Robert Fulton and the Steamboat
by Cynthia Owen Philip

I like to think I would have had the guts to accompany Robert Fulton on the famous maiden voyage of his steamboat from New York City to Albany and back. But I wouldn't even have been invited, at least on the up-bound trip. Only Fulton, his engineer and a fuel stoker were aboard on the first lap of the run that began at one o'clock in the afternoon of August 17, 1807, and reached Clermont, the estate of his partner, Chancellor Robert R. Livingston, at one o'clock the following afternoon.

It was a history-making 24 hours. It was also singularly uneventful. Better stated, it was historical because it was uneventful. There were catcalls and jeers from the skeptical crowd, who were probably hoping to witness a grand explosion. But, aside from some tinkering with a stuttering engine before he got underway, Fulton's boat simply steamed along, catching the tides through the moonlit night and into the following morning. Sighted around noon from Clermont, she calmly dropped anchor at its dock less than an hour later. "Time 24 hours, distance 110 miles," Fulton wrote in his remarkably laconic account for the press.

The unprecedented trip changed the course of navigation forever. It catapulted the United States into the industrial revolution, positioning the country as a world leader in invention. The steamboat scared seasoned mariners out of their wits. To some she was a fantastical grist mill propelled by its own grindstones, or a giant fire-belching turtle, but, they intuitively realized the days of dominance of their sturdy sloops were numbered. Note that during her first season of commercial runs, Fulton's creation was called simply the Steamboat. What had been called "Fulton's Folly" was transformed into Fulton's and the United States' triumph — for although there had been a long list of experimenters with such craft, no other in the world had proved capable of providing steady, reliable, scheduled service.

Those who had followed Fulton's career should hardly have been surprised. But even Livingston was a doubter. His vital role in the partnership, sealed in 1802 shortly after the two men met in Paris, was to provide seed money and, even more important, his monopoly for steam navigation on the Hudson River. In August of 1803, when Fulton staged a demonstration of his first boat on the Seine before the assembled multitudes of Paris, Livingston was not there; he had slipped off with his family to Switzerland, purportedly to enjoy the cool breezes from the glaciers. Meanwhile Fulton steamed up and back from the Trocadéro to the Place de la Concorde, giving rides to the scientific community in two little boats towed behind.

The spectacle was officially declared un succès complet et brilliant. Fulton's productions were by then a great draw. In 1800 he had put on a similar demonstration for his submarine. Called Nautilus, this craft could eventually stay under water for eight hours, with five men aboard. That same year, he had also built a panorama that so delighted the populace they sang street ditties celebrating it.

Why was Fulton successful, when so many other experimenters, including Livingston, were not? I believe it was because he was first an artist. Indeed, he never gave up painting and drawing for recreation. This talent gave him the ability to perfect his inventions with a pencil instead of building large-scale models, as others did. In short, he could visualize and put on paper the leaping imaginings of his mind. Not all of his ideas were his own; the hope of steam navigation can be traced back the ancient Greeks. What he did was refine them and put them together so that they worked. As he himself eloquently stated: "As the component parts of all new machines may be said to be old . . . the mechanic should sit down among levers, screws, wedges, wheels etc. like a poet among the letters of the alphabet, considering them as the exhibition of his thoughts; in which a new arrangement transmits a new idea to the world."

True as this may be, the minute profits came rolling in from the Steamboat's operations, so did competitors who challenged both Fulton's patent and Livingston's monopoly. Among them were two Livingston relatives, his younger brother John R. and his brother-in-law, the able and proud John Stevens; William Thornton, the avaricious superintendent of the Patent Office; and Nicholas Roosevelt, the best iron founder in New York. Both Stevens's and Roosevelt's combativeness were sharpened because they had been Livingston's partners and had been jilted when Fulton came along. In addition, a company of 20 Albany "picaroons" (Fulton's description) produced two copies of the rebuilt Steamboat, the Hope and the Perseverance. (By then, The Steamboat had acquired a proper name, the North River; she was never called the Clermont during Fulton's lifetime.) Livingston was able to get an injunction against the Albany boats, giving vigor to his monopoly. Meanwhile, Fulton built the Car of Neptune and the Paragon, each more luxurious than its predecessor. Deliberately founding a steamboat empire by plowing the profits back into the business, he went on to put ferries across the North and the East Rivers and a boat on Long Island Sound. Entrepreneurs in Virginia ordered steamboats for the James River.

The Mississippi — Fulton's true target in America, because it and its tributaries covered such a broad swath of the country — would prove more difficult. He hired Benjamin Henry Latrobe, then an out-of-work architect who had begged for the job, to set up shops in Pittsburgh. Its boats were to link that burgeoning industrial town to New Orleans via the Ohio. For his consideration, all Fulton got from Latrobe was a series of mental collapses. His erratic behavior ranged from utter subservience to bullying arrogance to periods of complete silence. Moreover, Latrobe brought one of Fulton's and Livingston's worst enemies, his father-in-law Nicholas Roosevelt, to Pittsburgh to help him out.

Fulton's business was marginally more secure in New Orleans because Edward Livingston, the Chancellor's youngest brother and the only person who truly comprehended the breadth of Fulton's vision, was representing him in that key city. But even there things ultimately did not turn out as he had hoped; competitors amassed, and Edward was never able to procure the needed monopoly for steam navigation.

Robert Livingston died in February 1813, leaving Fulton to deal with two Livingston sons-in-law whose only desire was to receive and spend their share of the profits. Fortunately he was hard at work building the world's first steam frigate, the Demologos, or "Voice of the People." The War of 1812 was in full swing. The British laid waste to Washington. Everyone believed Fulton's frigate would save the nation. Her launching was another great spectacle: the ship was christened the Fulton I and, towering far above all other ships in the harbor, was towed to Fulton's New Jersey shops for outfitting. She was almost complete in early February 1815, when, returning from New Jersey across the ice, Fulton was thoroughly soaked and caught pneumonia.

On February 23 Robert Fulton — artist, inventor, and steamboat empire builder — died. Only 49 years old and in the prime of his achievement, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that the threat of the Fulton I had helped hasten the end of the war; news of the signing the Peace of Ghent had reached New York just five days before. Fulton's funeral was the largest New York City had accorded a civilian to that time. Citizens of all ranks, from craftsmen to top government officials, marched in his cortege. The New-York Evening Post's obituary proclaimed: "There is no one person who will succeed to Mr. Fulton's genius as a mechanic, or be capable of prosecuting those schemes which he left in an unfinished state."

It pleases me mightily that Hudson River museums, historical societies and publications throughout the valley are celebrating the 200th anniversary of The Steamboat's world-changing maiden voyage this year.

Among the events celebrating the bicentennial of Fulton's steamboat: June 1 2 Steamboat Bicentennial Symposium at Bard College (518-537-4240); June 12 lecture at Hudson River Maritime Museum by Clermont Curator Travis Bowman (845-338-0071); June 22 talk by Cynthia Philip at Morton Memorial Library, Rhinecliff (845-876-2903); August 18 19 Steamboat Celebration at Clermont State Historic Site (518-537-4240). Also, Bobs' Folly, the State Historic Site's bicentennial exhibit, will stay open through the end of the year.