Harpers Ferry Armory and the New Technology

The Challenge of Change

Merritt Roe Smith

• Publisher: Cornell University Press
• Year: 2015
• eBook ISBN: 9780801454394
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: North American History
• Index: History

Focusing on the day-to-day operations of the U.S. armory at Harpers Ferry, Virginia, from 1798 to 1861, this book shows what the "new technology" of mechanized production meant in terms of organization, management, and worker morale. A local study of much more than local significance, it highlights the major problems of technical innovation and social adaptation in antebellum America. Merritt Roe Smith describes how positions of authority at the armory were tied to a larger network of political and economic influence in the community; how these relationships, in turn, affected managerial behavior; and how local social conditions reinforced the reactions of decision makers. He also demonstrates how craft traditions and variant attitudes toward work vis-à-vis New England created an atmosphere in which the machine was held suspect and inventive activity was hampered.Of central importance is the author's analysis of the drastic differences between Harpers Ferry and its counterpart, the national armory at Springfield, Massachusetts, which played a pivotal role in the emergence of the new technology. The flow of technical information between the two armories, he shows, moved in one direction only— north to south. "In the end," Smith concludes, "the stamina of local culture is paramount in explaining why the Harpers Ferry armory never really flourished as a center of technological innovation."Pointing up the complexities of industrial change, this account of the Harpers Ferry experience challenges the commonly held view that Americans have always been eagerly receptive to new technological advances.

CHAPTER 1

Regional Interests and Military Needs: Founding the “Mother Arsenal,” 1794–1801

The myth of the garden, so ably delineated by Leo Marx, Henry Nash Smith, and other twentieth-century scholars, occupies a dominant place in American thought and feeling. Central to this myth is the idea of a regenerate nation, an agrarian republic situated in an undefiled “middle landscape” where nature and civilization exist in harmonious balance. Since the earliest settlements the image of such a pastoral society, at once free and equal, virtuous and comfortable, and at peace with itself, has “defined the promise of American life.”¹

Of all those who have espoused the pastoral ideal, no one has had a greater impact in fixing the concept in American consciousness than Thomas Jefferson. In his Notes on the State of Virginia, first published in 1785, Jefferson isolated the very essence of the American dream, giving it a timeless and enduring quality that no writer before or since has captured with such gusto and sense of immediacy. The secret of Jefferson’s success, as Marx points out, lay in his ability to snatch the pastoral ideal from the realm of literary imagination and clothe the concept with economic and political reality. In developing and elaborating the theme of a new Eden, the sage of Monticello drew upon what he knew best, the cultural and physical character of his native state, and filled his notebooks with incisive commentaries on the civil and natural history of the new world environment.²

The rustic beauty of Jefferson’s Virginia contrasted sharply with the depravity of Old Europe. In the American countryside happy yeomen tended their crops, meadows rustled in the wind, and cattle grazed under the sunlit sky of an infinite universe. Everything existed in proper relationship to nature. In Jefferson’s world there was little room for artificiality. Conspicuously absent were cities and the dehumanizing “rules” of industrial civilization. “Let our workshops remain in Europe,” he admonished. “While we have land to labour then, let us never wish to see our citizens occupied at a work-bench, or twirling a distaff.”³

Throughout the Notes Jefferson skillfully mixed personal feeling with objective experience. Few things escaped his discerning eye. He described Virginia’s Natural Bridge in Rockbridge County, for example, as though he were evaluating a work of art. “It is impossible for the emotions arising from the sublime, to be felt beyond what they are here,” he observed. “So beautiful an arch, so elevated, so light, and springing as it were up to heaven, the rapture of the spectator is really indescribable!” By tempering romantic impulse with rational sensibility, Jefferson ingeniously ascribed engineering beauty to natural form, thereby achieving a delicate balance in his pastoral scheme. Equally eloquent was his commentary on the picturesque gorge formed by the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers at Harpers Ferry: “The passage of the Patowmac through the Blue ridge is perhaps one of the most stupendous scenes in nature. You stand on a very high point of land. On your right comes up the Shenandoah, having ranged along the foot of the mountain an hundred miles to seek a vent. On your left approaches the Patowmac, in quest of a passage also. In the moment of their junction they rush together against the mountain, rend it asunder, and pass off to the sea.”

Harpers Ferry typified Jefferson’s “middle landscape.” At once the scenery was as “placid and delightful” as it was “wild and tremendous.” The settlement lay at the tip of a triangular tract situated between the two rivers. Behind this point and roughly parallel to the rivers, a narrow belt of land wound around the base of a steep hillside (see Map). On this slope Jefferson recorded his impressions of the vicinity. To the east the waters of the Potomac and Shenandoah, now joined, flowed through a glassy vale of jagged rocks and sharply defined plateaus toward the Chesapeake. Across the Shenandoah and to the right was Loudoun Heights (Figure 20), an imposing mountain that seemed to hover over the village and to cast its shadow on the rapids and Virginius Island below. To the left on the far side of the Potomac in a more distant northeasterly direction stood the rocky precipice of Maryland Heights, rising majestically hundreds of feet above the river to provide a panoramic view of Harpers Ferry and the rich grain lands lying westward in the Valley of Virginia. To behold these sights, Jefferson wrote, “is worth a voyage across the Atlantic.”⁴

Although Jefferson never completely abandoned his pastoral vision, economic and political realities during the early national period forced him to compromise the theory. Many of his fellow countrymen were strongly committed to making the new republic economically self-sufficient. This meant, in effect, accommodating commerce and manufactures, the two things he wished most to quarantine in Europe. Apprehensive that too large a dosage of change and modernity might upset the delicate balance of the “middle landscape,” Jefferson wanted to proceed with caution. Whenever he acquiesced to forces molding the new America, he did so with “painful anxiety.” Jefferson, to be sure, did not oppose progress. As Marx indicates, a more devoted student of science and technology could not be found in America. He simply did not want to jump headlong into a frenzied program of national development at the expense of what mattered most—the preservation of values associated with a rural society.⁵

Jefferson’s uneasy reflections about the future of the agrarian republic differed considerably from the thought of George Washington. Like Jefferson, Washington envisaged “the Garden of America,” but his conception of the pastoral life was more idyllic than real and certainly was never intended as a serious guide to social policy. First and foremost, Washington was a businessman, a firm believer in the ethos of capitalism and an unabashed prophet of economic progress. Since the French and Indian War he had been an avid land speculator, acquiring property whenever he thought it might turn a profitable dollar. By the time the Notes on the State of Virginia was published, he had become deeply involved in the affairs of the Potowmack Company, a joint stock venture aimed at improving navigation along the Potomac River and attracting trade to the ports of Alexandria and Georgetown. His collected papers are filled with references to Mount Vernon, western lands, commercial development, and, after 1790, the building of the nation’s capital in the District of Columbia. Along with his official duties as president of the United States, these matters engrossed Washington’s personal attention during the 1790s. Each of them indicates the scope and regional orientation of his private affairs. Combined, they related to a larger scheme of things often described as “the favorite object of his heart”—the economic development of the Potomac Valley with the new “Federal City” as its focal point.⁶

Washington’s certainty that commerce and industry would be a stabilizing influence on the new nation strengthened his determination to make the Federal City “the great emporium of the United States.”⁷ That the growth of trade and manufacturing might destroy the bucolic simplicity of life in the region never seemed to enter his mind. In this conviction he was joined by numerous persons on both sides of the Potomac as far west as Cumberland, Maryland. From a former governor of Maryland to a store owner in Shepherdstown, they anxiously awaited the day when the Federal City would become the economic as well as the political hub of America. As landowners and businessmen they all stood to gain handsomely by the growth of population and trade along the Potomac River. Such enthusiastic boosterism set the stage for the establishment of the Harpers Ferry armory.

Prior to 1794 all arms furnished to United States troops had been purchased either from importers or private manufacturers who contracted with the government for their delivery at various depots located in Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. All sorts of deceptions and forfeitures had occurred under the contract system and, as president, Washington was determined to remedy the situation. He therefore sponsored and Congress approved a bill in April 1794 “for the erecting and repairing of Arsenals and Magazines.” The legislation provided $81,865 for the establishment of as many as four national armories and gave the president wide discretionary powers in executing the order. He held the options of not only deciding the number of arsenals and armories to be built but also choosing their locations and using the appropriations in almost any lawful manner he saw fit. Furthermore, he was given the authority of appointing (or dismissing) superintendents and master armorers at will, an important source of patronage which in later years became a subject of bitter contention in local politics.⁸

The selection of Springfield, Massachusetts, as the site of the first national armory came as no surprise. In a letter to the president dated December 14, 1793, Secretary of War Henry Knox had strongly recommended this small river town in the western section of his native state as the only spot already owned by the United States that possessed adequate buildings, water power, and transportation facilities. Apparently Washington had no objection to Knox’s proposal and, upon passage of the armory bill, immediately approved the measure.⁹

The decision on the location of arsenals in the middle and southern states involved more sensitive issues. Considering the meager amount of money appropriated for the purpose, Washington had two alternatives. One was to use the funds to rebuild pre-existing Revolutionary War magazines already owned by the government and located at Philadelphia and Carlisle, Pennsylvania, West Point, New York, and New London, Virginia. If three of these were rebuilt, as many as four arsenals were feasible. The other option was to purchase land at a new location and build an arsenal with the hope of developing it into a full-fledged factory at some later date. Only one such arsenal could be constructed because of the extra expenditures involved. Although Henry Knox and his successor at the War Department opposed the idea, Washington decided to build one large arsenal rather than rebuild three smaller ones. Furthermore, he resolutely determined to build the new installation at Harpers Ferry.

Washington’s decision received warm endorsement from a group of down-river merchants headed by Tobias Lear of Georgetown and George Gilpin of Alexandria. Closely knit by common objectives, this small but influential clique zealously supported any project that tended to channel hinterland trade into the Potomac basin. All of them held stock in the Potowmack Canal Company and, at one time or another, had lobbied in the Maryland and Virginia legislatures in order to persuade those states to continue sponsorship and financial support of the venture. As directors of the Potowmack Company, Lear and Gilpin had visited Harpers Ferry on numerous occasions and had circulated glowing reports of its potential as a millsite. As close friends of the president, both men would play an important role in arranging the government’s land purchases at the settlement.¹⁰

Lear especially perceived the economic benefits of locating a large government factory at Harpers Ferry. The continuous consumption of various necessities (iron, coal, grindstones, files, tools) would provide lucrative contracts for mercantile houses in the region; incoming shipments of raw materials and outgoing shipments of finished firearms would increase the alarmingly low toll revenues of the Potowmack Company; employment of a large labor force would bring in more people to populate the Valley and thereby increase the demand for agricultural and store-bought goods; finally, the existence of an arms factory would enhance the value of property in the immediate vicinity. Lear viewed the arsenal’s function in regional terms as a stimulus to business enterprise along the Potomac. It was just the tonic the Valley needed, and for these reasons he became totally committed to seeing the plant constructed at Harpers Ferry.¹¹

Between 1794 and 1797, Lear and Gilpin, acting as special agents of the president, worked assiduously to complete the land transactions at Harpers Ferry. Much to Washington’s irritation, however, many delays occurred, not the least of which was caused by the hesitancy of the John Wager family, descendants of the earliest settler of the area, to sell their centrally located holdings along the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers and by the existence of an unsettled lawsuit over the ownership of a 230-acre “sawmill tract” contiguous with the Wager property.¹² Equally disquieting, the president faced opposition within his own cabinet.

Knox had never been favorably disposed toward building an arsenal at Harpers Ferry. In his mind, other more advantageously located sites existed in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia. His successor at the War Department, Timothy Pickering, felt even stronger about the issue, arguing that the appropriations provided by Congress “would be inadequate for a single new establishment.” Instead of an arsenal, he hoped Washington would be content to build a depot at Harpers Ferry “where, afterwards, the works necessary in the formation of all implements of war might be erected as the requisite funds could be provided.” In the meantime, Pickering recommended expanding operations at Springfield, where sufficient land, labor, and buildings already existed. At this arsenal, he argued, invaluable experience could be accumulated and guidelines formed for the erection of others.¹³

In an effort to deflate the exaggerated claims advanced by Lear and Gilpin and at the same time persuade the president to reconsider his decision, Pickering commissioned Colonel Stephen Rochfontaine, a French-born military engineer, to re-examine different sites along the Potomac “fit for the establishment of an arsenal.” After conducting the survey in the spring of 1795, Rochfontaine submitted a report that did not even mention Harpers Ferry as a viable site. When called upon for an explanation, the Frenchman replied that there had been no oversight or neglect on his part. Rather, in his opinion, Harpers Ferry did not warrant serious consideration since “there was no ground on which convenient buildings could be placed” at reasonable expense and, more important, “no water work would be safe there” because of the settlement’s susceptibility to floods. Instead of convincing the president to modify his plans, Rochfontaine’s report upset him. Wa...

Table of contents

• Introduction
• 1. Regional Interests and Military Needs: Founding the “Mother Arsenal,” 1794–1801
• 2. The Craft Origins of Production, 1798–1816
• 3. Production, Labor, and Management, 1801–1816
• 4. Early Manufacturing Techniques, 1816
• 5. Cooperation between the Armories, 1815–1829
• 6. James Stubblefield: Virginia Entrepreneur, 1815–1829
• 7. John H. Hall: Yankee in the Garden, 1819–1841
• 8. Hall and the American System, 1824–1840
• 9. Politics and Technology, 1829–1859
• 10. The Community in Crisis, 1859–1861
• 11. Cultural Conditions and Technological Change: In Retrospect
• Bibliography