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By this contract he was to manufacture fire-arms.
He established his factory near New Haven.
The place is now called Whitneyville.
It is a beautiful place.
A waterfall furnished the power to run his machinery.
Here Mr. Whitney worked hard.
He had machinery to make.
He had to teach his own workmen.
For eight years he worked to fill this contract.
He arose as soon as day appeared.
Look in any part of the factory you might, you would see something which he, himself had done.
He improved many tools.
He made better guns than had ever been made.
So that for these things, too, our country is indebted to Mr.
Whitney.
In 1812, he made new contracts.
Another war with England began in that year.
Mr. Whitney's guns never failed to be all right.
Other men took contracts of the same kind.
But their guns were failures.
Mr. Calhoun, the Secretary of War, said to Mr. Whitney, "You are saving your country seventy-five thousand dollars a year."
This was by his improvements in fire-arms.
Mr. Whitney tried to get the government to extend the time of the patent upon the cotton-gin.
But this was refused.
That did not seem very grateful, did it?
Robert Fulton, the inventor of the first steamboat, was his friend.
They had many troubles in common.
Mr. Whitney's last days were his happiest days.
Such patience, perseverance, and skill must count in the long run.
His factory made him quite a rich man.
Some of the southern states showed their grat.i.tude.
In 1817, Mr. Whitney married Miss Edwards of Connecticut.
He had a son and three daughters.
The people of New Haven respected him.
They gave him great honor.
He died on January 8, 1825.
The little cotton-gin had done a great work.
The sunny South was covered with beautiful plantations.
The cotton fields shone in the sunlight.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
Riches were beginning to fill the pockets of the planters.
Only one blight remained upon the land.
This was the dreadful system of slavery.
And that, too, has been destroyed.
We wish that Mr. Whitney might see the South of to-day.
He did not live to know how great a curse slavery might be.
He did not foresee that his cotton-gin might help to cause a great war.
Yet the blue and the gray fought and died.
The blood of many a hero stained a southern field.
All this that the cotton-pickers might be free!
