I had always told my young men over there to put a fair price on the clocks, which they did; but the officers thought they put them altogether too low, so they made up their minds that they would take a lot, and seized one ship-load, thinking we would put the prices of the next cargo at higher rates. They paid the cash for this cargo, which made a good sale for us. A few days after, another invoice arrived which our folks entered at the same prices as before; but they were again taken by the officers paying us cash and ten per cent. in addition, which was very satisfactory to us. On the arrival of the third lot, they began to think they had better let the Yankees sell their own goods and passed them through unmolested, and came to the conclusion that we could make clocks much better and cheaper than their own people. Their performance has been considered a first-rate joke to say the least. There will, in all probability, be millions of clocks sold in that country, and we are the people who will furnish all Europe with all their common cheap ones as time lasts.
All of the spring and eight day clocks have grown out of the one day weight clock. There can now be as good an eight day clock bought for three or four dollars, as could be had for eighteen or twenty dollars before I got up the one day clock. Mr. Peck, who went to England with my son, died in London on the 20th, September, 1857; my son died in this country in July, 1853: so they have gone the way of all the earth, and I shall have to follow them soon. They were instrumental in laying the foundation of a large and prosperous business which is now being successfully carried on. The duties on clocks to England have been recently removed, which will result to the advantage of persons now in the business. The many difficulties which we had to battle and contend with are all overcome. When I invented this one day brass clock, I for the first time put on the zinc dial which is now universally used, and is a great improvement on the wood dial, both in appearance and in cost. This simple idea has been of immense value to all clock-makers.
In the year 1821, when I moved to Bristol, no one was making clocks in that town; the business had all passed away from there and was carried on in Plymouth. The little shop I had put up had no machinery in it at that time. I soon began to make so many cases that I wanted some better way to get my veneers than to saw them by hand. I found a small building on a stream some distance from my shop which I secured, with the privilege of putting a circular saw in the upper part, but which I could not use till night—the power being wanted for the other machinery during the day. I have worked there a great many nights till twelve o'clock and even two in the morning, sawing veneers for my men to use the next day. I sawed my hand nearly off one night when alone at this old mill, and was so faint by the loss of blood that I could hardly reach home. I always worked hard myself and managed in the most economical manner possible. In 1825, we built a small factory on the stream below the shop where I sawed my veneers two or three years before, but there was no road to it or bridge across the stream. I had crossed it for years on a pole, running the risk many times when the water was high, of being drowned, but it seems I was not to die in that way, but to live to help others and make a slave of myself for them. In 1826, we petitioned the town to lay out a road by our factory and build a bridge, which was seriously objected to. We finally told them that if they would lay out the road, we would build the bridge and pay for one half of the land for the road, which, after a great deal of trouble, was agreed to, and proved to be of great benefit to the town. Our business was growing very rapidly and a number of houses were built up along the new road and about our factory. I should here mention that Mr. Eli Terry, Jr., when I had got the Bronze Looking-Glass Clock well a going, moved from Plymouth Hollow two miles east of Plymouth Centre, (now the village of Terryville,) where he built another factory and went into business. His father retiring about this time, he took all of his old customers. He was a good business man and made money very fast. He was taken sick and died when about forty years old, leaving an estate of about $75,000. His brother, Silas B. Terry, is now living, a Christian gentleman, as well as a scientific clock-maker, but he has not succeeded so well as his brother in making money. Henry Terry of Plymouth, who is another son of Mr. Eli Terry, was engaged in the clock business thirty years ago, but left it for the woolen business. I think that he is sorry that he did not continue making clocks. He is a man of great intelligence and understands the principles of a right tariff as well as any man in Connecticut. His father was a great man, a natural philosopher, and almost an Eli Whitney in mechanical ingenuity. If he had turned his mind towards a military profession, he would have made another General Scott, or towards politics, another Jefferson; or, if he had not happened to have gone to the town of Plymouth, I do not believe there would ever have been a clock made there. He was the great originator of wood clock-making by machinery in Connecticut. I like to see every man have his due. Thomas and many others who have made their fortunes out of his ingenuity, were very willing to talk against him, for they must, of course, act out human nature. Seth Thomas was in many respects a first-rate man. He never made any improvements in manufacturing; his great success was in money making. He always minded his own business, was very industrious, persevering, honest, his word was as good as his note, and he always determined to make a good article and please his customers. He had several sons who are said to be smart business men.
I knew Mrs. Thomas well when I was a boy, fourteen years old. She is one of the best of women, and is now the widow of one of the richest men in the state. The families of Terry and Thomas are extensively known, throughout the United States. Mr. Thomas died two years ago at the age of seventy-five. He was born in West Haven, about four miles from New Haven, and learned the joiners' trade in Wolcott, and worked in that region and in Plymouth five or six years, building houses and barns. I waited on him when he built a barn in Plymouth, carrying boards and shingles. He soon after went into the clock business in which he remained during life. Mr. Terry died in 1853, at the advanced age of eighty-one.
CHAPTER VI.
OPERATIONS OF FRANK MERRILLS—A SAD HISTORY.—BUSINESS TROUBLES, ETC.
In the fall, of the year 1840, a young man by the name of Franklin Merrills was introduced to me as one the smartest and likeliest business men in the whole country. It was said that he could trade in horses, cattle, sheep, wool, flour, or any thing else, and make money. He belonged to one of the first families in Litchfield county. I thought by his appearance and recommendations that he would be a good customer for me and I sold him a thousand dollars worth of clocks to begin with. He gave me his four months' note which was promptly paid when due. He hired three pedlars and went with them into Dutchess county New York, where they sold the clocks very fast. The one-day O.G. brass clock was a new thing to them, first-rate for time, and they readily went off for fifteen and twenty dollars apiece. I sold them to him for six dollars apiece, and it appeared, at this rate, that he could make a fortune in a few years. His credit became established for any amount, and he soon began to want clocks about twice as fast as at first. A man by the name of Bates transported them for him in a large two-horse wagon from my place to Washington Hollow, about twelve miles east of Poughkeepsie. Mr. Bates lived in the same neighborhood where Frank was brought up in New Hartford, Conn. Every week or two he would go out with a load. Things moved on in this seemingly prosperous way for some time. One day I accidentally heard that parties in New York with whom I had never dealt, were selling my clocks at very reduced prices, and I began to mistrust that Frank had been selling to them at less than cost. On seeing him, he told me I was greatly mistaken and smoothed down the matter so that it appeared satisfactory to me. He had at this time got into debt about eighteen thousand dollars. One day he went to Hartford and bought seven thousand dollars worth of cotton cloth from a shrewd house in that city, telling them a very fine story that he had a vessel which would sail for South America the next day, and that the cloth must go down immediately on the boat. He told them who his father was, and promised to bring his endorsement in a few days, which was satisfactory to them, and they let him have the goods. But the paper did not come. One of the firm went to New York and there found some of the goods in an Auction store, and a part of them sold. He got out a writ and arrested Frank. His father was sent for, and settled this matter satisfactorily. I thought I would go up to New Hartford and see Capt. Merrills about Frank's affairs—he told me all about them, and said he had been looking over Frank's business very thoroughly, and found that a large amount was owing him and that Frank had shown him on his book invoices of a large amount of goods that he had shipped to South America, besides several large accounts and notes—one of eight thousand dollars. He told me that he thought after paying me and others whom he owed, there would be as much as twenty thousand dollars left. This was very satisfactory to me, though I knew nothing about the cotton cloth speculation at that time. If I had, it would have saved me a great deal of trouble. This was in February, 1844. There was a note of his lying over, unpaid, in the Exchange Bank in Hartford, of two thousand dollars. I had moved a few weeks before this to New Haven. In the latter part of February, I went down to New York to see if he could let me have the two thousand to take up the note; he said he could in a day or two. I told him I would stay till Saturday. On that day he was not able to pay me, but would certainly get it Monday, and urged me to stay over, which I did. He took me into a large establishment with him, and, as I have since had reason to believe, talked with parties who were interested with him, about consigning to them a large quantity of tallow, beeswax and wool which he owned in the West. He told me that he had some trouble with his business, and that all he wanted was a little help; he said he had a great deal of property in New York State, and that if he could raise some money, he could make a very profitable speculation on a lot of wool which he knew about. He told me that if I would give him my notes and acceptances to a certain amount, he would secure me with the obligations of Henry Martin, one of the best farmers there was in Dutchess county. He also gave the names of several merchants in New York who were acquainted with the rich farmers. I called on them and all spoke very highly of him. I thought, there could be no great risk in doing it, for my confidence in Frank was very great. I thought, of course, this would insure my claim of eighteen thousand dollars, but it eventually proved to be a deep-laid plot to swindle me. Frank had no notes or accounts that were of any value; they were all bogus and got up to deceive his poor old father and others. He had no property shipped to South America. It was all found out, when too late, that he had ruined himself by gambling and bad company, often losing a thousand dollars in one night. He was arrested, taken before the Grand Jury of New York, committed to jail for swindling, and died in a few months after. He ruined his father, who was a very cautious man, ruined three rich farmers of Dutchess county, and came very near ruining me. It was a sad history and mortifying to a great many. I was advised by my counsel, Seth P. Staples of New York, to contest the whole thing in law. I had five or six suits on my hands at one time, and it was nine years before I was clear from them. What he owed me for clocks, and what I had to pay on notes and acceptances and the expenses of law, amounted to more than Forty Thousand Dollars. Nine years of wakeful nights of trouble, grief and mortification, for this profligate young man! There never was a man more honest than I was in my intentions to help him in his troubles, and I am quite sure no man got so badly swindled. Every clock maker in the state would have been glad to have sold to him as I did. This young man was well brought up, but bad company ruined him and others with him. This life seems to be full of trials. In latter years I have remembered what an old man often told me when a boy. "Chauncey," he says, "don't you know there are a thousand troubles and difficulties?" I told him I did not know there were; "well," he says, "you will find out if you live long enough." I have lived long enough to see ten thousand troubles, and have found out that the saying of the old man is true. I have narrated but a small part of my business troubless [sic.] in this brief history. One of the most trying things to me now, is to see how I am looked upon by the community since I lost my property. I never was any better when I owned it than I am now, and never behaved any better. But how different is the feeling towards you, when your neighbors can make nothing more out of you, politically or pecuniarily. It makes no difference what, or how much you have done for them heretofore, you are passed by without notice now. It is all money and business, business and money which make the man now-a-days; success is every thing, and it makes very little difference how, or what means he uses to obtain it. How many we see every day that have ten times as much property as they will ever want, who will do any thing but steal to add to their estate, for somebody to fight about when they are dead. I see men every day sixty and seventy years old, building up and pulling down, and preparing, as one might reasonably suppose, to live here forever. Where will they be in a few years? I often think of this. My experience has been great,—I have seen many a man go up and then go down, and many persons who, but a few years ago, were surrounded with honors and wealth, have passed away. The saying of the wise man is true—all is "vanity of vanities" here below. It is now a time of great action in the world but not much reflection.
An incident of my boy-hood has just come into my mind. When an apprentice boy, I was at work with my "boss" on a house in Torringford, very near the residence of Rev. Mr. Mills, the father of Samuel J. Mills the missionary. This was in 1809, fifty-one years ago. This young man was preparing to go out on his missionary voyage. How wickedly we are taught when we are young! I thought he was a mean, lazy fellow. He was riding out every day, as I now suppose, to add to his strength. An old maid lived in the house where I did who perfectly hated him, calling him a good-for-nothing fellow. I, of course, supposed that she knew all about him and that it was so. I am a friend to the missionary cause and have been so a great many years. How many times that wrong impression which I got from that old maid has passed through my mind, and how sorry I have always been for that prejudice. The father of Samuel J. Mills was a very eccentric man and anecdotes of him have been repeatedly told. I attended his church the summer I was in Torringford. He was the strangest man I ever saw, and would say so many laughable things in his sermon that it was next to impossible for me to keep from laughing out loud. His congregation was composed mostly of farmers, and in hot weather they appeared to be very sleepy. The boys would sometimes play and make a good deal of noise, and one Sunday he stopped in the middle of his sermon and looking around in the gallery, said in a loud voice, "boys, if you don't stop your noise and play, you will certainly wake your parents that are asleep below!" I think by this time the good people were all awake; it amused me very much and I have often seen the story printed. Many a time when I think of Mr. Mills, an anecdote of him comes into my mind, and I presume that a great many have heard of the same. He was once traveling through the town of Litchfield where there was at that time a famous law school. Two or three of the students were walking a little way out of town, when who should they see coming along the road but old Mr. Mills. They supposing him to be some old "codger," thought they would have a little fun with him. When they met him one of them asked him "if he had heard the news?" "No," he says, "what is it?" "The devil is dead." "Is he?" says Mr. Mills, "I am sorry for you—poor fatherless children, what will become of you?" I understand that they let him pass without further conversation. He was a good man and looked very old to me, as he always wore a large white wig.