Part 30 (1/2)

”Among the first; and undeniably one of the best and most important of them. Oh, of course there were other men--some of them excellent. But we know less about them because they left no such long trail of clocks behind as the Willards did. Gawen Brown was a splendid workman; and so was Avery, who in 1726 made the clock for the Old North church. Then there was Benjamin Bagnall, who located in Charlestown about 1712 and remained there almost thirty years. His two sons, Benjamin and Samuel, also went into the clockmaking business and did very commendable work.

In addition there were the Munroes of Concord--Daniel and Nathaniel; and Samuel Whiting, Nate's partner; not to mention the Popes, Robert and Joseph; and Daniel Balch of Newburyport. All these men were well established in or near Boston either before 1800 or shortly after that date.”

”Evidently the Ma.s.sachusetts people must have known what time it was,”

grinned Christopher.

”If they didn't it was their own fault,” returned his companion, ”for this list probably represents only a part of those engaged in the business. A good many more, like our friend, John Bailey, moved to small inland villages where they modestly plied their trade, selling their wares to only a limited circle of purchasers. Of these scattered craftsmen we have, as I told you, scant information. It is merely when we chance upon their names in early town records or a clock turns up to testify to their knowledge of their craft that we have tidings of them.

But with the Willards it was different. They have left behind them a collection of clocks that speaks in no mistakable terms for their skill and industry.”

”How many of these Willards were there?” Christopher demanded.

”Well, old Benjamin, the father, who was located in Framingham somewhere about the year 1716, had twelve children and three of these--Benjamin, Junior, Simon, and Aaron all became crackajack clockmakers, especially Simon. The family, I take it, went to Grafton, a small town near Worcester, later on. At any rate Benjamin, Junior, was born there. We afterward hear of him in Lexington and are told that in 1771 he moved from there to Roxbury. In this latter spot he himself set up a shop; but he must still have maintained another one at Grafton, his birthplace, where apprentices in the meantime carried on a part of his business, for his clocks bear three different markings--Grafton, Lexington, and Roxbury. He turned out excellent long-case clocks as well as some musical ones, and many of these survive him. He died in Baltimore in 1803. Aaron, and his son Aaron, Junior (who entered his father's shop in 1823), also made fine long-case clocks with bra.s.s works that found ready sale.”

”And Simon?”

”Ah, the story of Simon and his deeds would fill a book. He was the flower of the family, so far, anyway, as clockmaking went. His handiwork cannot be surpa.s.sed,” exclaimed McPhearson with enthusiasm. ”People are liable to a.s.sociate him only with the banjo clock that bears his name; but in reality he made clocks of every imaginable description--long-case clocks, tower clocks, gallery clocks, shelf clocks. He was a born clock lover if ever there was one! He was, moreover, a marvelous man who up to the end of his long life was active and useful. Even after he became very old he fought to conceal the limitations age brought and remain cheerful and independent. A wonderful example of l.u.s.ty manhood, truly!

In the first place you must remember he started out on his career with the same meager equipment that hampered all the early clockmakers. A file, drill and hammer were practically the only tools he possessed.

Neither you nor I would think it possible to construct so delicate a mechanism as a clock with so few articles to work with. We should insist that we needed and _must have_ this thing, that thing, and the other thing to use, and then we probably should not be able to produce a clock that would go--let alone one that would keep accurate time. But you did not hear Simon Willard doing any fussing. There was nothing of the whiner about him. The fact that he was obliged to import bra.s.s from England, hammer it down to the thickness necessary, file it until it was smooth, and then polish it by hand did not daunt him. A more persistent, painstaking, conscientious clockmaker never lived. What marvel that he scorned to advertise? While others cried their products, he simply pasted in the back of each of his clocks the few modest facts he wished to announce and let his work go out to speak for itself.”

”_Ask the man who owns one!_” put in Christopher, quoting a well-known and modern advertis.e.m.e.nt.

”Exactly!” agreed McPhearson. ”Anybody that produces an A1 commodity hardly needs to bark about it. People find out what goods are worth.

This, evidently, was Simon Willard's theory. You see he knew his trade from A to Z, having been apprenticed to his older brother Benjamin when only a small boy. The tale is that when barely thirteen years old he made a grandfather clock that was in every respect better than that of his master.”

”Gee! Why, I am--”

”You are older than that already and could not make a clock, eh?”

interrupted the Scotchman with quick understanding. ”Neither could I, and I am many times your age. But life was different in the olden days.

Boys learned trades very early and went to work at them. Many a lad, for example, was sent to sea by the time he was ten or twelve. Hence the fact that Simon Willard was apprenticed when so young was in no way remarkable. But that he should thus early have outranked his teacher is significant. We are not surprised, in consequence, to hear that it was not long before he branched out for himself and opened a shop at Grafton where he began to construct clocks.”

”He must still have been pretty youthful,” ventured Christopher.

”I imagine he was. Nevertheless he married and settled down to his career, starting in to make both shelf and long-case varieties. These he completed during the snowy season when the roads were bad and then, as soon as summer came and it was possible to get about on horseback, he and his brother, Aaron, used to travel about and sell the winter's output. Aaron peddled the goods along the south edge of the Ma.s.sachusetts coast and Simon went north, sometimes even as far as Maine.”

”But I should think clocks would have been ruined if jolted about on horseback!” objected Christopher.

”I don't think it could have been ideal for their health,” laughed McPhearson. ”But it was the best method of distribution the age afforded and Simon Willard did not scorn so humble a beginning. He remained in Grafton until some time between 1777 and 1780 and then as his wife died he moved to Roxbury and at what is now Number 2196 Was.h.i.+ngton Street opened a shop. In the meantime he had done quite a lot of experimenting and had arrived at the conclusion he would in future center his energy on making only church clocks, hall clocks and turret clocks. Therefore from that date on these were the styles he chiefly manufactured.

Probably it would have been no small surprise to him had he known that the banjo clock he patented about 1802 and dubbed an _improved timepiece_ would be the one to come down through history bearing his name.”

”I wouldn't mind having it bear mine,” smiled the boy, as he glanced toward the beautiful old Willard lying so ignominiously on its back on McPhearson's workbench. ”I like all these bra.s.s tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Besides, the picture of the sea fight painted on the gla.s.s door is jolly.”

”Evidently Willard thought sea fights jolly, too, for he generally selected them as decoration for his clocks. I have heard there were two men in Roxbury who painted all his gla.s.s for him; one of them did lacy patterns of conventional design, and the other did naval battles. This fact helps us some in identifying genuine Willards. Of course the decoration could be copied by others; but add to it other hallmarks typical and now well-known and a true Willard can usually be detected.

For instance, it is said on good authority that no real Willard clock is ever surmounted by a bra.s.s eagle. We often see the design on old clocks that purport to be Willards; but Simon Willard, his descendants attest, never used a decoration so elaborate. Instead he preferred simple things such as a bra.s.s acorn or one carved from wood; a gilt ball, or combination of ball and spear-head. But the eagle he never patronized.”

”Maybe he didn't know how to make a bra.s.s eagle and couldn't find anybody who did,” suggested Christopher.

”Possibly. To make an eagle would be quite an undertaking if you didn't know just how to set about it,” acquiesced McPhearson. ”At any rate Simon let eagles alone. Another device characteristic of his clocks, along with these two patterns of gla.s.s and the decoration on top, was the catch that kept the doors tightly closed. It was a pet scheme of his to make use of a sort of clasp that could only be opened with the clock key. This he resorted to in order to prevent the doors from jarring open and admitting the dirt; and also that children might not be able to meddle with the works or hands. He had a great many small children himself and had perhaps learned from experience the pranks little people were likely to perpetrate. Besides these several trademarks there are in addition various ingenious tricks that belonged to Willard and to n.o.body else. These a trained clockmaker instantly recognizes--the use of bra.s.s pins to hold the dial in place, for one thing. So, you see, when a banjo clock comes your way there are various methods by which its genuineness can be tested. They cannot, perhaps, be rated as infallible but they do help in identification.”