Читать книгу Robert Fulton - Alice Crary Sutcliffe - Страница 5

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American Independence was young in 1778,—only two years old. The patriotism awakened by the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia was active as this second anniversary of our nation’s birth approached, and sturdy Pennsylvanians, glad of our country’s freedom from English rule, planned a Fourth of July celebration.

In Lancaster, less than seventy miles from Philadelphia, the wise men of the town council foresaw waste and tumult if the young patriots carried out the programme they had arranged. Upon the first day of July the Council discussed the matter and passed this resolution, which they publicly posted:

“The Excessive Heat of the Weather, the Present Scarcity of Candles, and Other Considerations, Induce the Council to Recommend to the Inhabitants to Forbear Illuminating the City on Saturday Evening Next, July 4th.

“By Order,

“Timothy Matlack, Secretary.”

We can imagine the disappointment of the Lancaster boys when they read this notice. Angry groups around the sign-board evinced their displeasure, and some of the bolder ones declared that they would light their candles anyway!

But one conscientious thirteen-year-old boy tried to think of some other method to show patriotism. As the town council forbade the use of candles, he would not disobey their law; perhaps he could prepare a more novel celebration in honor of the holiday.

He had some candles which he had saved for the event; now they were of no use. He therefore took them to a brush-maker who kept powder and shot for sale, and offered to trade them for gunpowder. The brush-maker, surprised that the boy would part with his candles when they were so scarce, asked his reason. The lad replied:

“Our rulers have asked the people not to illuminate their windows and streets. All good citizens should obey law, so I have decided instead to light the heavens with sky-rockets.”

The dealer, although amused, was glad to get the candles and promptly gave gunpowder in exchange. Then the boy went to another store, where he bought several large sheets of cardboard. The clerk was about to roll the sheets for easy handling, but his customer protested:

“I wish to carry them as they are.”

The curiosity of this man also was aroused. He remembered that the lad was said to be “always trying to invent something.” As he handed them over he asked:

“What are you going to do with them?”

Eagerly the boy answered: “We are forbidden to light our windows with candles. I’m going to shoot my candles through the air.”

“Tut! Tut!” exclaimed the man, laughingly. “That’s an impossibility.”

“No, sir,” the boy responded, with a flash of enthusiasm. “There is nothing impossible.”

This is a true story, told by an old-time Lancaster historian. The thirteen-year-old boy was Robert Fulton, who became the inventor of steam navigation.

It is good to carry the story further in imagination. That group of boys who gathered in the town during the twilight of Independence Day, 1778, saw a few spluttering rockets shoot skyward from the hand of a lad determined to carry the good news of freedom to a higher horizon than that of the home windows of Lancaster. A flash! A whirr! and the light arose, zigzagged its message through the darkness, like fiery handwriting in the sky, and then died away. But the fine courage and courtesy of the boy who would not disobey a local law, although he felt a national appeal to patriotic jubilee,—these tokens of character have not faded. They prophesied the boy’s success in life. He foretold it in his words, “Nothing is impossible.”

Robert Fulton’s father was one of three brothers, David, John, and Robert. They were of Scotch origin, and came to America from Kilkenny, Ireland, about 1730. Robert, the youngest, settled in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where in 1759 he married Miss Mary Smith, daughter of Joseph Smith of Oxford Township, and bought for their first home a brick dwelling on the northeast corner of Penn Square, in the center of the town. In this house they lived until 1764. They took an active interest in local affairs, for Robert Fulton belonged to every organization then formed; to be sure, there were only three, for the town was small. He was secretary of the Union Fire Company, a charter member of the Juliana Library, and a founder of the Presbyterian Church.

It is pleasant to think of the young couple settling their new home on Penn Square (where not many years before the Indians had a colony), near a spring of clear water under a giant hickory tree. It was on this very spot that the chieftains of “Hickory Tribe,” as they termed themselves, met to confer with William Penn, the wise and kindly Quaker.

Governor Thomas Pownall visited Lancaster in 1754 and wrote that it was “a pretty and considerable town, increasing fast and growing rich.” So we can be certain that when Robert Fulton’s parents established a home of their own on Penn Square, they felt they had a bright future before them.

Two little daughters, Elizabeth and Isabella, were born to Mr. and Mrs. Fulton while they lived in this house and were among the first children to be christened in the new church. Mr. Fulton had a strong voice and was chosen to “lead the psalm” in the old Court House, where services were held until the church could be built. He sang the opening words of each division of the psalm and the congregation joined in unison for the later words.

In 1763 Mr. Fulton signed the charter for the town library, the third to be established in the American colonies. Thomas and William Penn, Esquires of the Province, drafted the papers and named the library “Juliana” after Thomas Penn’s wife. He was a son of the famous old William Penn, who had conferred with the Hickory Indians, and for whom the state of Pennsylvania had been named.

The new church, the Juliana Library, and the Union Fire Company, together with his business, kept Robert Fulton well occupied, but they yielded friendly comradeship and varied interests. In 1765 Mr. Fulton sold his Lancaster home and moved his family to a farm of more than three hundred acres on Conowingo Creek, in Little Britain Township, which he had purchased the preceding November. It lay sixty-five miles from Philadelphia, but not many from Lancaster, so they were not far from their friends, though they had to give up active work in the town.

The plastered stone farm-house to which the Fulton family moved is still standing by the country cross-roads. A wide sloping roof shelters the two-story building and overhangs a porch at the eastern end. There the ground slopes to the valley where the Conowingo Creek, a picturesque stream, flows on its quiet way to join the Susquehanna River. It is a place of great beauty and may well have proved attractive to early settlers. The low-ceiled parlors remain as they were during Mr. and Mrs. Fulton’s occupancy, and the upper bedrooms show broad window sills of great age. The fireplace of the old-time kitchen also is unchanged, the sturdy crane swinging in the sooty shadows where Mrs. Fulton hung her kettle to boil, in those distant days of pioneer life. Joseph Swift, of Philadelphia, wrote in after years that his grandmother “well remembered in her youth the preparations which a visit to Aunt Fulton required in the way of baking, boiling and roasting, and in getting ready the camp equipage which the journey through the wilderness required. It was only less formidable than a journey across the Atlantic.”

It was in this quiet farm-house[1] that Robert Fulton, the inventor, was born on the 14th day of November, 1765. He was the first son and there was great rejoicing at his birth. During the cold winter days he slept by the open fireside while his mother attended to her household tasks and cared for the little daughters,—Peggy and Belle, as they were called,—who toddled about the baby brother’s cradle. When the springtime threw its mantle of green over the fresh country-side, Robert laughed and grew strong in the clear country air.

Possibly farming did not pay, for during the succeeding year Mr. and Mrs. Fulton mortgaged the property to Joseph Swift and two others, arranging payments to be made during five years. When Robert Fulton finally moved his family back to Lancaster, Joseph Swift came to live in the house, now pleasantly shaded by a tall button-wood tree. This tree is said to have grown from a riding-whip which Joseph Swift’s daughter, Esther, stuck into the ground one day as she dismounted from her favorite pony.

Although the Fulton family lived but a short time upon these farm lands, it gave a sufficient reason for a change of name in the township, for when Little Britain was resurveyed in 1844 the section containing the farm was entitled “Fulton Township,” in honor of the baby boy who first saw the light under that sloping roof, on the bleak November day in 1765.

In selecting land near Conowingo Creek, the elder Robert Fulton realized—as his son came to realize in later years—the importance of watercourses and turnpike advantages. He continued upon the farm till 1771, when it was advertised for sale as “the place where Robert Fulton lives.” But he died early in the autumn of 1774, and his widow, with scanty means, took up the task of rearing their five children, for a daughter, Mary, and a second son, Abraham Smith Fulton, had been born since 1765.

Robert Fulton’s Birthplace, Little Britain, Pennsylvania.

Robert Fulton, the older son, was then nine years old, a bright, active boy, eager for all sorts of fun. An uncle, his father’s brother, took him to his home for a time, but Robert was unhappy away from his mother and returned to her. He early learned to carve his fortune from the hard rock of adversity.

[1] In 1909, a bronze tablet, commemorative of Fulton’s birth, presented by the Lancaster County Historical Society, was unveiled at the entrance door, by the writer.