Mungo the Squirrel
Ben Franklin's squirrel and its transatlantic diplomacy mission.
“So I play my ambassador part with pride / I am known in the world, and the world is wide,” sing the band The Decembrists in their song about founding father Benjamin Franklin (the song was written by Lin-Manuel Miranda, originally for Hamilton).
The lyrics capture Franklin’s role as a facilitator of transatlantic cooperation: In the 1760s and 1770s, Franklin lived in Britain, serving as something of an ambassador for the colony of Pennsylvania. During his time in Europe, Franklin would network with the elite, building relationships that could benefit his home colony.
A part of Franklin’s transatlantic diplomacy efforts relied on gift-giving. Gifts were exchanged as tokens of gratitude. And Franklin often gave gifts that captured the American spirit: apples, apple trees, and even squirrels.
During his time in Britain, Franklin would spend weekends at the country estate of bishop Jonathan Shipley. Thus, Franklin got to know Shipley’s family –– his wife, his son, and his five daughters. They became something of a surrogate family for him during his time abroad.
Franklin bonded with the Shipley’s second-youngest daughter Georgiana, who was seventeen at the time. Franklin wanted to give Georgiana a pet –– so he wrote to his wife Deborah back in Pennsylvania and asked her to send over a gray squirrel.
To our modern sensibilities, a squirrel sounds like a terrible pet. But, in the 1700s, squirrels weren’t the urban rodents we know today. (They weren’t introduce to American parks until the 1800s.) Rather, in the 1700s, wealthy urban families often kept squirrels as pets. While some pet squirrels were bought in pet shops, they were more often captured in the wilderness and then taken in as pets. In her 1851 book on pet management, Jane Loudon describes the pet squirrel as a “beautiful little creature, very agile and graceful in its movements.”
In January 1772, Franklin’s squirrel arrived in England, with Ben writing to Deborah: “The squirrel comes safe and well. … I thank you for the readiness with which you executed the commission.” As historian Joyce Chaplin points out, the squirrel’s safe transit across the ocean illustrates “Franklin’s authority over and trust in his network of ship’s captains, who, agreeing to transport the animals, accepted the delicate task of keeping them fed, watered, and out of the hands of ravenous, rodent-roasting midshipmen.”
Upon its arrival in Europe, Franklin gave the squirrel to Georgiana, who named him Mungo.
Mungo lived on the Shipley’s estate. While details are sparse on Mungo’s life, most squirrels in the eighteenth century were kept in cages, often containing running wheels to help them get exercise. The squirrels would often be let out of their cages for playtime, during which they’d run around rooms, hide in corners, and build up stashes of found objects.
It was during one of these playtimes that Mungo met his untimely demise. In September 1772, Georgiana wrote to Franklin: “I have the misfortune to acquaint you that last week poor Mungo got out of his cage and was killed by a dog. I was really very much concerned for it, as I am remarkably fond of all squirrels, and particularly valued Mungo as being the Gift of my good Friend. I perfer’d it to the European Squirrels for being more Gentle and Good humored and full as lively.”
Georgiana’s last line illustrates the success of Mungo as a diplomatic symbol: She came to see Mungo the American squirrel as a better pet than any European counterpart. American squirrels, in turn, were special.
Franklin responded to Georgiana, celebrating the life of this transatlantic rodent. He wrote: “I lament with you most sincerely the unfortunate end of poor Mungo: Few squirrels were better accomplish’d; for he had had a good education, had travell’d far, and seen much of the world.” In his letter, Franklin went on to include an elegy celebrate Mungo’s life:
Alas! poor Mungo!
Happy wert thou, hadst thou known
Thy own Felicity!
Remote from the fierce Bald-Eagle,
Tyrant of thy native Woods,
Thou hadst nought to fear from his piercing Talons;
Nor from the murdering Gun
Of the thoughtless Sportsman.
…
But, discontented, thou wouldst have more Freedom.
Too soon, alas! didst thou obtain it,
And, wandering,
Fell by the merciless Fangs,
Of wanton, cruel Ranger.
Learn hence, ye who blindly wish more Liberty,
Whether Subjects, Sons, Squirrels or Daughters,
That apparent Restraint may be real Protection,
Yielding Peace, Plenty, and Security.
This poem is not only a celebration of Mungo’s transatlantic life, which began in the wilderness of Pennsylvania and ended on an English estate. The poem is also a commentary on Franklin’s transatlantic diplomacy. Franklin celebrates the grandeur of the American wilderness –– “the fierce Bald-Eagle,” “thy native Woods” –– for his British reader, just as Georgiana celebrated the “Gentle and Good humored” nature of the American gray squirrel in her letter to Franklin.
Franklin also ends his poem by criticizing the growing movement for American independence. At this time, Franklin was reluctant to support revolution –– and his comments on “blindly wish[ing for] more Liberty” use Mungo as a tool for political commentary. In Franklin’s mind, Mungo’s untimely death is a symbol for what could happen to America if the colonies fought for independence: America, like Mungo, could be killed (albeit by the British crown instead of by a dog).
Thus, Mungo was never just a squirrel.
He was a testament to the strength of the shipping network, a symbol of what makes America special, and a sign of transatlantic cooperation.
An epilogue:
In his September 1772 letter following Mungo’s passing, Franklin offers to Georgiana: “If you wish it, I shall procure another [squirrel] to succeed him.” Georgiana does wish it. Franklin sends over another squirrel who lives a much fuller life –– outliving even Franklin’s views against American independence. A letter from Georgiana to Franklin in May 1779 (five years later) mentions Mungo’s successor: “The American Squirrel is still living, & much caress’d; poor fellow! he is grown quite old & has lost his eye-sight, but nevertheless preserves his spirits & wonted activity.”
Notes:
I first learned about Mungo when visiting the Ben Franklin Museum in Philadelphia earlier this week.
I’m not the first to write about Mungo. John Kelly did so for The Washington Post in this 2017 column.
More on squirrels as pets in this Atlas Obscura article.
Joyce Chaplin’s book on Benjamin Franklin is The First Scientific American (2007).
All the quotes from letters are pulled from the National Archives: Franklin to Shipley 1772, Franklin to D. Franklin 1773, Franklin to Shipley 1779.
Penn historian of science Etienne Benson has written a brilliant history of the urbanization of the Eastern gray squirrel. Read it here.