In June 1801, Symington’s first new prototype ran successfully for two or three miles on the River Carron to Grangemouth. ‘The nice and effectual manner in which the machinery is applied,’ a Glasgow newspaper commented, ‘is an additional proof of the merit of Mr Symington, the engineer, and the whole plan is highly honourable to Lord Dundas.’ That autumn Symington patented his novel arrangement of a connecting rod and crank between the engine and paddle wheel shaft.
A second prototype, larger and more powerful, was named the Charlotte Dundas after the sponsor’s wife and daughter, who shared the name. The vessel was a broad-beamed towboat, fifty-six feet long by eighteen feet wide, powered by a one-cylinder engine driving a paddle wheel in a recess at the stern. The engine was built at a local foundry, the Carron Works, with a piston twenty-two inches in diameter and a four-foot stroke: an enormous increase over Symington’s first steamboat engine of 1788. His solution to the besetting early problem of paddle wheels – the dilemma that drove other pioneers to water jets and palmipedes – was to elevate the wheel quite high above the water. When a wheel was submerged to its midpoint, half in and half out of the water, much of its driving motion was wasted. A paddle entered the water in a horizontal position, slapping downward, and did no useful propelling work until it had run through almost forty-five degrees of its rotation. Only at the bottom of the cycle was it actually propelling the boat forward. On the back stroke, the process was reversed, as for the final forty-five degrees the paddle pushed largely upward until it cleared the surface. About half its energy simply thrashed the water up and down to no purpose. To avoid this waste, Symington placed the eight-bladed wheel of the Charlotte Dundas so high in the hull that only three of the paddles reached the water at once, at the bottom of the cycle, all of them working together to move the boat forward.
As Symington later told the story, in March 1802 the Charlotte Dundas took on board Lord Dundas, his son Captain George H. L. Dundas of the Royal Navy, and others, and towed two loaded vessels of seventy tons each a distance of nineteen and a half miles along the canal in six hours, against a strong head wind. ‘This experiment not only satisfied me, but every person who witnessed it, of the utility of steam navigation, ’ Symington later wrote. But the canal proprietors worried that the steamboat’s agitation and wake would harm the banks of the canal, and so rejected the plan. Lord Dundas then arranged for Symington to meet the Duke of Bridgewater, the leading canal entrepreneur in England. The duke at once ordered eight of Symington’s vessels – but he soon died, cancelling the deal. This double rejection after apparent successes left Symington too disheartened to persist. ‘This so affected me,’ he recalled, ‘that probably I did not use the energy I otherwise might have done to introduce my invention to public notice.’
This version of events has become the standard historical account, but it is wrong in certain particulars. Drawing from memory some twenty-five years later, Symington compressed two separate trials into a single event. On 4 January 1803, the Charlotte Dundas, with the two Dundases and others on board, towed a 100-ton boat from Stockingfield to Port Dundas at three miles an hour ‘amidst a very large concourse of people’, according to a newspaper report, ‘who were exceedingly well pleased with the performance.’ On 28 March 1803, the steamboat also towed two loaded vessels, a combined 130 tons, from Lock 20 on the canal to Port Dundas, eighteen and a half miles in nine hours and fifteen minutes – a speed about 40 per cent slower than Symington later remembered. For this trial he had incorporated suggestions by Captain George Dundas for how to manage the tow lines around sharp bends in the canal. The Glasgow Herald and Advertiser praised ‘the very appropriate mode in which the machinery is constructed, and the simple yet effectual manner its power is applied in giving motion to the vessel’. The newspaper also credited Lord Dundas for his generous financial support and perseverance in the ‘costly experiments’.
A few days later, the Herald and Advertiser published a testy letter from a Forth and Clyde Canal proprietor which fleshes out Symington’s later explanation of why his steamboat was banned from the canal. The letter writer pointed out that a vessel passing through one of the canal’s thirty-nine locks used a lockful of water, so a towboat plus barge consumed twice as much water (and the canal had recently been closed by low water); that the Charlotte Dundas, contrary to another report, would save no money over tow horses given her initial expense, the cost of coal, her crew, and general wear and tear; and that Symington’s earlier steamboat of 1801 could not run with any ice in the canal, and this problem had perhaps not yet been solved. After all these objections, the proprietor added, ‘It will be observed too, that the motion of the boat raises such an agitation in the water, as to injure the banks.’ In conclusion – and this probably clinched the matter – the writer regretted that Lord Dundas had been given all the public credit for funding Symington’s efforts. ‘It should have been added, that the Proprietors of the Forth and Clyde Navigation have already paid about £1700. for these experiments of this ingenious mechanic, without reaping any benefit from them, and without even getting any credit for their liberality.’
Given this bristling mixture of unmet criticisms and wounded, unappreciated generosity, and (one may assume) competitive resistance by the local owners of horses and stables, it is not surprising that Symington got no farther with the canal proprietors. Hoping for other wisps of interest in the Charlotte Dundas from somebody else, he laid her up near the canal at Bainsford. There she lingered on for almost sixty years, rotting and rusting away, a waning curiosity of the early steam age. Like James Watt, Symington was a gifted inventor saddled with a fainthearted personality, too easily deflected from his purposes. His singular misfortune was that – unlike Watt – he never found his Matthew Boulton.
Robert Fulton, the American painter and inventor, knew all the precedents in steam navigation. During twenty years spent abroad, in England and France, he studied the efforts of other steamboat pioneers and tried out his own improvements. In contrast with most of the other innovators, he was blessed with an overpowering confidence and persistence which, along with good looks and a gift for friendship, brought him the continuing support of rich, powerful patrons. Ultimately he returned to America to build and run the first commercially successful steamboat. Today most Americans consider him the principal originator of steam power on water. The process by which he achieved this reputation – and thus the reputation itself – demands a renewed examination.
For most of his two decades abroad, Fulton was preoccupied with other inventions than a steamboat. Living in France from 1797 to 1804, he devoted himself to an elaborate, quixotic, finally unworkable scheme for submarines and explosive mines, intended to revolutionize naval warfare. His intermittent interest in steamboats was revived when Robert R. Livingston arrived in Paris late in 1801 as the US minister to France. A man of enormous wealth and political influence in New York, Livingston hoped to develop a steamboat service for the Hudson River back home. Fulton had found his final, most significant patron.
During the summer of 1802, Fulton conducted a series of trials with a model boat powered by a clock spring. After considering all the propelling devices used by his predecessors, he settled on an endless chain with paddles or buckets attached to it. Resembling the tread of a modern tank or bulldozer, the chain was draped over two wheels across the side of the model, dipping into and seizing the water at the bottom of its cycle. Livingston, drawing from his own previous sallies at steamboat invention, preferred paddle wheels; but after Fulton reported on