Let me add a story of my own recollection. About the year 1890 there came to Poughkeepsie, New York, a blind Scotch woman ninety years of age. The infirm old lady was very fond of music and kindly members from the choir of the Church of the Holy Comforter would go to sing to her, for she was too feeble to attend church. When she heard the name of the rector of the church, Fulton’s grandson, the Rev. Robert Fulton Crary, D.D., her face lighted with pleasure and she exclaimed, “His name, Fulton, is very dear to me.” When asked the reason, she explained that during her childhood, her father, a boat-builder, employed at the New York ship-yards, purchased a small plot of ground adjoining a larger section owned by Robert Fulton. When the Scotchman came to build his home he found that his largest and best room could only gain sunshine by opening a window directly upon the line of Mr. Fulton’s property. With fear and trembling he plucked up courage to ask this permission, which was so pleasantly granted that the bright, cheerful living-room was always called, in memory of that kindness. “Mr. Fulton’s room.” The wrinkled face of the old Scotch woman was aglow with the pleasure of the recollection, and the sunshine of that room still lingered even through her blinded eyes and the long life of many years. How few of us realize the far-reaching effect of a simple act of kindness.
Never very robust since that early outbreak of lung trouble, Fulton had worked to the full extent of his strength. When the accident occurred to his trial boat on the Seine, he imprudently dashed into the water to save the valuable machinery; and the labor of twenty-four hours, with neither rest nor refreshment, caused a constitutional weakness from which he never wholly recovered.
So keen was his interest in his work that when a new idea for some invention came to him he would pass the whole night in thought, following the resultant chain of ideas. In February of 1815 he went to Trenton, New Jersey, to testify in a lawsuit to protect the Livingston-Fulton rights in steam ferries, and while returning with his friend Mr. Emmet, a prominent lawyer, and Mr. John R. Livingston, he was obliged to wait a long time for the ferry-boat. Always eager to make use of spare moments, he decided to visit his ship-building yards to inspect the work upon his Demologus, the first war-vessel, and also to examine other boats he had sent there for repairs. He spent three hours at the works, and then with Mr. Emmet tried to walk across the ice formed at the riverside. Heavy rain had fallen, and this so weakened the ice that his companion fell through into the water. Greatly agitated, Mr. Fulton helped his friend up and out, but both men were wet through by the quantity of water floating upon the ice. It was a very imprudent exposure and the natural penalty followed. Fulton took such a severe cold that he was confined to his room for several days. His great interest in the Demologus tempted him to venture upon an early carriage drive to the works; he took more cold, inflammation of the lungs followed, and on the morning of February 23d, 1815, he passed from this world to the life eternal.
Unusual tokens of public esteem followed the announcement. The legislature in session at Albany resolved that both Houses wear mourning, a testimonial never before accorded a private citizen. The newspapers of the day bore black columns; the Corporation of the City of New York, and literary and scientific associations, assembled to pass resolutions of sympathy. All members, wearing badges of mourning, attended his funeral at Trinity Church on the 25th of February. Minute guns were fired from his steam frigate and the West Battery, while the long procession, in which were officers of the National and State Governments, the Mayor and Common Council, and hosts of prominent citizens, wended its way from his late residence to the historic church, under the shadow of which, in the vault of the Livingston family, his body was laid to rest.
The lad from Lancaster had earned high honor. He sleeps near the river he loved so well.
Time-honored son, whose memory we revere,
Around the wondering earth thy lustrous name
Shone in old days, a sudden star of Fame,
Nor is that glamour dimmed. No leaves are sere