It was suggested in our introduction that it is usually the case that an invention is no sooner born than it is compelled, while yet frail and infantile, to fight for its very existence: and it is curious that this should seem to be demanded not merely as against the opposition of human obstinacy but against sheer bad luck, which comes as a test of a man’s sincerity and of his faith in his own ideas. In the end, historically, this calamity had no ill-effects, for it only spurred the enthusiast to greater and more perfect accomplishment. But physically it cut short Fulton’s life of usefulness. As soon as the heart-breaking news was delivered to him, he rushed off to the Seine and found that the intelligence was all too true. For the next twenty-four hours he laboured assiduously, not stopping for food or rest, ignoring the chilly waters of the river, until his precious craft was raised from its watery bed. Fulton never recovered entirely from these physical trials following so suddenly on his years of mental work and worry, and his lungs were permanently affected for the rest of his life. But what he did recover--and that no doubt was to him more precious than his very life--were the machinery and main fragments of the hull. The gale of the night before had done more than wreck his ship: it had taught him to allow for one difficulty which he had overlooked, and it was well that it had happened thus instead of later on, when loss of life might have prejudiced the coming of the steamboat even longer still.