We have followed Fulton through widely different works,—art, canal navigation, the invention of the submarine torpedo and the steamboat. In 1814 he had reached almost the end of his busy and useful life.

Robert Fulton lived to be only fifty years old,—not the allotted “three score and ten” named by the Psalmist; yet during his half-century he accomplished infinitely more than many another does in a life full of years. To labor incessantly was his habit and pleasure. As he had written to Joel Barlow, “I cannot exist without a project, or projects, and I have two or three of the first order of sublimity.” Herein lay the secret, if such an openly admitted fact can be so termed, of his valuable life. He looked upon work as sublime; he exalted it to dignity; and its product to him was world-wide fame because of his world-wide service to humanity.

After his marriage, on January 7th, 1808, to Miss Harriet Livingston, to whom you will remember his engagement was announced on the Clermont, they made their home in New York City, first at 100 Reade Street, then at 133 Chambers Street, where they moved in 1811, and the succeeding year, at Marketfield Place, opposite the Battery. The street now known as Battery Place was then called Marketfield Street; the Hudson River then flowed in as far as Washington Street and Battery Park extended only as far as Greenwich Street. Castle Garden occupied a tiny island connected with the mainland by a foot-bridge.

The foregoing addresses are given from the New York directories of those years, and some confusion regarding Fulton’s last residence has arisen from the fact that Cadwallader Colden, who knew him well, says that he lived at number 1 State Street. In either case, his home commanded a superb outlook upon the harbor and river, and became a gathering place for his many distinguished friends. The outlook upon the dancing, sunny waters of the harbor must have been an inspiration and joy to the inventor of boats,—of this we may be sure. Works of art, in accord with Fulton’s taste, abounded; and in the dining-room, the scene of much pleasant hospitality, was spread the dinner service of fine china, embossed with the coat of arms of the United States, presented to Fulton by Thomas Jefferson.

Mrs. Fulton was an accomplished harpist and when quiet evening hours closed the busy days, we may fancy her graceful form, with high-carved tortoise-shell comb surmounting her slender head, as she sat in the mellow light of the drawing-room, playing sweet melodies to the master of the house and their four little children,—Robert Barlow Fulton (named for Joel Barlow whose affection for Fulton never lessened) and the three daughters, Julia, Mary, and Cornelia Livingston Fulton,—bright, happy, companionable children who delighted the hearts of their parents.

Several excellent portraits exist of Robert Fulton, for he made a striking model for the many artists who were his friends; but in addition to that depicted, let us briefly consider his character, learned from those who knew and loved him in life; and from them we may gain the true likeness of the soul and mind of the man.

First we may think of Fulton as a good son, ever loyal and kind to his mother, providing a home for her old age and sending her gifts of money from time to time through many years, to provide her with comforts. His generosity included all who were of kin, for the letters quoted prove him mindful of the welfare of his brother and sisters, though circumstances had carried him far from their sight.

He was a good friend as well, choosing his companions for their real worth, and his affection for them was faithful throughout his life.

He hated sham and falsehood and was brave enough to expose any make-believe in science. An example of this is shown in the following story. A man named Redheffer had earned much money in Philadelphia by exhibiting a machine which he claimed was run by perpetual motion. In 1813 one of these contrivances was brought to New York and advertised as a modern wonder. Crowds of people flocked to see it and paid a dollar entrance-fee.

The problem of perpetual motion had vexed the minds of scientists for many years. Fulton was unwilling to believe that its solution had been discovered, but his friends persuaded him to visit the house in the outskirts of the city where the machine was set up. He had not been long in the room when he exclaimed, “This machine has a crank motion.”

The alarmed showman hastened forward with explanations, but Fulton, convinced he was right, openly denounced the affair as a fraud. His trained ear, as it listened to the wheels of the mechanism, detected an uneven motion and he proclaimed to the audience that the thing was a cheat and he could prove it. He knocked away some woodwork concealing a string of catgut, which led along an upper wall to a distant attic where a poor old man, unkempt and half-starving, sat upon a stool and patiently turned, with weary hand, a crank.

The angry audience destroyed the machine, and the dishonest proprietor disappeared quickly. This ended Redheffer’s false theory.

Mrs. Barlow, than whom none could know Fulton better, wrote to Mr. Colden, in reply to his question about Fulton’s early life:

“Agreeable to your request I shall endeavor to give you the best information in my power respecting the early life of our excellent friend, Mr. Fulton. What is previous to 1797, when we became acquainted with him, was related by himself. He chose to have it known that he was self-educated and author of his own fortune, if I may so express it. During the summer of 1797, Mr. Fulton came to Paris to introduce his system (of canals) and get it patented. He came to lodge at a hotel where Mr. Barlow and myself were boarders. There commenced that strong affection and devoted friendship which subsisted between them in the most extraordinary degree as long as they lived. We went into our own house soon after, when my husband invited Mr. Fulton to reside with us as long as we should remain in Paris. He resided in our family as a brother for seven years. During this period he learned the French language and something of the Italian and German; studied the higher mathematics, the sciences, physics, chemistry and perspective, and in short completed his education as far as it related to his useful elegant pursuits.”

Mrs. Barlow quaintly says that Fulton’s “genteel manners, companionable and amiable qualities, acquired him many valuable friends among the nobility and gentry.” We may readily infer that not only did he choose his friends, but they chose him, because they found pleasure and profit in his company.

Mr. Colden describes him in these words: “Mr. Fulton was about six feet high; his person was slender but well proportioned and well formed. Nature had made him a gentleman and bestowed upon him ease and gracefulness. He had too much good sense for the least affectation; and a modest confidence in his own worth and talents gave him an unembarrassed deportment in all companies. His features were strong and of a manly beauty. He had large dark eyes and a projecting brow, expressive of intelligence and thought. His temper was mild, and his disposition lively. He was fond of society, which he always enlivened by cheerful, cordial manners and instructed or pleased by his sensible conversation. He expressed himself with energy, fluency, and correctness, and as he owed more to his own experience and reflections than to books, his sentiments were often interesting from their originality.

“In his home he was kind, generous, and affectionate, and he gave freely of his money to charity, to entertaining friends at home, and to further his scientific plans. But conspicuous among his virtues were his calm constancy, his industry, and the untiring perseverance which helped him to overcome all difficulties.”

Another friend wrote: “Among a thousand individuals you might readily point out Robert Fulton. He was conspicuous for his gentlemanly bearing and freedom from embarrassment, for his extreme activity, his height,—somewhat over six feet,—his slender yet energetic form and well accommodated dress, for his full and curly dark brown hair, carelessly scattered over his forehead and falling around his neck. His complexion was fair, his forehead high, his eyes dark and penetrating, and revolving in capacious orbs of cavernous depths; his brow was thick and evinced strength and determination; his nose was long and prominent, his mouth and lips were beautifully proportioned, giving the impress of eloquent utterance. Trifles were not calculated to impede him or damp his perseverance.”

A story is told by a writer in the National Portrait Gallery about the establishment of the first ferry-boat across the East River to Brooklyn, and of a painful accident which happened during the second or third trip. Some trouble occurred with the machinery, and in an attempt to start the boat the chief engineer was caught in the wheels and so injured that he died from his wounds the following day. He was carried to the house next to the home of the writer, who recalled the conversation between Mr. Fulton and the attending surgeon. Fulton exclaimed, “Sir, I will give all I am worth to save the life of that man.” When the doctor said his recovery was hopeless, Fulton turned aside, completely unmanned, and wept like a child. The neighbor truly observed that while no personal misfortune ever seemed to disturb Fulton’s calm manner, yet his feeling toward other people was sensitive and tender.

Paul Sabbaton, who was chief engineer in Fulton’s employ, wrote in later years, “I was so constantly with Mr. Fulton, saw him at his occupation, at his family fireside, and in almost every situation, that I have to this day a most distinct and strongly impressed likeness on my mind. He had all the traits of a man with the gentleness of a child. I never heard him use ill words to any one of those employed under him no matter how strong the provocation might be, and I do know there was enough of that at times; and ever and anon, my mind recurs to the time when his labors were severe. His habit was, cane in hand, to walk up and down for hours. I see him now, in my mind’s eye, with his white, loosely-tied cravat, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his ruffles waving from side to side, as his movements caused their movements; he, all the while in deep thought, scarcely noticing anything passing.”

This agrees with the statement of another employee: “His workmen were always pleased to see him about the shops. With his rattan cane in hand, he always appeared to me the counterpart of an English nobleman.”

By gathering these mind-pictures together we can form a composite likeness of a man who was great in small as well as in large affairs.

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.