So it was on the Conestoga Creek, with only two witnesses who little dreamed what the contrivance would lead to, that Robert Fulton, the fourteen-year-old boy, began to plan a solution to the problem of navigation.
CHAPTER III
Painting Portraits and Miniatures
There comes in every boy’s life a day of great decision; it is when school days are over, and the boy, face to face with the toiling world, decides by which branch of industry he shall perform his share of the world’s work to earn his living. Such a day came to Robert Fulton and he had prepared himself for it.
His mother’s early lessons, the sterner teaching of Caleb Johnson, the visits to the machine-shops, the constant sketching with pencil and crayon,—all had enriched his mind for this day of the choice of vocation. As he felt the call to a larger field of action than Lancaster afforded, it was natural that in seeking his fortune he should turn to the nearest big city, Philadelphia, noted as a center for the peaceful arts of the gentle Quaker folk, its founders.
Robert Fulton was seventeen years old when he left Lancaster to take up his abode in Philadelphia. With war at an end, the country had entered upon the enjoyment of the welcome fruits of peace.
As we study the few facts known about Fulton during this period, it is easy to discover several important reasons which influenced him toward art as a career, and Philadelphia as a place of residence.
Benjamin West, a native of Chester County, Pennsylvania, was at this time famous as a painter in London; he was a man whose success had brought special pride to Lancaster, for he had there begun his career as portrait painter. West’s father, an intimate friend of Robert Fulton’s father, allowed his son, at the early age of twelve, to visit Lancaster in order to paint the portraits of a certain Mrs. Ross and her children. He had been so successful that orders poured in, taxing his time and strength to fill them. Canvas could not be had, so he painted his pictures upon smooth boards. His genius had been shown when he was very young, for at the age of seven he sketched a correct likeness of his sister’s child in the cradle. He had no colors to work with until a party of friendly Indians visited his home, and Benjamin, in boyish pride, showed them his pencil sketches. They generously gave him the colors they used to paint their faces and ornaments, hues extracted from the juices of berries and herbs. They also taught him to mix the paints to form new shades and combinations. He had no brush, so he made one by taking from the tail of a cat some furry hairs which he pulled up through a goose-quill. We remember the adage, “A poor workman blames his tools.” A good workman can manage to make tools from almost nothing, if he really wants to work.