To sing with Heart and Voice,

  GEORGE and FRANKLIN

  GOD Save Great GEORGE our King;

  Prosper agent FRANKLIN:

  Grant him Success:

  Hark how the Vallies ring;