If we had time to trace all the events in Fulton’s life during these busy years, they would tell us that the way to fame is by slow plodding. When we read about great men we ought to remember that they did not rise like rockets from the darkness but by slow, patient effort climbed into the light of fame.

During the year 1797 Fulton was encouraged, by the acceptance of his plan to build a canal from Paris to Dieppe and Cambrai, to move from England to France. He had earlier visited France to study the art treasures in famous galleries, but his journey this time assumed quite another aspect, for the two countries had been at war for four years. At this time, however, they enjoyed a short armistice, or period of peace, and Fulton took the opportunity to obtain a passport from the Directory, or French Governing Board.

He began about this time to try to devise a way to end warfare between nations,—a dream enjoyed by many kindly men of this day, who have formed the Tribunal for Universal Peace at the Hague. With this thought in mind he planned to protect the seas, those vast waterways between continents. He urged Free Trade between nations, and wrote a paper on the subject to define his views. It shows how deeply he had studied that world-wide problem.

The age in which Fulton lived provided the tools to shape his life. When a boy, he had heard of the horrors of battles during the War of the Revolution, and had experienced later the joys of peace. Fulton was an ardent Republican and believed in the right of a people to rule their nation. When Great Britain began to lay claim to “supremacy on the sea” the statesmen of America felt some alarm. Not only had their ships to fear naval prowess, but there were pirates, whose plunderings were related with horror. These conditions caused Fulton to realize that the highways of the oceans must be made safe so that all the nations of the world could live in peace without fear of one another.

In 1798 Fulton wrote to a friend:

From the foregoing we learn the reason for the secret invention he had in mind during the years he spent in France. Robert Fulton planned to build a boat to descend beneath the water, which should carry masses of gunpowder to be placed wherever desired. These bombs, as we would call them, could be set by time-clocks so that they would later discharge their fire. We are familiar enough with submarines, now that they are in use in our own and other navies, but how impossible such a contrivance seemed in Fulton’s day! He called his invention “torpedo,” a name which has since been universally used for all such submarine vessels. He had his inspiration for the name from a strange fish of which he had read in the travels of Sir Thomas Herbert, where it was described as a “TorpÆdo or Cramp Fish” which, when the explorer and his companion took in their hands, alarmed them so greatly that they trembled; for “it let forth a cold breath upon them, so they would be so frightened that they would let it go.” You will see that Fulton’s strange boat, like this fish, was to let forth a strange breath of fire upon its enemies. He chose the name well.

This dreadful machine of war seemed indeed a curious instrument to bring peace. His plan was to manufacture so deadly a weapon of warfare that no nation would dare to enter into a battle on the seas.

Fulton had to tarry three weeks at Calais before his passport arrived. With this he soon reached Paris.

He found the city gay and happy, with all remembrance of warfare put away.

He sought lodgings at an excellent hotel where he was fortunate in meeting an American gentleman, Joel Barlow by name, and his wife. Between the three there arose a lifelong friendship of rare intimacy. Fulton was always happy in the selection of friends, in this instance particularly, for Barlow was a man of considerable distinction in literature, statesmanship, and philosophy. Fulton was a young man of agreeable presence and attractive manner and Mr. and Mrs. Barlow became greatly interested in him. When they moved into their own house, having no son of their own, they invited Fulton to live with them, and the friendship so strengthened that for seven years Fulton remained, almost as a son, in their home.

Mr. Barlow had been American Minister to Algiers, where he made important treaties and accomplished valuable diplomatic service in what was then a very difficult field. He was a man of wealth, and when released from office at the embassy, he moved to Paris where he could establish a home and live among his books and papers; for he was an industrious writer of political and historical essays.

Barlow interested himself in strengthening the friendliness between the United States and France. He knew the great men of both countries and by his side Fulton found genuine inspiration. He immediately set himself to the task of making drawings and plans to secure a patent for his Inclined Plane for Canal Navigation, which was duly granted on the 14th of February, 1798,—a pleasant valentine!

Again Fulton wrote to Napoleon and to other great men describing the invention,—in fact, the emperor was to hear much of the American inventor from this time on.

No sooner was he settled in Mr. Barlow’s home than Fulton commenced the study of the French language, and later German and Italian. As his need arose, in the development of his inventions, he also studied higher mathematics, chemistry, perspective drawing and physics. He was twenty-nine years of age at this time but was wise enough to know that “one is never too old to learn.”

Of course he needed money and naturally he took up his brush to earn it. About this time he painted several portraits, one a fine likeness of his good friend Joel Barlow. West had probably given him letters of introduction to the artists of Paris, for Fulton was soon at home among them. Vanderlyn made a charming pencil sketch of Fulton; and Houdon, the famous sculptor, who had visited America with Benjamin Franklin, carved a marble bust of Fulton which is now preserved in the Louvre. During the Hudson-Fulton Celebration, this bust was reproduced in bronze for the New York Historical Society and also for the Metropolitan Museum.

The great men of the world are always the busiest. Fulton accomplished much during the fifty years of his life. He was never idle, and he made each day count for something. This is a good rule to remember, for so many days are likely to slip by without real result. The sum total of a life’s work is only the mere addition of many so-called “small” duties.

Fulton still remembered his dear old mother in the distant farm-home of Pennsylvania, and in 1799 sent her so delightful a letter, with a present of thirty-six guineas, that you will want to read this proof of his faithful affection; and, perhaps, smile a little over his merry pleasantries about the French ladies, and his sturdy preference for the ladies of his own land.

Fulton’s mother died during this year, 1799, in the Pennsylvania farm-house, and it is doubtful whether his letter reached her. If it did, the thirty-six guineas, the “pictures of the late King of France,” and the happy letter, with its promise of home-coming, must have gladdened her heart.

Before we take up the story of the submarine torpedo-boat work,—as difficult as that of his later invention of steam navigation,—let us recall another venture which Fulton made, along quite another line. Upon his arrival in Paris he had noticed the gayety and joyousness of the French and he decided to appeal to these happy people with a new form of amusement, a painted panorama.

It is only necessary to remind ourselves of the astounding popularity, in our day, of moving-pictures, to realize how fortunate Fulton was in his plan to amuse the people of Paris. A Scotchman, Robert Barker, had painted a panorama of the city of Edinburgh, to exhibit in London in 1789. Possibly Fulton had seen this exhibit, for it had proved highly successful; at any rate, he applied for a French patent, which was granted in April, 1799, to “Robert Fulton of the United States” for a term of ten years.

Fulton’s panorama was almost twice as large as the Scotchman’s. He secured a plot of ground in a central part of the city, and built a loft, in circular shape, upon it. The queer-looking building attracted immediate attention. In it Fulton hung the huge canvas, and his industrious hand painted the startling scene, “The Destruction of Moscow,” a scene of pillage and devastation, such as Benjamin West had taught him to depict. The subject was attractive to the people, who were considering rumors of war, and they flocked in crowds to view the fiery representation. The entrance fee was a franc and a half, so money began to pour into Fulton’s empty purse. So noted did the panorama become that a popular song of the day was sung in the streets extolling its excellence. One cannot but wonder whether Fulton himself, perhaps at Barlow’s suggestion, wrote the words to advertise the new amusement.

We can almost fancy that we see and hear the care-free crowd, strolling through the street, where now an arcade called “Passage des Panoramas” marks the place, singing the popular air as they crowded to the door of entrance, just as people flock to-day to an inexpensive and novel entertainment. Fulton was indeed a clever man to have adapted Barker’s London success to the people of the French capital. Here is one verse of the song, with its translation:

This business venture proved very successful but Fulton was so busy with greater affairs that he could not long give his personal attention to its supervision. In December of that year he sold the patent rights to an American who carried on the business for several years. Other scenes replaced the original “Moscow,” possibly Fulton painted them; at any rate, he kept an interest in the business, and in 1801 took out a second patent for improvements in panoramas.

But Fulton longed to give to humanity something better than mere amusement,—he wanted to help them with their work, to make traveling easier, and, if possible, to banish warfare. His experiences with his submarine torpedo-boat will be told in the next chapter.