Shortly after, Fulton visited Scotland, and got an introduction to Symington, whom he pressed for a sight of his boat. Symington generously consented, and gave him a short sail on board the steam-tug. Fulton made no concealment of his intention of starting steamboats in his own country, whither he was about to return, and asked Symington to allow him to make a few notes of his observations on board. Symington had no objections; and, therefore, he says, "Fulton pulled out a memorandum book, and after putting several pointed questions respecting the general construction and effect of the machine, which I answered in a most explicit manner, he jotted down particularly everything then described, with his own remarks upon the boat while moving with him on board along the canal." Fulton was very liberal in his promises not to forget his assistance, if he got steamboats established in America; but Symington never heard anything more of him.
Fulton was at New York in 1806, and busy getting a steamboat put together. It was a costly undertaking, and he had little spare cash of his own; so he offered shares in the concern to his friends, but no one would have anything to do with so ridiculous a scheme, as they thought. "My friends," says Fulton, "were civil, but shy. They listened with patience to my explanations, but with a settled cast of incredulity on their countenances. I felt the full force of the lamentation of the poet,—
'Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land,
All shun, none aid you, and few understand.'
As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the building-yard while my boat was in progress, I have often loitered, unknown, near the idle groups of strangers, gathering in little circles, and heard various inquiries as to the object of this new vehicle. The language was uniformly that of scorn, sneer, or ridicule. The loud laugh rose at my expense, the dry jest, the wise calculation of losses and expenditure, the dull, but endless repetition of 'the Fulton Folly.' Never did a single encouraging remark, a bright hope, or a warm wish, cross my path."
Let them laugh that win. The success which shortly attended Fulton's scheme turned the tables upon those who had mocked at him. The Clermont was completed in August 1807, and the day arrived when the trial was to be made on the Hudson river. "To me," wrote Fulton, "it was a most trying and interesting occasion. I wanted some friends to go on board to witness the first successful trip. Many of them did me the favour to attend as a mark of personal respect; but it was manifest they did it with reluctance, fearing to be partners of my mortification, and not of my triumph. The moment arrived in which the word was to be given for the vessel 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 on a platform, and 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. I went below, and discovered that a slight misadjustment was the cause. It was obviated. The boat went on; we left New York; we passed through the Highlands; we reached Albany! Yet even their imagination superseded the force of fact. It was doubted if it could be done again, or if it could be made, in any case, of any great value."
The simple-minded country folk on the banks of the Hudson were almost frightened out of their wits at the awful apparition which they saw gliding along the river, and which, especially when seen indistinctly looming through the night, looked to their bewildered eyes, "a monster moving on the water, defying the winds and tide, and breathing flames and smoke." Pine-wood was used for fuel, and whenever the fire was stirred, a great burst of sparks issued from the chimney. "This uncommon light," says Colden, the biographer of Fulton, "first attracted the attention of the crews of other vessels. Notwithstanding the wind and tide were adverse to its approach, they saw with astonishment that it was rapidly coming towards them; and when it came so near that the noise of the machinery and paddles were heard, the crews in some instances shrunk beneath their decks from the terrific sight, and others left their vessels to go on shore; while others, again, prostrated themselves, and besought Providence to protect them from the approach of the horrible monster which was marching on the tides, and lighting its path by the fires which it vomited."
With the novelty of the spectacle its terror died away, and people soon got tired of rushing out to see the remarkable machine that had once seemed so miraculous to them. The Clermont soon began to travel regularly as a passage-boat between Albany and New York, other steam-vessels were constructed on its model, and by degrees the steam marine of America grew into the host it is at present. Thirty years after the first experiment on the Hudson, it was calculated 1300 steamboats had been built in the States.
Fulton did not live long to enjoy his triumphs. He died in 1815, having been actively engaged in promoting steam navigation to his last hours.