The Story of the Clermont

Peter R. Limburg

On a sunny mid-August day in 1807, Robert Fulton signaled his engineer to start the machinery, and launched the world’s first commercially successful steamboat. The boat would come to be known as the Clermont, although Fulton himself never called her that. That day she was simply “the steamboat.” On board were forty fashionably dressed guests, drawn from the cream of New York society (Fulton was well-connected). They sat on an open deck, for the boat was not completed. A crowd of the curious jostled for space on the dock. Would this crack-brained craft actually work, or would it join the list of previously failed steamboats?

The craft in question looked nothing like the familiar river sloops. Long and narrow, 150 by 13 feet, with low, vertical sides, it had a mast in the bow and one in the stern, but today they bore no sails. This was to be a test of the engine. Imported from England under special license and designed to Fulton’s specifications, its single cylinder had a bore of 24 inches (more than the shoulder width of an average male) and a stroke of four feet. It transmitted power to the 15-foot paddle wheels, one on each side of the boat, through an ingenious system of gears. Each paddle wheel had a clutch so that it could be disengaged, to aid in turning the vessel. But the passengers were not concerned with these mechanical marvels. Such details did not intrude on the consciousness of the gentry. They were worried that the boiler might explode. From the smokestack issued dense clouds of black smoke mixed with soot and sparks that fell on the snow-white shirt ruffles of the men and the pretty dresses of the women.

On the signal, the boat moved forward a short distance and then stopped short. As it lay motionless, some of the guests began to whisper their doubts. As Fulton recollected, “I could hear distinctly repeated –’I told you it was so; it is a foolish scheme: I wish we were well out of it.’” The crowd on the pier jeered loudly. Undeterred, Fulton apologized to his guests, asked them to indulge him for half an hour, and descended into the engine pit. Something had jammed. Tinkering with the mechanism, Fulton soon straightened the misaligned parts, and the steamboat proceeded, destination Albany, 150 miles up the river. “All were still incredulous,” continued Fulton. “None seemed willing to trust the evidence of their own senses.”

On chugged the boat, the engine faithfully performing its fifteen strokes a minute. The uncovered paddle wheels splashed water freely. The guests, their mood now buoyant, began to sing a popular ballad, “Ye Banks and Braes o’ Bonny Doon.” Among the guests was the young woman Fulton hoped to marry, Harriet Livingston, a cousin of Fulton’s patron and business partner, the powerful and immensely rich Robert Livingston, former Chancellor of the State of New York. Fulton spared no expense to impress his high-born and influential guests. On board were a sumptuous lunch prepared by a skilled Black chef, with fine wine and spirits, plus enough food and drink for the rest of the voyage. Two stewards and a stewardess served the meal.

Crowds of spectators lined the river banks as the monstrous new mechanism forged upstream. Some cheered; others were terrified. On continued the smoke-belching, noisy steamboat. River boatmen shook their fists at the new rival. Darkness fell, but that did not stop Fulton’s progress. (Passengers must have gotten drowsy, but the sources are mum about sleeping arrangements.)

Twenty-four hours after leaving its dock in New York Harbor, Fulton’s steamboat made landfall at Clermont, the Hudson River estate of Robert Livingston, 110 miles up the river from New York. Chancellor Livingston grandly announced the engagement of his young cousin to the inventor, who was more than twice her age.

The voyage continued the next morning. The boat reached Albany in a mere eight hours; her average speed was 5 miles an hour, more than enough to qualify for the monopoly which Fulton and Livingston sought, and much faster than a sailboat’s.

Although the newspapers greeted the achievement with indifference, Fulton was soon running advertisements for regular voyages of the North River Steamboat, which is what he now called it. (When he rebuilt it in the winter of 1807-08, he re-registered it as the North River Steamboat of Clermont. Only the last part of the name stuck.)

Having proved that steam navigation worked, Fulton took two weeks to complete the construction of his boat, decking over the engine, boarding up the sides, and covering the paddle wheels. An empty shell of a cabin in the stern was fitted up with 12 berths for lady passengers. Service on a regular schedule began September 4, with 24 passengers, and by November over 100 passengers were paying fares to the inventor and his partner per trip.

Ice put an end to river trips, and Fulton took advantage of this down time to rebuild the Clermont in sturdier and grander style. The reconstructed Clermont measured 16 feet in width, making her more stable. Her planks were now of 2-inch oak. She had stronger iron work. Fulton daringly raised the steam pressure from 3 pounds per square inch to 5. On deck were two cabins for ladies and children, and a “great cabin” for men, totaling 54 “births.”

The furnishings were elegant. Men were instructed not to lie down on a berth with shoes or boots on, under penalty of a $1.50 fine (the full fare to Albany was $7.00), nor to sit on tables or break furniture. Clermont carried a kitchen, a larder, and, of course, a bar. The schedule, as before, called for a trip of 35 hours, including stops at several important river towns, including Tarrytown. People could board or disembark at these stops on request.

The Clermont was by no means the first steamboat. That honor belongs to the short-lived craft designed by a French aristocrat, the Marquis Claude Jouffroy d’Abbans, in 1783. In the intervening years, at least five other steamboats churned the waters, in Britain as well as in the young United States. But operating on the water was one thing; making a profit was another. Few people took steamboats seriously.

In 1814 Fulton announced that the North River Steam Boat was “laid aside,” and her career came to an official end. Although her lifetime was short – Fulton had designed her to last seven or eight years – within a decade of her original voyage her progeny were plying the nation’s major waterways. Unlike his predecessors, Fulton did not waste time and money trying to invent a steamboat from scratch. Instead, he skillfully combined the work of earlier engineers, scientists and visionaries. In so doing he changed history and opened up a continent.

Some Unsung Residents

Norman J. Sissman

One of the great pleasures of living at our Kendal is the participation of residents in public events. From field trips to regular Monday night lectures, from concert series to stage shows celebrating New Year’s Eve and July 4th, from social sessions for those with memory and physical limitations to a program to accompany single residents when they go to a hospital emergency room (the Co-Pilot Program), from multi-session courses by outside experts to individual resident-led study groups, to a welcoming committee to ease the process of adjusting for new residents to the presentation of nightly films and weekly opera recordings –and more; all these activities organized and carried out by residents.

We have never needed a staff Social Coordinator here; we do it all. Most of these activities and leaders are well known. But, in addition to these admirable programs, there are some among us who regularly initiate other activities that contribute to the security and joy of living here. Many are less well-known; you might call them “unsung.” With apologies to those who will go unmentioned, here are brief descriptions of four of these residents.

Martin Smolin has been making small sculptures from material found in nature for over two years. He collects pieces of wood, most frequently from a nearby Croton riverside park (fallen tree branches, occasional small tree trunks, lumber washed up on the riverbank), and stones, then assembles and glues them into innovative free-flowing forms. Sometimes he adds decorative cherry and peach pits. Although Martin studied life drawing and ceramic sculpture in high school and college, he has only now returned to artistic creation. He tells me that admiration of the constructions of fellow resident Ann Lasusa stimulated him to begin this activity, and Ann has helped him through the ensuing years with comments and occasional advice. Many of these pieces now decorate Kendal public spaces in Clermont and elsewhere, to our aesthetic delight.

For over a decade Gabriele Arents has been hosting dinners in the Formal Dining Room for the purpose of introducing new residents to older ones. These meals take place three or four times a month, almost always at 5 p.m. on Tuesdays. Gabriele gets a list of new residents from the Welcoming Committee and invites two or three of them, together with two or three old-timers. The usual selection of fine wines is supplemented by two small gifts for each diner: a chocolate bonbon, and a blank greeting card adorned with a lovely photograph of some bucolic feature of our nearby environment, taken by Gabriele. Gabriele tells me that she started arranging these get-togethers as a way of helping her shy husband socialize, but she has steadfastly continued them after his death. The combination of old and new has gone surprisingly well at these dinners and has contributed significantly to the integration of new residents into our community.

The Next Two

Although I’ve labeled the subjects of these snapshots “unsung,” Deb Wood’s singing and guitar playing for residents’ groups must be included. For years, Deb has led hour-long sessions with residents in Sunnyside, twice a week, and occasionally in Clearwater. She plays and sings American folk songs and other old favorites. She tries to stimulate residents’ participation by encouraging them to sing along, or request numbers that they know. Deb also has been part of Kendal-wide singalongs, and she plays about twice a month at Episcopal services held here. Her repertoire is large and growing. She learned the guitar in college; her sessions at Kendal have been important contributions to the pleasures and meaningfulness of many residents’ lives.

We arrive at my fourth unsung resident via what I consider the most beautiful and peaceful spot on our campus, the Courtyard Garden. As some of you may know from having attended a recent open-house reception there, this is an enclosed garden on the C-level, surrounded by the walls and windows of Clearwater and Sunnyside; its entrance is through Clearwater. The garden has a circular path around its periphery; at the four points where the circular path comes closest to the walls, there are expanded sitting areas with tables and easy chairs. Other paths, like the spokes of a wheel, lead to the center, where a graceful concrete fountain gurgles. The area is filled with a great variety of colorful flowers: peonies, irises, clematis, black-eyed Susans, astilbes, azaleas, cornflowers, columbines, milkweed, butterfly bushes, Joe Pye weed, and many more. Three small trees adorn the space, the most interesting of which is a crape myrtle, originally given to the garden by a Founder and now thriving with large, delightful pink blossoms. The garden was established in 2006 aided by a grant from a

Founder, Charlie Haffey, matched by Pfizer. For the first fifteen years of its existence, it was maintained by Annette Leyden. Now, with the assistance of Anna Mae O’Leary, there is a group of about six resident volunteers who almost daily trim, fertilize, remove old flowers, plant new ones, and sweep the paths. Few other activities have contributed more to our joy and well-being, especially for those in Clearwater and Sunnyside, than this devoted labor. To these four unsung residents and many others contributing their time and effort to our community, our deepest heartfelt gratitude!