Money was again needed, you see, but we may be sure it was forthcoming with this proof of the success of the great project. For the trial-trip, although it made necessary some slight alterations, removed all doubt as to its power. During the week the boat was moved to its new dock on the North, or Hudson River, and the carpenters were set at work to finish the cabins and make the boat ready for her first official voyage up the Hudson. Fulton promised the Chancellor that it should take place “on Monday next,”—that was August 17th,—so Fulton’s partner and several members of his family journeyed to New York, by sloop or stage-coach, to take the historic trip. CHAPTER XIV FIRST VOYAGE OF THE _CLERMONT_ The eventful day, the 17th of August, 1807, dawned with blue, unclouded skies. There was a buzz of excitement throughout the morning as the guests, about forty in number, assembled at the dock near the old States Prison, in Greenwich Village. Miss Helen Livingston, a young lady who was present, had written her mother, “Cousin Chancellor has a wonderful new boat which is to make the voyage up the Hudson some day soon. It will hold a good many passengers and he has, with his usual kindness, invited us to be of the party. He says it will be something to remember all our lives. He says we need not trouble ourselves about provisions, as his men will see to all that.” She with her sister, Kate Livingston, made the famous trip and many years later told its story to her granddaughter, Helen Evertsen Smith, who wrote it out. “Cousin Chancellor” predicted the truth when he said it would be something to remember all their lives! There were several ladies in the party, as well as the Dean of Ripon Cathedral, England, John R. Livingston, and other persons of distinction. Some were incredulous and all were slightly uneasy. Fulton himself has thus described the exciting time: The moment arrived in which the word was to be given for the boat to move. My friends were in groups on the deck. There was anxiety mixed with fear among them. They were silent, sad and weary. I read in their looks nothing but disaster and almost repented of my efforts. The signal was given and the boat moved on a short distance and then stopped and became immovable. To the silence of the preceding moment, now succeeded murmurs of discontent and agitation, and whispers and shrugs. I could hear distinctly repeated ‘I told you so; it is a foolish scheme: I wish we were well out of it.’