CHAPTER XIV
First Voyage of the Clermont
The eventful day, the 17th of August, 1807, dawned with blue, unclouded skies. There was a buzz of excitement throughout the morning as the guests, about forty in number, assembled at the dock near the old States Prison, in Greenwich Village.
Miss Helen Livingston, a young lady who was present, had written her mother, “Cousin Chancellor has a wonderful new boat which is to make the voyage up the Hudson some day soon. It will hold a good many passengers and he has, with his usual kindness, invited us to be of the party. He says it will be something to remember all our lives. He says we need not trouble ourselves about provisions, as his men will see to all that.”
She with her sister, Kate Livingston, made the famous trip and many years later told its story to her granddaughter, Helen Evertsen Smith, who wrote it out. “Cousin Chancellor” predicted the truth when he said it would be something to remember all their lives! There were several ladies in the party, as well as the Dean of Ripon Cathedral, England, John R. Livingston, and other persons of distinction. Some were incredulous and all were slightly uneasy. Fulton himself has thus described the exciting time:
The moment arrived in which the word was to be given for the boat to move. My friends were in groups on the deck. There was anxiety mixed with fear among them. They were silent, sad and weary. I read in their looks nothing but disaster and almost repented of my efforts. The signal was given and the boat moved on a short distance and then stopped and became immovable. To the silence of the preceding moment, now succeeded murmurs of discontent and agitation, and whispers and shrugs. I could hear distinctly repeated ‘I told you so; it is a foolish scheme: I wish we were well out of it.’
I elevated myself upon a platform and addressed the assembly. I stated that I knew not what was the matter, but if they would be quiet and indulge me for half an hour I would either go on or abandon the voyage for that time. This short respite was conceded without objection. I went below and examined the machinery and discovered that the cause was a slight maladjustment of some of the work. In a short time it was obviated. The boat was again put in motion. She continued to move on. All were still incredulous: none seemed willing to trust the evidence of their own senses. We left the fair city of New York: we passed through the romantic and ever-varying scenery of the Highlands;—we descried the clustering houses of Albany: we reached its shores,—and then, even then, when all seemed achieved, I was the victim of disappointment.
Imagination superseded the influence of fact. It was then doubted if it could be done again, or if done if it could be made of any great value.