by Drew McGunn
Will’s thoughts tracked to Texas’ repeated efforts to obtain recognition from the British government and said, “This wouldn’t hasten Britain’s recognition of Texas, would it?”
Taylor shrugged apologetically, “I’m afraid I don’t travel in those circles, General Travis. If I could hazard a guess, Her Majesty’s government will do nothing to jeopardize the sizable investments her people have made in Mexico. But an independent Texas, which eschews the United States, may eventually find herself with many more friends. You may even view the loan as an informal means by important men to test such waters.” He paused, letting the words sink in before concluding, “I have overstepped my bounds, General. Let this remain between two gentlemen, if you please.”
***
While Will and Charlie traveled in a small coach from Houston to West Liberty, Will spent much of the time considering how to make use of the loan, having accepted the generous terms. He contemplated buying more shares of Gulf Farms, or perhaps a railroad.
“Really,” he thought, “the possibilities are nearly endless.”
As the coach arrived in West Liberty, the only thing he had decided about the loan is no matter which choice he made, eventually he would discover whatever strings the investors had attached to the loan.
The members of the board of the Gulf Farms Corporation met in Don Garza’s study. He had built in the Spanish style, a beautiful hacienda, with twenty rooms. The study was spacious and held a large table in the middle. Will enjoyed the soft, leather upholstery on the sturdy chair as he looked around the room. He acknowledged Erasmo Seguin with a nod and a smile. The elder Seguin sat at the head of the table, where his position as chairman of the board entitled him to sit. To his right sat Don Garza, who was president and chief executive officer. To the elder Seguin’s left, the chair was empty. Juan Seguin was a member of the board in his own right, but his duties in San Antonio prevented him from attending this meeting. In his vest pocket, Will held Juan’s proxy vote. On either side of the table were Clayton Wynters, the former corporal and another invalid veteran, Nathan Hood, and John Bowles, the twenty-four-year-old son of the elderly Chief Bowles of the Cherokee. As the Cherokee Land Corporation had expanded its holdings, they had made a sizable investment in Gulf Farms. As a result, the board had been expanded to include a designee from the Cherokee Land Corporation.
Rounding out the Board, at the foot of the table was Charlotte Allen, the wife of Augustus Allen, one of the founders of the town of Houston. Since Allen had invested in the corporation, his wife had acted on his behalf. Everyone else on the board considered the arrangement odd, but since she had a much better head for business than her husband, and had proven to be a woman of strong convictions, no one took issue with the arrangement.
After Don Garza finished providing the members of the board with a detailed account of the previous year’s activity and the regular business was concluded, Clayton Wynter stood and said, “As each of you have been provided correspondence about this, I don’t want to belabor the issue, but we have had more than a dozen of our best workmen leave our employment over the last year to make a go of their own farms. Their chief complaint was that they don’t own their own land, nor will their families have anything when they become too old to work.”
Erasmo Seguin asked, “Isn’t it the responsibility of their children to care for them in their old age? That has been the tradition in my family as I’m sure it has been with yours, Mr. Wynters.”
Wynters shrugged, “My Pa died when I was young, and my mother’s remarriage was an … unhappy time for me. I can’t speak for others, but I wouldn’t waste the board’s time if these men’s’ concerns were unfounded.”
Will set back, watching the back and forth discussion between the elder Seguin and the former soldier. The two men had very different perspectives. As they sat glaring unhappily at each other, Will chimed in. “My friends. In very real ways, you are both right, but Clayton has a valid point. It is with every expectation that a man can come to work here for us and spend his best years working here. We derive the benefit of his labor, and in exchange, we pay him a fair wage. Hopefully both the worker and the company are well served by this arrangement. But it raises a question of what happens when his body can no longer meet the rigors the work requires?”
He paused and smiled warmly at Seguin before continuing, “Not all of us will have the good fortune which God has blessed you with, Erasmo. I know your three children and my own son plays with your grandchildren, and I have learned that should you ever stop working long enough to retire to your hacienda to enjoy life, your true wealth isn’t in your land or your many businesses, but in your family. They will honor you and look after you, in the unlikely event you should require it. But Clayton is also right. We must find something that addresses this need our employees have. I believe our employees’ situation demands something that gives them a long-term sense of ownership and security.”
Seguin nodded and smiled at the compliment. “General, there are times I believe your diplomacy is wasted serving in the army. But what would you have us do about these men who leave?”
Will stood and took from a satchel a set of papers for each board member. “I’m glad you asked. There are two things we should do sooner rather than later. On the first page, you’ll see an outline of the first proposal. I think we’d all agree that, apart from our employees, our greatest asset is our land. But it isn’t easily divisible. Our stock is how we represent the value of our company. My first proposal is we set aside a portion of our stock, which can be used to reward our hardworking employees for each year of service. When they retire, they can sell their shares to other employees, back to corporation or to whomever they wish. This will reward those employees who have many years of service and it also provides them the means to become better off. Farming is demanding work, and with us holding both the tools of production as well as the land, at the moment all of our employees have nothing for themselves, other than their wage. Giving each of them ownership in our company gives them another reason to stay with for us.”
As the board members read the details of the proposal, Will launched into the second item. “On the third page, I have outlined another means to retain good workers. It can work in tandem with the first proposal or it could stand on its own merits. As Mr. Wynters has pointed out, not all our men are married, and have no family to care for them when they are too old to work. What I propose is that we create a separate company expressly for the purpose for providing our workers with a pension when they are too old to work, or for the widows of the men who die while working for us.”
As Will finished, silence descended upon the room, as everyone digested Will’s proposals. Erasmo Seguin was the first to speak. “General Travis, I can see how we could reward our employees with stock. We control the process for determining how many shares exist and how many could be created in any given year. It’s not to my own credit I have never thought of this before, as it has real merit. Your second idea perplexes me, though. How would you go about setting up a pension plan for a company? I have only heard of governments setting up pensions for war widows and old soldiers, and these have always been paid for with public moneys.”
Will said, “I have in my mind a couple of different ways this can be done. The first is the simplest. Each employee can be given the opportunity to set aside from each month’s pay a certain amount of his wage. That amount is set aside and deposited into an account with this holding company. We’ll call this his pension account. We, as the employer, could encourage the employee’s participation by making an equal contribution into his pension account. This holding company, with contributions from the employees, invests the money into a bucket of investments. For instance, there are many corporations in the United States which sell their stock. This holding company pools the employees’ money together and buys such stocks as makes sense to own. Once the employee retires, he could then could take his money from his pension account and use it to live on
.”
Will looked around the room, and saw each member of the board looking back at him.
“Good,” he thought.
He still had their attention. It was about to get more complicated. “The weakness of this system is that there are no guarantees the employee’s account would be enough for his widow to live on. The second part of the pension plan addresses this. Each employee could be given something called an annuity. The value of the annuity would be derived from his own contributions, plus our contributions as the employer, the value accrued over his years of service and the ability of the holding company to manage the stocks in the investment pool.
Don Garza said, “Isn’t that part of what an insurance company does?”
Will nodded, “At its core, yes. Let me use an example to illustrate my point. Clayton, if I may, I’ll use you. He’s thirty years old now and let’s say, he works for another twenty-five years. Speaking hypothetically, maybe he makes a hundred dollars each month. Every month he invests five dollars into his annuity and we match that five dollars. Over the next twenty-five years, three thousand dollars is contributed to his annuity. The insurance company will maintain what’s called an actuarial table. This examines many factors which determines how long a man in Clayton’s condition will tarry on this mortal coil. For the purpose of this example, our hypothetical Wynters lingers on another fifteen years, arising to meet his maker at three score and ten years.”
Wynters muttered, “From your lips to God’s years, General.” Everyone around the table laughed.
Will smiled at the former soldier before continuing, “Mr. Hypothetical Wynters’ three thousand dollars has been invested by the holding company over the entire time and now has grown to more than four thousand dollars. It pays him a monthly payment of twenty dollars until he dies. It matters not if he lives another thirty years or five. The payments are guaranteed until he dies.”
Wynters said, “What if I’m married, what will that do for my wife?”
Will nodded, “I’m glad you caught that, Clayton. That’s one example of what you can do. If you’re married, you would probably opt for what we might call a joint survivor annuity. Simply put, it pays until both you and your wife have fled this life for glory. Because of a greater probability your wife will outlive you, the payments are somewhat less than if it were just for your own lifetime.”
Will watched as the information he provided sank in. Slowly around the room the light dawned in each board member’s eyes. Garza said, “I see. This could be done in several different ways. An annuity pays out to the worker or his wife until both have died, while a pension creates an account which could pass on to the worker’s estate.”
Will said, “Yes, that’s correct.”
The board discussed the merits of Will’s proposal throughout the day. When they adjourned for the day, they had passed a resolution to set up Texas’ first insurance company, Republic Annuity and Insurance Company of Texas. Additionally, they agreed to set aside fifty thousand dollars in the next year’s budget to fund it.
Chapter 21
The day after leaving West Liberty, Will and Charlie arrived at the Trinity Gun Works. Will sat across from John Berry, who was the master gunsmith and owner of the works. Berry and his sons had been awarded the army contract to maintain and repair the Patterson Colt revolvers and the Halls Carbines three years before. What began as a modest contract, the work of which was done between custom rifles projects, now accounted for nearly all the production of the Trinity Gun Works. Since awarding the contract in 1837, five hundred pistols and three thousand carbines had been purchased for use by both the army and the national guard, all of which had cycled through the repair shop. In keeping with the terms of licensing with the Patterson Arms Manufacturing, Berry was limited to building replacement parts for the pistol. A similar arrangement with the United States Armory and Arsenal at Harpers Ferry allowed Berry to manufacture replacement parts for the carbine.
The fact was, the gun works could build both the pistol and carbine from scratch. Only the licensing contracts prohibited it. Which was why Will was sitting across from John Berry. Next to him sat his son, Andy Berry. They sat in a small office, off the side of large smithy. Berry turned to his son and nodded. “Go ahead, and show the General.”
The younger Berry pulled out several detailed drawings and spread them out on the table. “General Travis, I confess these drawings you gave us last year sent me to bed on more than one evening as frustrated as I have ever been. Other days, they might as well have taken me to my reward at the pearly gates of Heaven.”
As the elder Berry glowered at his son’s choice of expression, the younger man ignored it and said, “It wasn’t until I got a chance to talk to the Rangers who have been using the Patterson Revolver that I began to understand what your designs were hinting at. Your man, Captain Hays swears his pistol, chambered in .36 caliber, just doesn’t pack enough of a punch when fired. The easiest part was designing a larger caliber for the pistol. The hard part was everything else. Watching your Rangers reload their revolvers was a sight to behold. Reloading the current model requires they break open the gun and remove the spent cylinder and then replace it with a fresh one. And that assumes they don’t drop the barrel or cylinder in the process.”
This wasn’t news to Will. He’d been getting an earful from both Juan Seguin and Jack Hays over the gun’s many limitations. “I’m aware of the Patterson’s limitations, Mr. Berry. I realize my drawings leave much to be desired. I’m a soldier, not an artist. But where do things stand with our project?”
The younger Berry ignored the displeasure in Will’s voice. “Figuring out the iron top-strap was actually easier than designing a lever that would hold the cylinder in place inside a single frame.”
He was about to continue with his explanation when his father growled, “Why don’t you show him the gun, instead of talking our ears off.”
Blushing from his father’s criticism, Andy Berry pulled an oblong box from below his seat and set it on top of the drawings. He cracked open the case, saying, “Let’s show you our prototype, General.”
Will involuntarily sucked in his breath. He reached into the case and picked up one of the matching pistols, which were nestled on a cushion of red velvet. As he hefted the gun, he guessed it weighed nearly three pounds. As he eyed it, he noticed the frame’s iron top-strap gave the gun a much sturdier feel than the Patterson pistol. He slid the pistol’s loading lever out of the pistol and removed the cylinder. He looked at the large cylinder and noticed it had been machined to hold six rounds. He easily slid the cylinder and the loading levers back into place. Will smiled as he set the pistol back into the ornately carved box. The Berry family had done it. They had built the next evolution of revolvers for the Republic of Texas. As he admired their handiwork, there was no denying in his own mind, that in another universe, one living only in his mind, the pistol was the very image of the Remington Model 1858 revolver.
“It’s a real beauty, Andy, but tell me how does it handle?”
Andy Berry said, “Before we go outside and see, sir, I want to show you something my brother, John, has been working on.” He reached under his chair and brought out a cartridge box. Will was very familiar with the ones the infantry carried, but this one was different. He flipped the leather flap open and saw a wooden frame snugly fit in the box’s leather sides. Set into the wooden frame were six cylinders, loaded and ready to fire. This would make it easier for cavalry to quickly load the weapon.
Behind the buildings of the gun works was a gun range. The range was surrounded on three sides by earthen embankments. Will set the heavy box on a table and gingerly picked up one of the pistols, and stepped over to a chalky line. He hefted the gun in his hand. He liked the feel of the balance. He held the pistol out, pointing it down range. He lined up the rear and front sights and grinned. The lack of any sights on the Patterson had been a constant complaint.
“No problem like that here,” he thought.
A paper target was set up twenty-five yards away and he aimed and fired the six rounds into the target. When the hammer landed on an empty cylinder, he slid the loading lever out and removed the cylinder. He took one of the loaded cylinders from the cartridge box and set it into the frame and slid the lever back into place. Then he fired the next six rounds as quickly as he could cock the hammer.
When the revolver was empty, he smiled and handed the gun back to Andy Berry. “Damn, man. You can load it on Sunday and fire it all week long.”
They retrieved the target from downrange and Will was impressed with the tight grouping of the first six, aimed shots. The second set of six shots had been fired faster, and as such, were spread over the paper. Will couldn’t keep the grin from his face. Even firing fast, the last six had all hit the paper.
The younger Berry said, “That’s some good shooting, General.”
Will nodded, “I presume the barrel here is rifled, like the Patterson?”
Andy nodded. “Yes, sir. What with all the machining tools we’ve had to purchase or build over the last few years, keeping the Patterson pistols working, creating this one from your drawing, by trial and error wasn’t too hard. Despite using the same machining tools, this gun is so radically different from the Patterson, my father and I believe we can patent it without violating any of Sam Colt’s existing patents.”
Will had set the pistol back in the box when John Berry, the elder, joined Will and Andy at the firing line. In his hands he carried a rifle. As he set the gun on the table next to the pistol box, he said, “I was quite happy leaving the revolver to Andy’s devices, and dedicate my efforts to the problems which are inherent with Mr. Hall’s breech loader. We all know that too much of the gas is wasted and vented out through the breechblock. Sure, the bullet will travel three or four hundred yards, but by the time it has traveled that far, with a normal charge of gunpowder, It’s pretty much spent. On the other hand, if you put enough gunpower in Hall’s gun to do the job at those ranges, it stresses the block and has been known to cause failures.”
