Steamships and their story

by E. Keble Chatterton

PADDLE-WHEEL OF THE RECONSTRUCTED “CLERMONT.”

In May, 1909, four folios containing Fulton’s original drawings for his first Clermont—she was afterwards much altered—were discovered, and a well-known American naval architect was able to draw out the plans from which the replica of the Clermont was built for the Hudson-Fulton commemoration, which took place from September 25 to October 3, 1909. On August 9, 1807, exactly four years to the day since that memorable sight was witnessed on the Seine, the Clermont was first tried, and Fulton found that his ship was able to “beat all the sloops that were endeavouring to stem tide with the slight breeze which they had.” Eight days later she began her memorable voyage on the Hudson, one of the most historic incidents in the history of the steamship. At first the Clermont went ahead for a short distance and then stopped, but as soon as Fulton had been below and examined the machinery, and put right some slight maladjustment, she went ahead slowly. The [illustration facing page 46] is from a contemporary drawing in the South Kensington Museum, and should be compared with that [here facing], which is from a photograph taken in the autumn of 1909 of the reconstructed Clermont, built for the Hudson-Fulton celebrations. If we have the last-mentioned picture in our minds we can easily imagine that memorable day when, with about forty guests on board, she set forth. The realistic photograph here given shows about fifty or sixty people aboard, so that we can gain some idea as to what amount of deck space was available with so many persons crowding on her. But few believed that she would succeed in achieving what she did. The crews of passing vessels, as she went gaily up this gloriously fascinating river between its hilly banks, could not understand the monster belching forth sparks from its pine-wood fuel, advancing steadily without sails in spite of wind or tide. Some abandoned their ships and fled to the woods in terror, others knelt down and said their prayers that they might be delivered from so unholy a creature. As we look down on her decks we can see her under the charge of a paid skipper, with Fulton, handsome, but anxious both as to his success and the lives of his guests, on board. Some prophesied that she would blow up, and none thought she would ever reach her destination. Those who are familiar with the characteristics of the crews of the modern steamship will learn with a smile that, of course, her chief engineer was a Scotsman, the first of that long line of serious-faced men whom Kipling and others have commemorated in “McAndrew’s Hymn” and the like. Leaving New York on Monday at one o’clock, the ship arrived at Clermont, Livingston’s seat, exactly twenty-four hours later, having travelled 110 miles, which is about the distance that an ordinary sailing coaster nowadays covers in the same time on the sea. Among those on board was an Englishman, the then Dean of Ripon, though the sentimental may find perhaps a fitting sequel to the first stage of the voyage, when, before the ship had yet anchored off Clermont, an announcement was made that Fulton had become betrothed to another passenger, Miss Harriet Livingston, niece of that other Livingston with whom Fulton had been so closely associated in his first steamboat efforts. It was, in fact, this same statesman who, in making the announcement, also prophesied that before the close of the nineteenth century vessels having no other motive power than steam might be able even to make the voyage to Europe. The ensuing chapters of this book will show how speedily and with what quickly succeeding changes this possibility was to be realised.

We need not weary the reader with the details of this first voyage. It is sufficient to state that the Clermont proceeded to Albany, covering the remaining forty miles in eight hours, having made the whole trip of 150 miles in thirty-two hours, at an average of nearly five miles an hour. The return journey to New York was made in two hours less. If we look at these two pictures of the Clermont, [old] and [modern], we shall see that she was an odd, clumsy craft. Her machinery creaked and groaned as if protesting against the new service to which it was being subjected. She was fitted with a yard and square-sail on the fore-, and a spanker on her main-mast, but during the journey to Albany and back the wind was contrary. “I had a light breeze against me,” wrote Fulton, “the whole way, both going and coming, and the voyage has been performed wholly by the power of steam. I overtook many sloops and schooners, beating to the windward, and parted with them as if they had been at anchor. The power of propelling boats by steam is now fully proved.” The sails, however, were retained for use on future occasions when a favourable wind might accelerate the Clermont’s speed.

If the reader will look at the [illustration facing page 70], he will be able to obtain an excellent idea of the vessel’s paddle-wheels. Here is shown the port side of the replica of the Clermont. It will be noticed that the fly-wheels were hung outside the ship and just in front of the “water-wheels.” These “water-wheels” were always getting smashed, and on one occasion, when both of them had been carried away, the engineer made use of the fly-wheels by attaching small paddle-boards to the rims, and so the voyage was completed without much loss of time. Local skippers treated the Clermont in pretty much the same spirit as Papin’s poor ship had been welcomed by the local watermen, and the Hudson sailing-masters took a malicious delight in running foul of her whenever they thought they had the law on their side. It is not, therefore, surprising to find that Fulton, in writing to Captain Brink, whom he put in charge of her, commands him “run no risques of any kind when you meet or overtake vessels beating or crossing your way, always run under their stern if there be the least doubt that you cannot clear their head by 50 yards or more.” But it was no exceptional occurrence for the Clermont to come limping home with only one of her paddle-wheels working. The circumference of these was in each case an iron rim of about four inches, and a contemporary says they ran just clear of the water, as will be seen from the illustration, the wheels being supported, it will be noticed, by the shaft coming out through the hull. The boat was decked forward, and the stern was roughly fitted up for the accommodation of passengers, the entrance to which was from aft, just in front of the steersman, who worked a tiller. This was afterwards supplanted by a wheel, placed near the main-mast, which connected with the rudder by means of ropes. Steam hissed from every valve and crevice; there was no steam-whistle, but warning of the boat’s arrival at a wharf was given by sounding a horn. After her first voyage, when it was decided to put her into commission as a regular passenger craft, she was somewhat modified. Thus, her “boiler works,” which had been open, were decked over, each cabin was fitted with twelve berths, and many parts of the ship were strengthened with iron work. There was clearly a future for the steamboat commercially, not merely “because of the certainty and agreeable movements” of Fulton’s ship, but whereas the average passage of the sailing packet to Albany took forty-eight hours, the Clermont had done the distance in eighteen hours less. She ran so successfully that at the end of her first season she cleared 5 per cent. on the capital which had been expended on her.

It will be seen from the illustrations of the boat that the Clermont had no bowsprit, and, also, that in one her paddle-boxes are shown, whereas in the other two they do not appear. The explanation is that originally the wheels were uncovered, but as it was found that the wheels were likely to become entangled with ropes, and also to annoy passengers by splashing water on deck, they were covered in. It will also be noticed from the older illustration that Fulton had guards put round the paddles as a protection against the inimical sailing ships, and also to prevent damage when coming alongside a wharf. Steps from the stern end of these guards were added for convenience in discharging and embarking passengers from rowing boats. There is also existent a record by Fulton in which he even mentions that he had so placed the masts that the awning seen in the earlier illustration could be spread for the comfort of the passengers. He also claims that he was “the first who has so arranged the rudder of his Steamboat as that the pilot may stand near the centre of the boat and near the engineer to give him orders when to stop or put the engine in motion.”

With regard to the engines of the Clermont, Fulton claimed to have been the first to use triangular beams in the body of his boat “to communicate the power from the piston rod to the Water wheels,” and work his air-pump. But if the reader will turn back to [the illustration on page 51], he will find that the triangular beam was also employed in the engines of his first steamboat on the Seine. During the winter of 1807–8 the Clermont was altered very considerably, so that her name was changed to that of the North River. Writing to Livingston on November 20th, Fulton suggests that a new hull be built so as to become nearly twice as stiff as she was originally, that she should carry much more sail, have a new boiler installed, additional knees and timbers, new cabins and other improvements. Under her new name this re-built craft ran regularly to Albany and back at a single fare of seven dollars a head. On her forestay she carried a fore-sail, and besides her other courses on her fore-mast she even had stun’s’ls at times, a mizen with a gaff main-sail being stepped as before. There was a ladies’ cabin containing six upper and four lower berths. The engine was one of Boulton and Watt’s, having a cylinder whose piston was 2 feet in diameter. On the top of the piston was a cross-head made of iron which was slid up and down between guides on the “gallows-frames,” that reached from the bottom of the vessel to 12 feet above the deck. This will be clearly seen in the second illustration of the reconstructed Clermont [facing page 70]. The “gallows-frames” are just to the left of the funnel, and the cross-head can be discerned sliding up and down the iron guides. By comparing this with [the below diagram], a very fair idea will be obtainable of the working of this portion of her mechanism.

FULTON’S PRELIMINARY STUDY FOR THE ENGINE OF THE CLERMONT

From the Original in the possession of the New Jersey Historical Society.

The optimists had prophesied correctly: the steamboat had come to stay. So soon as Fulton had shown the way, and during the eight years which ensued between the completion of the Clermont in 1807 and Fulton’s death in 1815, no fewer than seventeen craft of various kinds were built by him, including the first steam frigate, and the first steam ferry-boats. Among the number of this fleet were the The Car of Neptune, launched in 1808, the Paragon in 1811, the Fire Fly of 1812, and the Richmond of 1814. Fulton had, from the first, as we saw when he wrote to Napoleon’s Commissioners, the idea of opening up the Mississippi and other North American rivers by means of steamships, and no sooner had he got the Clermont to work satisfactorily than he wrote: “Whatever may be the fate of steamboats for the Hudson, everything is completely proved for the Mississippi, and the object is immense.” When one considers that it was Fulton who introduced practical steam navigation, not only to the Hudson but to the other great rivers of North America, and that the Clermont was the historic embodiment of his thoughts, it seems a pity that no one has been able to trace the whereabouts of this epoch-making craft. She has vanished; and was either broken up or disguised beyond recognition.