Because of the catch-all wording of Arkwright's water-frame patent, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, for Crompton to patent the mule, even had he been able to afford to. So, So reluctantly, with the threat to his secret growing, he took the advice of a friend, Bolton cotton merchant John Pilkington.

Pilkington new that any attempt to take out a patent would risk a legal battle with Arkwright. So he came up with the idea that textile manufacturers should contribute to a subscription list detailing what each would pay the inventor, with Crompton, in return, making his invention free to all.

It sounded like an ideal solution, but the pair had not bargained for the niggardliness of the traders. The total amount subscribed was a princely £70.12p, of which just £60 was actually paid. It was just enough, as Crompton later observed bitterly, to build himself a new machine with four spindles more than the one he had given up to the merchants.

Life had treated Crompton harshly, and he held a lifelong grievance against the speculators and callous manufacturers who had virtually stolen his idea.

But it must be said that Crompton was a poor businessman and so, later, was his son George, who was born in 1881. Their business ventures always seemed doomed to failure.

The Cromptons left Hall i'th' Wood for Sharples in 1782 and for a time, Samuel combined farming with spinning. Then, in 1791, returned to Bolton and became a muslin weaver.

When that trade began to suffer a decline, Manchester spinners John Kennedy and George Lee promoted a more successful subscription for him, raising about £500 which paid off most of his debts and allowed him to set up in a small spinning and weaving business.

But even this was not successful and, in 1811, Crompton decided to petition Parliament for help.