Lightning Man_ The Accursed Life of Samuel F. B. Morse - Kenneth Silverman [203]
Morse reasoned that such physical and moral patterns could hardly be accidental. Events that seemed cursed, ultimately showed the workings of Providence. In his own case, Providence in its infinite wisdom was drawing him away from earthly honors to the enduring honor that comes only from God. “The mixed cup is best,” he concluded, “for then honor will not puff up.”
A business deal in the fall of 1859 changed Morse’s life dramatically. The six “nations” of the North American Telegraph Association had excluded “Magnetic Telegraph,” his first company, when they banded together a year and a half earlier. But they wanted to bring peace to the expensively contentious telegraph industry. In a turnaround, they now invited Magnetic Telegraph to consolidate with them.
Morse favored the idea, largely because his original telegraph patent (1840) and its seven-year extension had only about a year to run. After that, rivals would be free to build competing lines unrestrained, without fear of infringement: “in this view I would make much sacrifice, especially of feeling.” In just such a sacrifice, he tried—warily—to mend his broken relationship with Cyrus Field. Field was stubbornly resolved on making a third attempt to engineer a transatlantic telegraph, and offered him a place on the Advisory Committee in America. Morse accepted, but his wariness proved to be justified. All the experimental work on the cable and machinery, he discovered, was being performed in England; the American advisory committee amounted to window dressing. He soon resigned the non-position—preoccupied with other duties, he said.
Kendall handled the negotiations for union. Tortuously complex, the bargaining repeatedly broke down. The parties wrangled over pending litigation, the leasing of western lines, requests for representation by the Associated Press, the extortionate demand by F. O. J. Smith of over $300,000 for his patent rights and stocks. Still, the negotiations ended with a series of agreements in October 1859. Smith got his $300,000, mostly in interest-bearing bonds. “How the dog in the manger,” Morse jeered, “must relax his defiant display of teeth into a grin of delight.” Morse, Kendall, and their colleagues gave their unsold patent rights to the North American Telegraph Association in exchange for $107,000 of stock in Field’s American Telegraph Company. They also exchanged some $369,000 of Magnetic stock for $500,000 of American stock. And together with Kendall, Morse was seated on the board of directors of Field’s company, which now firmly controlled telegraph operations along the entire Atlantic seaboard from Newfoundland to New Orleans.
Morse’s profit from the consolidation can only be estimated. But it provided material comfort and financial security for the rest of his life. The reorganized American Telegraph Company did well, netting in its first six months of operation over $100,000. Morse also continued to receive dividends from lines in the South and West, which were not included in the consolidation—sometimes a few dollars, sometimes a few thousand. His income tax returns for 1863, three years later, survive, and show earnings after taxes of $29,928—about $5000 more than the annual salary of the President of the United States.
However much Morse acquired in cash and property, and whatever his annual income from dividends, he thought it enough: “such a competence … as should satisfy the desires of any reasonable man.” At the same time, by consigning most of his interest in his patents he virtually ended his active participation in the telegraph business. Probably to his relief, for he was now nearing seventy, had once more lamed himself by spraining his foot, and felt burdened, “overloaded,” he said, “at a time of life when age is creeping on me with its train of incapacities physical and intellectual.”
Morse marked his new prosperity by purchasing a stylish town house in New York City. He planned to spend the winters there and return to