Lightning Man_ The Accursed Life of Samuel F. B. Morse - Kenneth Silverman [117]
During the time-out Morse seems to have weighed several possibilities. He might withdraw the defective wire from the Tatham tubes and revarnish it. Or lay down a short line in Washington between the Patent Office and the Capitol, to have at least something to show. Or try putting the conductors above ground. His friend Ellsworth advised him against making major changes, which might weaken public and government confidence in the telegraph. With cold weather setting in Morse resigned himself to storing his materials and halting work until the spring. “I have difficulties and trouble in my work,” he told Sidney, “but none of a nature as yet to discourage.”
Discouragement was not far off, however, plenty of it. Work on the line no sooner stopped than Morse got into a heated quarrel with Professor James Fisher. Fisher resented having been summarily fired “without a hearing, without any examination of the facts.” In fact, he said, he did test the wire in the pipe from Tatham & Company, but had been given a weak battery that did not reveal its defects. Condemning Morse’s “imperious manner,” he not unreasonably reminded him of his labors in Washington to secure the appropriation. At a time when Morse’s partners had deserted the venture, he had left his family and borrowed money to get to the capital: “you were willing to avail yourself of my assistance to obtain that which you wished & then to whistle me off as of no further use.”
Though fond of Fisher, Morse did not take well to what he regarded as insolence from a subordinate. He got off a high-toned reply sternly charging Fisher with “unfaithfulness to your trust.” Opinion in Washington was that Fisher had done more harm than good, “that where you gained one friend for the telegraph you made two enemies.” Fisher slashed back, demanding that Morse pay him $55 for his board in Washington the previous winter, at the home of a Reverend Rich. Morse checked with the minister and learned that Fisher had been a welcome guest, at no charge. He refused to pay. Fisher demanded the money again, this time adding interest as a late penalty: “I wish you … no longer to trifle with me.” To convince Morse that he meant to be taken seriously, he threatened to show their correspondence to “leading scientific gentlemen” and to publish part of it.
At the same time, Morse began squabbling with F. O. J. Smith. Although about fifteen years younger than Morse, the ex-congressman was far shrewder. From his marriage into the wealthy Bartlett family—whose members included a signer of the Declaration of Independence and a governor of New Hampshire—and from his own questionable bank deals and land speculation, he had built a mansion on thirty-four acres near Portland, crowned by a dome of colored glass. He passed through the city’s streets in a fine carriage driven by a black coachman and drawn by expensive blood grays. His political foes had often accused him of double-dealing and chicanery. One dubbed him “F. O. J. Smith, L.S.C.”—Liar, Scoundrel, and Coward.
Morse discovered that Francis Ormond Jonathan Smith knew something about wheeling and dealing. In arranging contracts for the tubing and trenching, Smith had seen a chance to make some fast cash at government expense. He had bargained for an advantageous rate with Tatham & Company, a savings in Morse’s cost estimate of about a thousand dollars. He proposed to Morse that they split the money—“all perfectly fair,” he said. Morse was less certain, and after consulting Sidney he said no. Smith pocketed $500, while Morse credited the rest to the government as so much saved from the appropriation.
On another bit of financial legerdemain, Smith tried to cut in his brother-in-law, Levi Bartlett.