#robert fulton

ab. 1810 Robert Fulton - Mrs. Stephen Van Rensselaer III (Cornelia Paterson)

Robert Fulton, Jean Antoine Houdon, 1803-4

Napoleon could’ve been the proud owner of the very first submarine, or he could’ve commanded the first steam-powered warship. If Napoleon hadn’t literally missed those two boats, we might all be speaking French. Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda. Most people believe attacking Russia in the winter was Napoleon’s undoing. It was an undeniable failure, but I disagree. Sometimes it’s that one unthinking moment, that one terrible, horrible, no good, very bad decision that truly sinks us. Such is the case with Napoleon. Here’s what I believe led to the emperor’s ruin. Napoleon itched to conquer the Brits. In his quest to take over Britain, he laid plans worthy of any evil genius. While researching background for my novel, A School for Unusual Girls, I discovered that Napoleon had plans to dig a tunnel under the channel. If that didn’t work out, he considered launching an aerial attack using hydrogen powered air balloons. Airships. I’m not kidding. Sounds like a steampunk plot, doesn’t it? He also had the idea to build a gigantic wind powered barge—a huge raft—as big as our modern aircraft carriers, to ferry his troops across to Dover. Grandiose schemes? You bet. But here we are 210 years later and the Chunnel, which didn’t open for traffic until 1995, is built in the exact location my favorite evil genius intended to build it.

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Clearly Napoleon was a man ahead of his time. He had a team of engineers and commissioned scientists from other countries to design weaponry and attack vessels. Does this remind you of some of the James Bond super villains? One of Napoleon’s foreign scientists included the brilliant American inventor, Robert Fulton. Yep, the very same Robert Fulton who invented the steamship. Therein lies the rub. When Fulton presented his design for a steam-powered warship to Napoleon, the emperor scooted back from the table and had a Pinky and the Brain moment. He stood, hand on the hilt of his sword, and said, “What, sir? You would make a ship sail against the wind and currents by lighting a bonfire under her decks? I pray you excuse me. I have no time to listen to such nonsense.”

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Robert Fulton also designed a submarine for the French. Can you believe it? A genuine submarine. Guess what he named it… the Nautilus. I bet your mind leapt straight to 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, right? Jules Verne (another of my beloved geniuses) named his fictional craft after Fulton’s actual submarine as a tribute to his fellow scientist. After all, Verne was a man of science long before he fell in love with writing fiction. Fulton’s amazing mini-sub was an incredible feat of engineering for the time. It moved through the water using a hand-crank propeller. He tested it in the Seine. Three men stayed inside under twenty-five feet of water for more than an hour. They were able to travel faster than four men rowing on the surface. And get this—he even built a torpedo—a torpedo that in that same test blasted apart the hull of an abandoned ship. The idea of trying to sneak up on their enemies underwater excited Napoleon’s engineers. They oversaw Fulton’s development of the Nautilus. Unfortunately, later in the year, when Napoleon came to watch another test on the Seine, the Nautilus leaked. Exasperated, Napoleon decided Fulton was a fraud and sent him packing.

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Here’s Napoleon, a guy who thinks he can conquer the world, and nearly does. He dreams of flying hot air balloons to attack his British nemesis. He designed a gigantic barge big enough to carry a legion across the channel. He even considered digging a tunnel under the ocean. But what, he can’t see the value of a steamship… it begs the question. Why? As you may have guessed, I’ve got a theory. I call it: the problem of two small super geniuses in this crazy, mixed-up world theory. Napoleon fascinates me. I love working with him as the background conflict in the Stranje House novels. He is the quintessential super villain: suave, rich, a phenomenally compelling leader and a brilliant strategist. Simply put, Napoleon Bonaparte is a science-fiction-worthy genius with an unfortunate case of megalomania.

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When Napoleon walked into a crowded room, he was used to being the biggest, baddest dude there. Well, scratch that, he was short. But one thing Napoleon knew for sure, he was the smartest guy in the room. Oh, who am I kidding? He was used to being the most intelligent guy in all of France—maybe the whole world.

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Enter Robert Fulton, a good-looking, likeable guy, sporting a head full of dark curly hair and a gutsy can-do attitude. Unless I miss my guess, Fulton had a pretty clear notion that he was one of the brighter candles in the candelabra. He had ideas. Big ideas. Exciting ideas. He was going places. Doing things. I doubt a fellow like Robert Fulton tiptoed around the emperor’s temperamental ego. Fulton was excited about his inventions, eager to discuss their potential, and confident of their worth. Take two geniuses, add a spoonful of jealousy, a dollop of over-zealousness, a heaping cup of super ego, give it a vigorous stir and stand back while it erupts.

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On the one hand, I have my darling fiancé. My beloved. The man who swore to me he’d “never forget” the day we met, the day we kissed, the day he asked me to marry him... and yet somehow manages to mix up every one of them with “the day I bought that waistcoat” or “the day I won that duel.” The man who says he wants to marry me more than anything, but whose idea of wedding planning is “maybe next month, my love, the stars will align and my schedule will clear” (spoiler: they never do).

On the other, I have another man. Objectively better in some ways—remembers things, actually wants to do things now instead of on the next equinox—but who also thinks “fighting for my hand” is best done by literally fighting the other man, like I’m a particularly shiny coin they found on the street.

Neither of them seems to realize that I am not, in fact, some prize pig at an old fair. I am a human. I have opinions. I have favorite flowers. I cry at certain plays. I doubt Mr. Fulton is aware, and I am certain my George does not remember in the first place.

And they both seem to forget that I can, in fact, walk away from both of them if I get tired enough of this.

...That said, they do both look very handsome when they’re arguing over me. And I’m not made of stone.

He wrote mourning poetries for John Laurens，Benjamin Franklin，Theodosia Burr Alston and Robert Fulton.