The Palisades, long admired for their beauty, were threatened by quarrying in the 1ate 1800s. Saving the Palisades was one of the early environmental actions on the Hudson River. These postcard views are from 1905 to 1910, the era the New Jersey State Federation of Women's Clubs were leading the effort to create the Palisades Interstate Park Commission. For more information about how the Palisades were protected see Hudson River Maritime Museum's online exhibit "Rescuing the River." 

It's Earth Day Week here at the Hudson River Maritime Museum, so of course we have to celebrate Music Monday with that quintessential Hudson River Song, "My Dirty Stream" by Pete Seeger. Also known as "The Hudson River Song," Pete wrote this song for the album "God Bless the Grass," released in 1982. The whole album has an environmental theme, and "My Dirty Stream" in particular was designed to raise awareness not only of the pollution of the Hudson River, but also about the Hudson River Sloop Clearwater, which Pete founded in 1964. 

"My Dirty Stream (The Hudson River Song)" Lyrics
​Sailing down my dirty stream
Still I love it and I'll keep the dream
That some day, though maybe not this year
My Hudson River will once again run clear

It starts high in the mountains of the north
Crystal clear and icy trickles forth
With just a few floating wrappers of chewing gum
Dropped by some hikers to warn of things to come

At Glens Falls, five thousand honest hands
Work at the consolidated paper plant
Five million gallons of waste a day
Why should we do it any other way?

Down the valley one million toilet chains
Find my Hudson so convenient place to drain
And each little city says, "Who, me?
Do you think that sewage plants come free?"

Out in the ocean they say the water's clear
But I live right at Beacon here
Half way between the mountains and sea
Tacking to and fro, this thought returns to me

Well it's Sailing up my dirty stream
Still I love it and I'll dream
That some day, though maybe not this year
My Hudson and my country will run clear.


When was the first time you heard "My Dirty Stream?" Did you ever hear Pete live in concert? Share your thoughts in the comments!

If you'd like to learn more about the construction of the sloop Clearwater, the role of Pete and the Sloop Singers in the passage of the Clean Water Act, and more, visit our online exhibit, "Rescuing the River: 50 Years of Environmental Activism on the Hudson." 

​Thanks to HRMM volunteer Mark Heller for sharing his knowledge of Hudson River music history for this series.

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

                                                       Poison in the River
Large Amounts of Sewage Filth is Being Dumped into the Hudson at Albany
[By telegraph to the Herald}
Albany, N.Y., Oct. 17, 1888 - Danger threatens our river towns and possibly the metropolis. It arises in the wholesale contamination of the Hudson River with tons of festering filth now being dredged from the Albany basin.

For years complaint has been made of this basin as a plague spot. Once a valuable part of the canal system, it has become gradually filled up and useless. The filling was chiefly the silt from the spring freshets, the refuse from mills and factories, and, worst of all, the washings from the city sewers.

When the health of the city was threatened by the accumulated nastiness the State Board of Health rose up and demanded that something be done. The city officials joined in the demand and an appropriation was secured to clear out the basin and restore it to the canal system.

                                  A Large Mass of Sewage Deposit
An amount of filth, nearly equal to 150,000 cubic feet, is to be removed, and dredges are now at work upon it. Sanitarians recommended that steps be taken to compost this filth as it lay, but nothing of the kind was done. It is simply scooped up, loaded into scows and tugged off down stream.

The workman say these scows are dumped some distance below the city. This leaves tons of putrid matter to be spread out along the shores by the tide or by every slight freshet, or to be carried on down stream by the current.

The danger arising from such a proceeding is that the filth is likely to contaminate the water to an extent which should fill with alarm all residents of cities and villages whose water supply is taken from the river.

                                        Contaminating the Ice Crop
Nor does the danger stop there. The same source of contamination threatens the ice crop. The officials of the State Board of Health agree that this danger is even greater than the other. The ice crop is gathered for distribution over a large territory and can easily be contaminated by sewage poison. Physicians recognize ice gathered from impure water as a frequent source of enteric troubles, and warn the public against it as strongly as against the use of polluted water itself.

The work of dredging out the Albany basin is well under way, and unless prompt action be taken by the proper authorities, a large increase in typhoid troubles may result in the section of country to which the filth is likely to be carried by the river.

Welcome to Week 1 of the #HudsonRiverscapes Photo Contest! We asked members of the public to submit their best photos (no people) of the Hudson River, and just look at all the beautiful shots they delivered. 

We are delighted to share with you these wonderful images of our beloved Hudson River. If you would like to submit your own photos to this contest, you can find out more about the rules - and prizes! - here. 

This is a contest, but all voting takes place on Facebook. To vote, simply log into your account, click the button below, and like and/or comment on your favorite. At the end of each week, the photo with the most likes and comments wins a Household Membership to the Hudson River Maritime Museum. If you don't get to vote this week, keep liking and commenting anyway - all photos are entered into the Grand Prize at the end of the contest - a free private charter aboard Solaris for 2021!

​Thank you for everyone who participated in this first week!

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

​Editor’s note:
Twenty years ago, four friends with an abiding love of the Hudson River and its history stepped away from their families and their work to travel up the river in a homemade strip-planked canoe to experience the river on its most intimate terms. The team set off from Liberty State Park in New Jersey and completed the adventure nine days later just below Albany where one of the paddlers lived. They began with no itinerary and no pre-arranged lodging or shore support. There were no cell phones. The journey deepened their appreciation for the river and its many moods, the people who live and work beside the river and the importance of friendship in sustaining our lives. 

Please join us vicariously on this excellent adventure. We'll be posting every Friday for the next several weeks, so stay tuned! Follow the adventure here.

Dan, our bow man, was the one who slept most soundly of all. Last night, it had been his job to keep us pointed in the right direction. The rest of us were blinded by the lantern and could only apply forward motion to the canoe. He worked harder than all of us in wrestling the bow left and right and he literally collapsed when we finally got off the river. Dan had recently graduated from college and became our poet laureate. For him, this trip was the equivalent of Homer’s Odyssey in spirit if not length. It was a test of commitment and a test of resourcefulness and loyalty to the team. Dan often reflected on meaning of our adventure and spoke often of the deep value of living in the moment. He found parallels to our experiences in the works of other poets and authors and was ever grateful to be sharing the journey with us.
 
We were up at dawn and prepared hot cocoa and oatmeal. Our host came over at 7:00 and we had a chance to catch up with him. It turned out that we had just missed the tall ships that visited here last week. One of them, a small bark, stayed at this yard. We chose to wait for the tide to change before departing and this gave us a little time to work out our kinks. I prepared a few sketches of the random deposition of old cranes, pile drivers, winches, gears, worn out boats and tilting pilothouses. We thanked our host profusely and shoved off at 9:30.

The Hudson Highlands
 
There was no wind at first and we were still sore from yesterday’s extreme struggle in Haverstraw Bay. We rounded Indian Point, entered Peekskill Bay and set our course for Dunderberg Mountain at the southern gateway to the Highlands. A tug was pushing a petroleum barge south and we adjusted our course to give the tow plenty of room. When we resumed, an easterly wind picked up and we set our sail for an assist to Iona Island.
 
Myths have attached themselves to Iona Island and Steve experienced some of its powers on previous canoe trips. The island is largely covered by grass and scrub and includes long brick munitions sheds from its previous use as a naval depot and some rock formations, the most notable being a chimney rock at the south end. The island is connected to the west shore by a causeway but this is inaccessible to the public. There is a considerable deer herd on the island and the grass is thick with ticks. Perimeter roads and street lights are maintained for little apparent reason leading to urban legends that the island is home to strategic missile silos. Supernatural occurrences on previous trips, evidence of satanic rituals on the chimney rock and severe storms seemingly rising up out of the island have imbued this place with sinister associations among our small community of paddlers. One wonders if Native Americans or the Dutch experienced similar apprehensions. We are content to leave the island completely alone on this trip and grateful to avoid one of its storms.
 
We passed beneath the Bear Mountain Bridge at noon and struck our sail rig so that we could pass beneath a railroad trestle and enter the Popolopen Creek. The creek served as a landing in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the remains of two schooners were gradually disintegrating here along with the ruins of an eighteenth century mill. During the Revolution, the commanding headlands immediately north and south of the mouth of this creek were fortified in the American initiative to block British passage through the Highlands. Nevertheless, forts Montgomery and Clinton were overrun. The chain boom at Fort Montgomery was breached by the British warships and the American vessels were abandoned. Although earthworks and foundations remain at the fort sites, there is no visible evidence of this history from our canoe; only the two railroads on the east and west shores. The engineers blow their horns for us as we salute oncoming trains by pumping our paddles.
 
After re-entering the river, we paddled for Sugar Loaf Mountain. West Point became visible, but a direct approach was blocked by Con Hook, a low spit of land jutting out from the west shore. After rounding this obstruction, we paddled beneath the ramparts of West Point. Surprisingly, we found sunbathers at the water’s edge beneath a rock face incised with the deeply carved letters spelling “YORKTOWN.”  The roof of one of the Academy buildings was painted with the message “BEAT AIR FORCE.” The ruins of Fort Constitution could still be seen on the east side of the river at the point where a second and more famous chain boom protected the river above here from British attack.
 
The 1917 wooden tour boat Commander approached us and her tour director engaged us in a brief conversation on the PA before wishing us well and departing. Storm King Mountain loomed over us to the west. The mountain is scarred by a road ledge cut out of live rock and shoulders burnt by a forest fire touched off by unexploded ordnance from the days when shells were fired into it from the proving grounds across the river at Cold Spring. Breakneck Mountain stood to our right, gnarled and disfigured by huge creases, veins and fractures. Steve observed that with a little imagination, one can see anguished and tortured faces all over its western face. Englishman John Maude made a similar observation from his sloop in 1800 and named this “Face Mountain” in the journal he published in 1826. It is unlikely that he was the first to see the faces.
 
At 3:00 PM, we completed our passage through the Highlands. We made a brief stop at Pollepel Island, the site of Bannerman’s Arsenal and lodge. The castle keep, a baroque concoction of brick and concrete was built between 1905 and 1918 and stood five stories high. Although burned out long ago, it retained its open and turreted walls, outlines of a moat, docks, and castellated drawbridges and was festooned with grapevines and a healthy crop of poison ivy. In addition to the unstable walls, additional hazards were said to have included concealed pits, unexploded ordnance, rattlesnakes and ticks. The island guards the northern entrance to the Highlands and is associated with a long tradition of superstition dating back to the Dutch colony if not earlier.
 
Recently installed no trespassing signs with dire threats convinced us to continue our journey even though all of us had explored the island on previous canoe trips. We were followed by a thick cloud of blood sucking flies for more than a mile up the river. Steve struck out viscously after being bled by one and broke his paddle.
 
Newburgh Bay
 
Although high tide ended, the current along the east shore of the river still flowed north.  We also had a slight south breeze at our backs so we set our sail. We passed several possible campsites along the east shore including Deming Point, a large abandoned brickyard north of Beacon and Pete Seeger’s sloop club with the pine tree coming out of the roof. On the opposite shore, a few landmarks could be seen at Newburgh, but the scene was dominated by new construction and swaths of vacant land where the historic center of the town stood before so-called urban renewal. We passed beneath the two ugly I-84 spans carrying traffic across the river and eastward toward Connecticut and lamented the loss of the ferry they replaced and the views that they marred. We reached the Chelsea Yacht Club at 5:30, just as the ebb tide began to work against us. Bill, one of the club’s officers, welcomed us but sent us to the showers immediately. When we were fit to be in polite company again, he invited us to dine on crabs and camp on the club’s lawn overnight.
 
The Chelsea Yacht Club began in the first years of the twentieth century as an ice boat club. The New York Central Railroad sold the club a thin piece of made land west of its tracks and a clubhouse and boat shed were built. The social hall was loaded with burgees, models and interesting river souvenirs. A massive willow tree stood on the shore next an old iron capstan salvaged from a sloop or schooner. Many sailboats were at moorings here and the dinghies needed to reach them were stored neatly in racks along the train tracks.
 
As we watched the sailboats swing to the changing tide at slightly different angles depending upon their distance from shore, Bill explained that the ebb tide is first experienced nearest the shoreline; at the center of the river, momentum carries the flood tide current upstream for a period of time beyond high tide. He confirmed our observation that the tides were behaving a little differently over the past several days. He attributed this to a full moon and the influence of Hurricane Dennis.
 
Bill and his friends retrieved their crab traps and boiled up a mess of fresh blue crabs in our honor. The crabs thrive in the brackish water at the bottom of the bay and are baited with chicken scraps. We supplemented the impromptu feast with pasta, spaghetti sauce and fried spam. After watching a gorgeous sunset and cleaning up, we thanked our hosts, pitched our tents and turned in for the night. The generosity of river people seems unlimited.
 
Whoever said that passenger trains are dead in America? I challenge that person to spend a night in a tent at Chelsea! Our tents were less than 50 feet from the tracks. The trains shook the earth and sounded as if they were about to run all of us down. Amtrak, Metro North, they were all the same. They lit up the night in their paths and hurtled past with blaring air horns which changed pitch the moment they rushed away. The long West Shore freight trains with their laboring locomotives made almost as much noise even though they were almost a mile across the water. Dan had nightmares of awakening on the tracks just in time to be run over by speeding expresses.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 5 of the trip!

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

In these days of pandemics, it is sometimes helpful to look back at the past to see how people coped with them at the time.

Although epidemics were not uncommon in New York State throughout the 18th and 19th century, the cholera epidemics of 1832 and 1849 seemed to hit especially hard. Cholera is a waterborne bacterial infection that usually attacks the small intestine and is often fatal. Transmitted through the water supply, especially through water contaminated with fecal matter, cholera causes severe diarrhea and dehydration and is sometimes called "Blue Death," because of the grayish tone skin can take from extreme dehydration. ​

Prior to the 1850s, few cities anywhere in the U.S. had made any organized attempts at sanitation and drinking water supplies were often contaminated by the raw sewage most municipalities dumped right into waterways, or allowed to build up in underground pits and cesspools for outhouses. 

In account of the 1832 cholera epidemic at Poughkeepsie, Dr. Sherrill Hunting, author of numerous medical texts, described the symptoms thusly [editor's note: paragraphs have been added to assist with readability of this historic text],

"About the time when the Epidemic Cholera appeared in this village [Poughkeepsie], in a confirmed manner, some changes took place in the character of diseases, and in the situation of the health of the inhabitants, which subsequent observation showed to be precursory symptoms of the cholera.

"A langour and uneasy sensation was complained of by many, and diseases of the stomach and bowels were very common. At length cases of diseases occurred, attended with symptoms of unusual severity, and somewhat novel; they excited a great deal of anxiety and alarm, and finally engaged the attention of the public authorities.

"As has generally been the case, professional opinions were divided, as to the nature of the features of the new complaint that occurred. During the prevalence of the epidemic, every person in the village seemed to be affected with the primary premonitory symptoms; all had a preternatural red tongue, which sometimes was covered with a whitish slimy moisture; the pulse was small, quickened and rather chocked, it seldom beat free and easy, and in some cases it was very obscure, while the person was about and apparently in good health. In most persons, there was an uneasy sensation of the alimentary canal.

"What was considered the premonitory stage was a diarrhoea, pain and uneasiness of the stomach, nausiea or vomiting, and a difficulty of breathing, as though there was a deficiency in the supply of oxygen.

"When the symptoms passed this stage, the features constituting the formed state of the disease, have often been enumerated, and were about the same here, as were noticed to have existed in other places. Connected with the aforementioned symptoms, they consist of pain and uneasiness of the bowels, and more particularly of the stomach; a weighty or vacant sensation, a tight fullness of that organ, diarrhoea, vomiting, the discharge generally watery, whitish, and fluculent, sometimes dark brown or reddish; spasms generally more or less severe across the stomach, extending to the extremities; in some cases there are no spasms; coldness of the extremities and of the body; pale, purple or leaden colour of the skin; hands and feet moist; fingers shrivelled, withered and soaked in appearance; features livid; eyes sunken and surrounded with a dark zone; voice small, feeble, sepulchral; respiration very laboured; tongue in the moderate cases, red, furry, covered with whitish slime, or a white erect scurff, sometimes entirely clean and red; in violent prostrated cases, tongue pale, cold, blueish; pulse in mild cases, sometimes tense, generally in all, soft, small, slow, gurgling, nearly imperceptible, or entirely so.

"Some have had excessive thirst, others very little - no one case is marked with all those symptoms, but more or less of them are present to constitute the disease; but the invasion is not always in a regular train, sometimes it attacks suddenly, without the premonitory symptoms, except a red tongue and an altered pulse; this I believe always attends."

- From: An essay on epidemics: as they appeared in Dutchess county, from 1809 to 1825; also, a paper on diseases of the jaw-bones; with an appendix, containing an account of the epidemic cholera, as it appeared in Poughkeepsie in 1832 by Sherrill Hunting (1783-1886), published in 1832. 

Sadly, Dr. Hunting's methods of treatment were the common ones at the time - he bled the patients and administered an emetic, or something to make the patient vomit. In severe cases, sometimes "external warmth and friction" were used to try to bring the patient around. He did note that in some severe cases, the blood drawn "remained black and unchanged in the bowl; it seemed to have lost the property of attracting oxygen from the atmosphere, as blood generally does when thus exposed." But dehydration was the real culprit with cholera, and in a time long before the use of intra-venous solution to re-hydrate patients, there was little period doctors could do once a patient was infected. 

You can read Dr. Hunting's book yourself, along with the accounts of individual patients he oversaw. A digitized copy is available online courtesy the US National Library of Medicine. There are reports from the period that the book sold very well in Ulster County as well as Dutchess.

Cholera is spread when infected people contaminate water supplies. Rondout was particularly susceptible to these sorts of diseases due to its role as a busy port. A New York State Department of Health report from 1911 recalled, "Owing to the easy means of intercourse with the seaboard, Kingston has suffered severely on several occasions from epidemics and plague. In 1832 a cholera visitation was felt and in 1849 a repetition caused a fearful loss of life and a great depression in business. In 1852 it broke out again but the lesson learned in 1849 was so well taught and the city was so well cleaned that the epidemic gained no foothold and was soon stamped out." 

The Jeffersonian Republican, a Pennsylvania newspaper, reported the national numbers in an article entitled "The Cholera" on Thursday, July 12, 1849. After the headline of cases and death (outlined above), the very first words of the article were, "The cholera has been fearfully prevalent at Rondout, the terminus of the Delaware and Hudson canal, where a large number of vessels are constantly lying, taking in coal." 

A few days later, on July 16, 1849, the Oneida Morning Herald, based out of Utica, NY, reported, "The little village of Rondout, Ulster Co., situated at the terminus of the Delaware and Hudson canal has suffered greatly. So far there have been 60 cases and 27 deaths by cholera. Rondout is a village containing about 2,000 inhabitants."

​Despite the deaths, several local residents pitched in to help. Dr. Abraham Crispell, a descendant of New Paltz French Huguenots, moved to Rondout in 1849 to start his medical practice. Almost immediately he was confronted with the cholera epidemic. He later served as a surgeon in the Union Army during the Civil War, working in South Carolina and Buffalo before returning to Rondout at the end of the war.

Daniel B. Stow was another Rondout resident commended for service during the cholera epidemic. A harness-maker, he and three others "performed the heroic work of burying the dead and administering to the needs of the afflicted," according to A History of Ulster County, Volume 2. He was married to Emily B. Delaney the same year, 1849. After the epidemic, he opened a his own harness making shop. 

The cholera epidemic had a negative effect on the D&H Canal, however, as scores of boatmen, lock tenders, and other canal workers left the area to search for work elsewhere. The D&H Canal Company move 50,000 fewer tons of coal than estimated.

In all, over 80 people died in Rondout alone. 

​1849 was a momentous year for Rondout, and not only due to the cholera epidemic. It was the first meeting for the election of officers for the village (election held May 1, 1849). At their first meeting, a fire company was established for Rondout and taxes were raised to outfit it. They also established a board of health to "adopt suitable precautions against the danger of cholera" and set up the store house of the steamboat Emerald as a hospital. 

Perhaps most interestingly was that the following year, in 1850, the rural cemetery of Montrepose was founded - a direct result of the deaths from the cholera epidemic.
As with many cities in the mid-19th century, urban churchyard cemeteries were becoming overcrowded, and public health officials worried about the spread of disease from miasma. Rural cemeteries were a popular, park-like alternative, and Montrepose was no exception. Many bodies were exhumed and reburied at Montrepose.

The need for the new cemetery became clear decades later. On March 30, 1909 the Kingston Daily Freeman reported that workmen at the site of the Holy Spirit Church found a skeleton where one was not expected. The church yard graves had previously been exhumed and moved to Montrepose. "An old man who stopped to watch the workmen digging said he could remember hearing folks tell that when the cholera epidemic was prevalent in Rondout, scores of bodies were buried at that spot with little ceremony. As soon as people died they were carried on wagons and dumped into holes dug in the ground and the drivers hurried away for more corpses." 

For a town of a little over 500 people to have 80 deaths just a few years after two other epidemics must have been shocking. But it was the beginning of the end for epidemics at Rondout. Although several others broke out over the years, often introduced by steamboat, the losses were never as severe as in 1849. 

Today, as officials in New York City are contemplating turning once again to Hart Island to bury those who have died from coronavirus, and as ships and individuals undergo quarantine, it can be helpful to remember that people in the past weathered such disasters as well. 

Stay tuned next week for a follow-up article on sanitation and water quality projects begun in response to disease outbreaks and epidemics like the cholera epidemic of 1849. 

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published April 8, 1973.

The month of March has frequently been known for its capricious pranks of weather.  On two occasions in particular —March 13, 1893 and March 12, 1936 — madcap March weather brought considerable excitement locally.  On both dates, freshet conditions in Rondout Creek caused the ice covering the creek’s surface to go out with a rush, carrying everything in its path out towards the Hudson.  

On both occasions, the conditions were similar.  The preceding winter months had been severe with heavy ice.  During early March the weather turned warm causing runoffs from melting snow into the Wallkill River and upper Rondout Creek.  Water and broken ice cascading over the dam at Eddyville backed up behind the solid creek ice creating considerable pressure.  Finally, the solid ice below Eddyville began to crumble.  Once the ice started to move, its movement accelerated rapidly, rushing down the creek with great force and speed.  Anything in its path was swept along downstream.  In both instances, this was mostly the fleet of the Cornell Steamboat Company.   

Those who witnessed the moving ice described it as an awesome sight.  Mooring lines were snapped like strings.  Vessels in the path of the grinding ice moved like ghosts down the creek and out into the Hudson River where they came to a stop in a jumbled mass against the solid ice of the river.  In both instances, despite damage to the vessels involved, surprising there was only one reported personnel injury in 1893 and none in 1936.  

More Spectacular 
The freshet of 1893 was probably the more spectacular since more vessels were involved, including at least eight big side-wheel towboats.  All told, approximately 50 vessels were swept out of the creek.  In addition to the big side-wheel towboats, these included at least 15 Cornell tugboats and two dozen canal boats and barges.  
In 1893 melee of ice and boats set adrift occurred in the late afternoon on Monday, March 13.  At about 4 p.m. a huge ice jam above Wilbur let go and the uncontrolled movement down Rondout Creek commenced.  

A Freeman reporter described the scene as follows: “It was a scene that will never be forgotten by those who witnessed the outgoing vessels, as they jammed against one another and against the docks, the noise of parting lines and cracking timbers being plainly heard a block or more away.  The shouts of the men on the boats who like maniacs hauling in the lines, endeavoring to make the boats fast, and the cries of warning from people on the docks to the boatmen added to the excitement and the scene was one that words cannot picture.” 
​
At the time, the ferryboat ‘‘Transport’’ was coming across the river from Rhinecliff and was just inside the dikes of the creek when she was met by the outgoing ice and army of drifting vessels.  She was enveloped by the advancing fleet and swept back into the river.  Some of the ferry’s passengers were reported to have been panic stricken and to have leaped across floating blocks of ice to the solid ice of the Hudson.  Apparently, they all successfully made it.  

Captain Injured 
The only reported injury was to Captain Charles Post of the Cornell tugboat “H. T. Caswell."  His right foot was broken when caught between a mooring line and a cleat.  A Dr. Smith and a Dr. Stern made their way across the ice in the river to the tugboat where they treated the injured boatman.  He was later carried in a blanket across the ice to shore.  ​

In 1936 freshet was probably the more damaging since the Cornell tugs “Rob,” "Coe F. Young” and “William E. Cleary” were sunk and eight others fetched up along the south side of the creek opposite Ponckhockie, whereas in 1893 virtually all of the boats involved had floated out into the Hudson.  

The 1936 marine spectacular started at about 7:30 a.m. on Thursday, March 12.  At that time, the ice started to move out of the creek below Eddyville and rapidly built up force and momentum as it moved toward the Hudson.  As the ice surged past the C. Hiltebrant Shipyard at Connelly, it took along with it a small passenger steamboat, two tugboats, a derrick boat, and three or four barges and lighters that had been in winter quarters at the yard.  Two scows tied up at Island Dock were swept away by the grinding ice and joined the growing armada of vessels moving downstream.  

The tug “Rob” had been tied up west of the Rhinecliff ferry slip on Ferry Street.  A drifting barge caromed off the side of the “Rob,” heeled her over and sent her to the bottom of the creek.  Eleven Cornell Tugboats that had been moored at Sleightsburgh all were set adrift by the advancing ice and started on their way down by the Rondout Creek.  

The Foggy Mark 
At the Cornell shops at Rondout, eleven out of twelve tugs tied up there were swept away.  Snapping mooring lines sounded like guns going off.  A heavy fog enveloped the area: and added to the ghostly appearance of the scene.  At that point, some 30 tugs, barges and other vessels were moving down the creek and disappearing from sight into the foggy murk enveloping the creek and river. 

At the Sunflower dock at Sleightsburgh — further down creek — lay nine more Cornell tugboats and a steam derrick.  The ice and moving vessels swept by these tugs and miraculously they remained in place.  The outboard tug at the head of this group, however, the “Coe F. Young,” was holed and sunk and possibly this saved the remaining tugs from also moving along with the others.  Two days later, the tug “William E. Cleary’’ — tied up with this group — rolled over and sank.  

When the fog lifted shortly before noon on March 12, eight of the tugboats that had been swept along from the neighboring Baisden shipyards at Sleightsburgh were strewn grounded along the south shore of the creek opposite the old Central Hudson gas house.  All of the others were jumbled together out in the Hudson River off the Rondout lighthouse against the solid river ice.  

By a quirk of fate, the Cornell tugboat ‘‘J. C. Hartt” was the “hero” of both the 1893 and the 1936 freshets.  In 1893 she was swept out into the Hudson and was one of the first tugs to get steam up and return the others to their berths.  In 1936, after being set adrift, she moved down the creek stern first close along the Rondout docks.  At Gill’s dock in Ponckhockie she hit a brick scow moored there. 

Ended Voyage 
The scow captain jumped aboard the “Hartt,’’ ran forward and was able to get a line ashore and end her unscheduled voyage at that point.  
​
Fortunately, at the time the “Hartt” was being made ready for the coming season.  In short order, steam was raised on the tug and she soon was able to get underway and start the task of corralling the run-away fleet.  By March 15, virtually all of the run-aways were back at their berths.  The sunken “Rob” and “William E. Cleary” were subsequently raised.  The sunken “Coe F. Young,” however, never was — and to this day what is left of the old tug is still on the bottom of Rondout Creek off the old Sunflower Dock where she met her end in the freshet of March 12, 1936.

Singer-songwriter Dar Williams was born in Mount Kisco, NY and continues to live in and write songs about New York. Known for her folk-pop sound and described as "one of America's very best singer-songwriters," Williams tours frequently and has made frequent appearances, often at fundraisers, throughout the Hudson Valley. 

"The Hudson" was released on September 13, 2005 as the final track of the album "My Better Self," and is an homage to Williams' New York/Hudson River Valley life. 

"The Hudson" Lyrics
If we're lucky we feel our lives know when the next scene arrives 
So often we start in the middle and work our way out 
We go to some gray sky diner for eggs and toast 
New York Times or the New York Post 
Then we take a ride through the valley of the shadow of death 

But even for us New Yorkers 
There's a time in every day 
The river takes our breath away 

And the Hudson, it holds the life 
We thought we did it on our own 

The river roads collect the tolls for the passage of our souls 
Through silence, over woods, through flowers and snow 
And past the George Washington Bridge 
Down from the trails of Breakneck Ridge 
The river's ancient path is sacred and slow 

And as it swings through Harlem 
It's every shade of blue 
Into the city of the new brand new 

And the Hudson yeah, it holds the life 
We thought we did it on our own 

I thought I had no sense of place or past 
Time was too slow, but then too fast 
The river takes us home at last 

Where and when does the memory take hold 
Mountain range in the Autumn cold 
And I thought West Point was Camelot in the spring 
If you're lucky you'll find something that reflects you 
Helps you feel your life protects you 
Cradles you and connects you to everything 

This whole life I remember 
As they begged them to itself 
Never turn me into someone else 

And the Hudson yeah, it holds the life 
We thought we did it on our own 

And the Hudson yeah, holds the life 
We thought we did it on our own


Do you have a favorite Dar Williams song? Have you ever seen her live in concert? Share your thoughts and memories in the comments!

Thanks to HRMM volunteer Mark Heller for sharing his knowledge of Hudson River music history for this series.

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Editor's Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article written by George W. Murdock, for the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman newspaper in the 1930s. Murdock, a veteran marine engineer, wrote a regular column. Articles transcribed by HRMM volunteer Adam Kaplan. See more of Murdock's articles in "Steamboat Biographies". See more Sunday News here.

                                             No. 25- Albany - 1820s 
The first steamboat on the Hudson river named the “Albany” was built in 1826 at Philadelphia by J. Vaughan for James A. Stevens to run on the New York and Albany route in line with the “New Philadelphia”. She arrived at New York from Philadelphia on April 8, 1827, and began her regular schedule on April 11.
              
However the first trip did not bring her to Albany as she broke several of her paddles after proceeding a few miles up the Hudson and was compelled to return to New York. Repairs were made, and Sunday, April 15, she set sail on her first regular trip under the command of J.G. Jenkins.
              
The owners of the “Albany”, the Messrs. Stevens of Hoboken, had spared no expense in an endeavor to make the new craft one of the finest on the river, even to having the panels in the cabins decorated with pictures by some of the finest artists in the country. But with all their preparations, the “Albany” did not turn out to be the fast vessel that had been expected.
              
Alterations were made to the “Albany” in an endeavor to make her into a better running vessel. Her original 147-foot hull was lengthened to 207 feet by the addition of another bow and stern. These changes had the desired effect and the “Albany” could then hold her own with the more up-to-date steamboats then appearing on the river. In 1839 the “Albany” was again lengthened to 287 feet and was widened two feet. With a sharper bow and finer lines aft, she made better time between New York and Albany. On September 25, 1840, she made the run in eight hours and 33 minutes as compared with her first record in 1827 of over 12 hours.  The “Albany” served for a few more years, sailing up and down the Hudson river, and was finally worn out and broken up.

​                                              No. 28- Albany - 1880 to 1930s
The “Albany” was built for the Hudson River Dayline in 1880 and was the first iron steamboat constructed for the Hudson river travel since the building of the “Iron Witch” in 1846, later called the “Erie.” The new craft supplanted the “Daniel Drew” and made her first regular trip from New York to Albany on July 2, 1880. The 300 foot vessel was much admired for her graceful proportions, and when she is moving through the water at her regular speed, she causes but little commotion, and shows great stability when heavily loaded with passengers.
              
For the first time in the history of river steamboats, three boilers and three smokestacks were placed side by side instead of one behind the other, a deviation which gave the boat a very different appearance from the usual style. Other alterations were made from time to time until the present boat is a far cry from the original built in 1880.

The “Albany” made a fast trip on October 22, 1884, leaving New York and arriving at Poughkeepsie in three hours and 20 minutes. For 25 years the “Albany” ran on the schedule of the Dayline with her consorts the “Chauncey Vibbard” and “New York.” In 1906 the “Hendrick Hudson” joined the fleet and the “Albany” was made into a special boat plying between New York and Poughkeepsie on one round trip per day. She continued on this run until 1913 when the Washington Irving made her first appearance on the waters of the Hudson. At this time the “Robert Fulton”, which had also been running to Albany with the “Hendrick Hudson”, was placed on the Poughkeepsie route.

At this time the famous “Mary Powell” was beginning to show signs of wear and so the “Albany” was put on the Rondout-New York route, making her first trip from Rondout on Monday, July 7, 1913, and continuing on this route until 1917. In 1918 she was chartered out for excursions and also made a special trip to Albany each Saturday.  The Albany was sold in 1935 and now [in the 1930s] plies the Potomac river as an excursion boat running out of the nation’s capitol.

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