“Mr. Fulton was standing near and laughed heartily, a thing unusual for him, for while among the workmen he was generally rather taciturn and grave, giving his orders and directions in a laconic manner. He would listen, however, to suggestions made by the more practical, and would often modify his orders to accord with such suggestions. During the time these preparations were going forward, trials were made of the working of the machinery by hauling out into the stream, putting on steam, and starting the engine. This was no small affair, for when the engineer gave the notice, ‘All ready,’ all hands were called,—carpenters, joiners, painters, calkers, laborers and crew,—to prevent what is termed ‘catching on the center.’ During one of these trials, when going up the river at the rate of six or eight miles an hour, Mr. Fulton stood looking over the bow of the boat for fifteen or twenty minutes, intently watching the motion and speed of the boat, apparently wholly absorbed. Suddenly he wheeled and addressed a friend who stood near him with great enthusiasm, exclaiming, ‘My good friend, she is a fine boat and our success is certain.’
“Commodore Wiswall was now in command. At the hour appointed, 9 A.M., for her departure for Albany, Chancellor Livingston with a number of invited friends came on board and, after a good deal of bustle and no little noise and confusion, the boat was got into the stream and headed up the river. Steam was put on and sails were set, for she was provided with large square sails attached to masts that were so constructed that they could be raised or lowered as the direction and strength of wind might require. There was at the time a light breeze from the south, and with steam and sails a very satisfactory rate of speed was attained. Fast-sailing sloops were passed with ease, the machinery worked finely and everything seemed to promise well. After a time, however, it was discovered that steam was escaping from the boiler. This boiler was constructed of wood, a cylinder perhaps twenty feet long and ten in diameter, bound with heavy iron bands, with iron tubes extending from the lower part of the furnace. The heat imparted to the iron bands by the steam produced a shrinking of the wood directly under them, while the spaces between them would swell with moisture imparted by the steam so that the edges of the planks would be uneven, leaving open spaces through which the steam escaped. How could the difficulty be obviated? Resort was had to covering the boiler with blankets and carpets which, to some extent, prevented this evil and, as the favorable wind continued, we kept on the even tenor of our way and just before sunrise next morning we were at Clermont, the residence of the Chancellor, who with his friends landed, and the boat proceeded to Albany, where we arrived at 2 or 3 P.M.”
When the boat reached New York, on the return trip, Fulton immediately had a copper boiler made to replace that of wood which had caused the trouble. He was very energetic and ready to take any trouble or incur any expense necessary to perfect the boat.
As soon as the North River of Clermont, as she was enrolled May 14th, 1808, was completed to Fulton’s satisfaction, he began to build a companion boat, thereby establishing a service from each port twice a week. This boat, the Car of Neptune, was followed by a third, the Paragon. The last was, of course, the best, for Fulton improved each model by noting the imperfections of its predecessor. He humorously wrote, in a private letter, of 1812, “My Paragon beats everything on this globe, for made as you and I are, we cannot tell what is in the moon—this Day she came on From Albany 150 miles in 26 hours wind ahead.”[3]
But during these years, busy as they were, Fulton had not forgotten his dream of universal peace through the work of his other invention,—the submarine torpedo-boat. You will remember that when Fulton reached America he laid his plans before Mr. Madison, Secretary of State, and Mr. Smith, Secretary of the Navy. These gentlemen were so impressed that they influenced the government to grant some money for an experiment in the harbor of New York. In the spring of 1807, to prepare the minds of the citizens for the new invention, Fulton invited the mayor and other gentlemen to Governor’s Island, where he showed them his machines and the copper cylinders for his torpedoes.
In time the meeting developed a humorous aspect. The spectators became so interested that they crowded eagerly around him as he explained, “Gentlemen, I have here a charged torpedo with which, precisely in its present state, I mean to blow up a vessel. It contains one hundred and seventy-five pounds of gunpowder, and if I were to allow the clockwork to run for fifteen minutes, I have no doubt that it would blow this fortification to atoms.” His listeners first looked at each other aghast, then the more prudent hastily stepped back, and one by one the others slipped away until Mr. Fulton found himself alone, with only two or three of the bravest of his auditors peering at him from under a distant gateway! None dared to return until he placed the deadly torpedo back in its place in the magazine.
On the 20th of July he blew up a large brig in the harbor of New York, and described this experiment with others in his book, “Torpedo War or Submarine Explosions.” After three attempts the vessel was blown to atoms, only a column of water, smoke and fragments being left to show where she had been floating. The next day Fulton wrote a letter to the governor and magistrates of the city in which he said:
“Gunpowder, within the last three hundred years, has totally changed the art of war; and all my reflections have led me to believe that this application of it will in a few years put a stop to maritime wars, give that liberty on the seas which has been long and anxiously desired by every good man, and secure to America that liberty of commerce, tranquility, and independence which will enable her citizens to apply their mental and corporal faculties to useful and humane pursuits, to the improvement of our country, and the happiness of the whole people.”
So did Fulton dream of peace,—a dream still unfulfilled, yet worthy of our future hope.
In 1810 Congress appointed a committee to decide upon the worth of Fulton’s submarine warfare, and Commodore John Rodgers was told to do all he could to get the sloop Argus ready to resist the attack Fulton was to make upon her. Commodore Rodgers entered the contest with the enthusiasm of a boy. He had a strong wire netting stretched around the bottom of the boat and anchored lashed spars to float at her sides; while grappling irons, hung far out from the rigging, were ready to plunge at any boat approaching with hostile intent. Huge scythes were hinged to her decks, ready to cut off the heads of any sailors who ventured within reach. It takes an American to beat an American! Fulton confessed that, for the time, he had been outwitted but promised the officers of the navy that he would yet find a way to conquer the difficulties.