The irrepressible Sultan of Bath

by Jeffrey Bradley

Like Benjamin Franklin, another titan of the age, William King was an industrious up-by-thebootstraps type of man of relentless energy who was able to amass immense fortune and power. Both were known also for their integrity and a lifelong habit of thrift and saving. Born in February 1768 to a prosperous Scarborough family that fell on hard times, King managed only the briefest education before setting out on the road. At just 21, this “stalwart lad in crude homespun” was already following the way toward the town of Bath and his destiny. Insight, perseverance, and a hard work ethic enabled his mastering the diverse realms of business, politics, the military, and even to become the first governor of Maine.

First, he went about building his finances. Arriving threadbare in Topsham but ready for work, he started out learning the lumber trade. In no time he was owning a sawmill, a shipyard, and an entire fleet of merchant vessels. Next, he opened the state’s first cotton mill, the first bank in Bath, and possessed such extensive real estate holdings that from them emerged the eventual town of Kingfield. Soon he was one of the richest and most influential men in the province.

In today’s parlance King was a workaholic; but he didn’t scrimp, and always enjoyed the finer things that life had to offer.

By 1804 he was already representing Bath in the State Legislature in Boston and later served in the State Senate. As a “Jeffersonian”, or Democratic-Republican, King displayed a positive genius for pursuing the nonpartisan approach, which burnished his honesty to epic proportions. Later this paid big political dividends. It was about at this time that his regal style also began to earn him the nickname as “the Sultan of Bath.”

One bill he sponsored helped put an end to unscrupulous early land practices. Wilderness setters might suddenly find themselves dispossessed, evicted, and forfeiting all that they owned if an earlier claim could be established. This new bill provided they at least be adequately compensated. Fairness like this went a long way at election time.

With the War of 1812 King was appointed a major general in charge of raising militia and coastal defenses. It also allowed him to keep an eye on his empire. For unstinting effort, he was made a colonel in the regular United States Army. In 1813 he began his valiant seven-year campaign to separate the province of Maine from Massachusetts, largely due to frustration with the Commonwealth’s failures during the war. And he proved just the man for the job: well-known, well-to-do, and well-connected, he was at the height of his popular powers. A coalition gradually formed to push for independence and the 1819 referendum that passed in a landslide. A year later, as part of the Missouri Compromise, Maine became the Union’s 23rd state, and King was elected its very first governor.

Of all his amazing accomplishments this is the one that defined him the most.

Tall, stentorian, edgy, and pushy — common traits in this age of Napoleon — King had the ability to dominate just about any room that he entered. Still, he served barely a year before being called away to assume a commission in Washington.

A natural leader, King could be caustic, too, bringing his famously pointed wit to bear against his fellow politicos. And he was prone to winning debates by shouting down his opponents. A bit of a cranky iconoclast, he liked to recount that his relationship with the church usually made him come out smelling “about like a skunk.” This dour demeanor did not extend to the alcohol served plentifully at his table despite a strong popular sentiment against it. Too liberal by half in his views for most of his peers, even his card parties could become a source of contention. Said to be uncommonly fond of the game, the Sultan would slap his hand down thunderously on the table, while (cont. on page 26) somehow always remaining the perfect host. Of a type immediately loved or hated, most contemporary accounts of him describe a man truly deserving of all his accolades.

Gracious, genteel, but ever striving, King married according to his station and wed Ann Frazier, the belle of Boston society. He reportedly cut a dashing figure resplendent in a military coat of vivid scarlet lining as he escorted his rustling bride down the aisle. Summering at Stonehouse Farm amid acres of rolling pastures and ripening orchards set atop Whiskeag Hill, in that mansion of polished granite Governor King and his lady would entertain as royally as in the olden times of yore. From its lofty cupola the Sultan could overlook and admire his entire domain while his ships lay gently abob on the Kennebec River. That site is now on the list of the National Register of Historic Places.

Remaining a pillar of strength, the aged King kept to a busy schedule. Freemason, trustee of Bowdoin College (despite the limited education) and by appointment the Customs Collector of Bath, all lay before him. Later still he ran again for governor but lost. As the end approached, that brilliant mind gradually dimmed, and he fell a victim to ill health and a woeful string of domestic troubles.

An 1852 statue of King depicts an imposing figure dressed proudly in Western boots but draped in a Roman toga. He died at home, in Bath, in July of that year, at the age of 85 and lies buried in Maple Grove Cemetery.