The steamboat Francis Skiddy was launched in June, 1852 to great acclaim. Running from New York City to Albany, the Francis Skiddy was top of the line when she first launched. Just a year later, in 1853, composer Henry Tucker published "Francis Skiddy Polka." 

Tucker composed a number of songs throughout the 1850s, '60s, and '70s, specializing in patriotic and sentimental songs popular during the Victorian Era. Most notably, he published several songs related to the Civil War, including the very popular "When This Cruel War is Over" (which later appeared in the film "Gone with the Wind") and "Dear Mother I've Come Home to Die" as well as a song for the Temperance movement, "Oh! Touch Not the Wine Cup, Brother!" among other sentimental, patriotic, and humorous songs. You can view sheet music for many of his songs in the Lester S. Levy Sheet Music Collection at Johns Hopkins University. 

Author Kihm Winship has written a nice biography of Henry Tucker, who lived much of his childhood in Auburn, NY. You can read Tucker's biography here. 

Henry Tucker passed away on February 20, 1882 in Brooklyn, NY. He left a legacy of 121 published songs, but the "Francis Skiddy Polka" remained one of his earliest publications.

The Francis Skiddy herself did not fare so well as the composer who immortalized her. After a series of upgrades that slowed her considerably, a collision with an unlit schooner in the night punctured her boiler, causing an explosion and fire in 1861. In 1862, she narrowly escaped serious damage when a kerosene lamp in the barber's saloon exploded. A nearby police officer noticed fire coming from a window and ran to help. Thankfully, he and the crew were able to extinguish the fire before it spread. Then, in 1864 she hit a rock off Van Wies Point and partially sank, never to be recovered. Her engines were salvaged and found a new home in the Dean Richmond, which was launched in 1865. 

If you'd like to read an account from the New York Times of the first trip of Francis Skiddy, you can download the article "The New Steamer Francis Skiddy," published June 21, 1852. 

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Reminiscences of the North River – Major Noah’s reminiscences of olden times, are no less famous for their abundance than for their interest. In a recent number of his Sunday Times he gives some interesting information, showing the progress which has been made in the navigation of the Hudson within the past half century. He says:

In the year 1800, merchants residing a hundred miles or more from New York, and distant from the North River ten or fifteen miles, sent their bed and bedding to the landing from which they were to sail for the city, by a team, and themselves followed on horseback. At the landing, their bed & c., was placed on board the sloop that conveyed their produce to market, and by it they took passage for the city. The horse was put to pasture or in the stable until their return, when the owner rode him home; and by the team that went for merchandise the bed and bedding were returned. Such was the convenience of riding at that day.

Six years afterwards, according to the Major, a company composed of five individuals associated themselves together and built the sloop “Experiment,” for the purpose of “rendering the passage between N.Y. and Albany by water more expeditious, convenient and pleasant to ladies and gentlemen travelling north and south through the State of New York, as well as to promote the interest of those concerned, (as expressed in the words of the agreement,) by building a packet of one hundred and ten tons burthen, for the purpose of carrying passengers only.

The next year, 1807, the company was increased and another sloop was built, which performed the trip between Albany and New York in 27 hours – a remarkable trip in those days. This was the same year that Fulton made his successful trip by steam in 36 hours, and from thence steady progress was on its feet.

The old North River Boat, (says the Times,) in her original construction, had a strange appearance. Her water-wheels were without any houses as at the present day; and had crossheads connected with the piston, instead of the walking beam now in general use. The countryman, when he first saw her from Hudson, told his wife he had seen the devil going to Albany in a saw mill.

The experiment was at one time made to run horse-boats on the River, but signally failed.
​
Steamboats on the North River first performed their trips with wood. Lackawanna coal was afterwards introduced, by which the expense of fuel was reduced from $150 a trip to $30. This was the commencement of a new era in steamboating, hardly less in importance than the original application of steam to boats. – Ex. Paper.

​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 this 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!​

​It was very cold at dawn with frost on the ground. The windmill at Rokeby Farms was silhouetted against the brightening eastern sky. I put on an extra sweatshirt and went out to sketch our cove and “Bob’s Bus” in my journal. The tide was still going out, so Steve and Joe had time to walk up the road to the steel gate to find out what place we were at.  They observed BIG signs warning against trespassing and threatening prosecution and wisely decided that it would be a good time to depart.
 
The tide was still going out at 9:15 when we made our offing. It was a beautiful and sunny fall morning with a breeze out of the north. We arrived at Ulster Landing after a brisk twenty minute paddle. As we approached the abandoned Turkey Point Coast Guard Depot, we observed a flock of geese on shore take flight.
 
With a favorable tide and a moderating wind we began to make real progress. We passed the 1794 Callendar House on the east bank and stopped to rest at the 1869 Saugerties Lighthouse. In earlier trips, we had stayed overnight here and simply dropped a contribution in the donation jar before leaving in the morning. When we arrived this time, the lighthouse was operating as a $140 per night bed and breakfast booked more than a year in advance.

​We made bologna sandwiches, drank lots of water and after a nice pause pushed off at 1:00. We paddled through the turbulent wake of a Mobil petroleum barge towing south behind a light blue tug. We followed the east shore alongside the tracks and signaled an Amtrak engineer to salute us with his blaring air horn. The afternoon was sunny and warm with only a light breeze from the north. The flood tide helped us cover ground quickly. We passed the grey concrete silos and conveyors at Cementon where the extensive concrete plants marred one of the most magnificent views of the Catskills. We steered for the center of the river, past the mouths of the Roe Jan Kill on the east and Ramshorn Creek to the west. Frederic Church’s Olana, begun in 1870, looked down upon us as we approached Catskill Point. Soon, the Rip Van Winkle Bridge loomed large.  Steve knows of a spatterdock-filled channel east of Roger’s Island which if passable, would have shaved a mile off of the main river route. We were tempted, but Steve was not convinced that the channel was clear all the way through. An eagle appeared and beckoned us to follow him north on the main channel of the river.

​After passing beneath the bridge, we followed the main channel toward Hudson and were buffeted by turbulence where two channels separate to follow separate paths around the elongated Middle Ground Island. The 1874 Hudson-Athens Lighthouse stands here with water swirling around its limestone platform. It was getting late and the tide was getting ready to reverse. We were faced with the choice of which side of the island to paddle along and which side offered the best hope of shelter overnight. We started up the Athens channel, but found nothing but low ground and tall grass and reeds. We turned around and came up the Hudson channel instead. We were swept along by a strong current and found many provisional squatter camps along the shoreline, some decorated by colorful road signs and multi-colored roofs made from salvaged material. We began looking for a clearing where we might camp without being noticed or hassled.

Smitty’s Place
 
All of the camps were closed for the season except for one, which was literally tumbling into the river. Here we found a man in a camouflaged bass boat. Steve hailed him and asked if anyone would mind if we camped here for the night. The man replied “no” and introduced himself as Smitty as we paddled in toward the shore. This was Smitty’s place and he guided us to a cove where we are able to tie up to beneath a sprawling maple tree covered with poison ivy. Steve bragged that once again, the Lord had provided for us.
 
We climbed out and introduced ourselves. Smitty’s camp was an informal, unplanned structure built from salvaged scraps of wood and partially cantilevered over the river. Two pilings hung from a corner where the bank had been undermined. Smitty explained that when he built the place, it was situated about fifty feet from the river’s edge. The camp consisted of a large shed with a tar paper roof slanting away from the river with an attached porch overlooking the river. An addition built out of a truck trailer or a refrigeration unit was attached on the upland side. A two-person bus seat (could it be from “Bob’s Bus?”) offered the perfect vantage point for enjoying views of the river and coming and going trains.

​Smitty invited us to sit down at the bus bench and several assorted stumps and he began a story about the island and this particular camp while I prepared a sketch. The island, enlarged by dredge spoil early in the twentieth century, became a favorite haunt for sportsmen and teenagers from the city of Hudson. Land ownership has remained ambiguous. New York State claimed the Middle Ground as state land and periodically threatened to remove the camps. Camp owners claimed that much of it was privately owned but that the deeds burned in a courthouse fire. According to Smitty, Columbia and Greene counties could not even agree on which county had jurisdiction over the island. Smitty told us that he represented the third generation of his Hudson family to maintain a camp here. As a boy, his mother warned him to stay away from the river, but this only encouraged him more. He and his friends still came out here to hunt deer and ducks and to drink beer. Their wives were resigned to the state of things and rarely ventured out to the camp. Smitty claimed that they had had some problems from interloping hunters from Athens, but that there had been little theft or vandalism. He was surprisingly philosophical about losing the camp one day realizing that things could change.      
 
It got dark and cold. We built a fire near the beach and Smitty invited us to stay in the “new” camp in the woods which was furnished with half a dozen cots. The new camp was enclosed but unfinished and roofed with an assortment of asphalt shingles of different colors and textures. Pieces of siding were being collected and stored underneath until enough were on hand to cover the walls. There was a convenient two-holer a respectful distance away and a shed for a portable generator. We hauled our gear to the new camp and returned to the fire. Smitty pulled the cord on his outboard and motored home. Joe cooked up beans and franks on the fire and we ate and told stories there. The sky became filled with stars as the temperature dropped. We watched the trains with bright lights arrive and depart from Hudson.
 
We put out the fire at 9:00 and returned to the new camp in the woods. It was dry and the mattresses were soft, but with only a screen door, it proved to be another very cold night.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for the final day of the trip!

Most people familiar with CLEARWATER know the sloop was the brainchild of the late American folk legend and activist Pete Seeger. Pete was an idealist and an optimist. He once wrote, “There is a little Don Quixote in all of us.” You couldn’t tell him something couldn’t be done. But when you take a closer look at CLEARWATER’s story, it’s a miracle the boat was ever built at all.

At the time CLEARWATER was built, the “tall ship revival” was still a decade or two away. Yes, the first Operation Sail brought tall ships from around the world to New York Harbor in 1964, but no one was building new tall ships with one or two exceptions. There were vessels built that were replicas of specific ships, such as the MAYFLOWER II, launched in 1956, and the HMS BOUNTY, launched in 1962 and built specifically for the filming of Mutiny on the Bounty. But to form a new not-for-profit to build a replica of a type of ship -- not even a famous historic ship? Nobody was doing that. Seeger and the fledgling Clearwater organization were ahead of the curve.

When Pete got interested in sailing and subsequently in Hudson River sloops -- the traditional cargo-carrying sailing vessels of the Hudson -- he got an idea. Maybe you could build a vessel that was so grand, so extraordinary, and one that had not sailed the river in a very long time, and maybe you could draw people down to the banks of a river that had long ago been forsaken. Pete saw potential where others did not and believed that if CLEARWATER could bring people to the river, then maybe it could help people to “love their river again.”

The challenges that the Clearwater organization faced were many. First and foremast, perhaps, was the fact that it was the 1960s. Pete Seeger had been blacklisted, and the Vietnam War was raging and becoming increasingly unpopular. So unpopular that President Lyndon B. Johnson declared in a nationally televised address in March 1968 that he would not run for re-election. The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in April of that year, sparking riots in over 100 American cities. Robert Kennedy was assassinated in June. In August, there were violent clashes between police and protesters in Chicago during the Democratic National Convention.

Years later, in recounting the early days of the sloop project, Pete would write:
It really seemed a frivolous idea. The world was full of agony; the Vietnam War was heating up. Money was needed for all sorts of life-and-death matters, and here we were raising money to build a sailboat.

It wasn’t just a turbulent civil and political climate, however, that made building CLEARWATER a challenge. There hadn’t been a Hudson River sloop built in over 100 years, and there were none left afloat. 

Pete’s inspiration for building a Hudson River sloop came in 1963 after his friend Vic Schwarz loaned him a copy of the 1908 book Sloops of the Hudson, written by William Verplanck and Moses Collyer, two retired sloop captains. He read it through in one night. Some time elapsed before Pete wrote his friend a five-page letter, which started:

"One way to see if a pipe dream has any practicality is to get it down on paper. So I’m writing you now with the most grandiose and ambitious plan. It will make our wives groan. It will probably never get beyond the paper stage, but here goes:"

He wrote the letter and then forgot about it. It was September 1965. Vic did not forget the letter and began chatting up fellow commuters on the train to New York. That fall, Vic called up Pete and asked, “When are we going to start building that sloop?” Pete answered, “You must be kidding!”

Much of what we know about how the rest of the story unfolded is because in the 1960s people actually wrote letters and saved them. They also often saved carbon copies. Postage was inexpensive and long distance phone calls were most definitely not. After making a foray into the library at Mystic Seaport, Pete wrote a letter that December to Joel White, a boat designer and builder.

Joel was the son of the writer E. B. White and had a boatyard in Brooklin, Maine. White wrote back, telling Pete his shop was too small to build a boat that big, and he was too busy to do any design work. He did recommend naval architect Cyrus Hamlin of Southwest Harbor, Maine. “He is a fine architect, and I am sure you would like him,” Joel wrote.

The following month -- January 1966 -- Pete and Vic met with Cyrus Hamlin at the National Boat Show in New York City. Pete and Cy hit it off. Cy sent a formal letter to Pete in February, outlining his estimate for the cost of construction and a quotation for his design fee based on the estimate. In April, Pete wrote Cy a $500 personal check to cover the naval architect’s “advance research” on the Hudson River sloop.

Pete’s initial vision, as outlined in his letter to Vic, was for the sloop to be something like a floating timeshare. Off the top of his head, he estimated that a 55-foot sloop might cost $100,000 to build. That was more money than he and Vic could scrape together, so he suggested that they try to form “Hudson River Sloop Clubs” up and down the river. If there were 10 clubs, then each would have to raise $10,000 to build the vessel, and each club could sail the sloop for a week at a time.

Eventually, as we know, a non-profit formed. The Hudson River Sloop Restoration incorporated in September 1966. Interestingly enough, nowhere in the Articles of Incorporation is there any mention of the organization having an environmental purpose. Instead, the document states the purpose as:

"To acquaint people with matters relating to our cultural heritage; and to maintain and promote interest in the history of the Hudson River both as a commercial and pleasure artery; and in connection therewith to build, own, operate and exhibit replicas of the great sloops which once freely navigated the river, thereby generating a greater interest in our cultural heritage and an understanding of the contributions made to our culture and commerce by the river and the sloops which sailed it."

Also interesting is that multiple sloops are suggested and that there is no mention of actually sailing with passengers. 

Whether or not the sloop could be classified as a “yacht” or would have to be classified as a “passenger-carrying vessel,” making it subject to United States Coast Guard regulations and inspection, was an important determination that had to be made. Having to comply with USCG regulations would make the sloop more expensive to build and operate. It would also mean that it could not be an historically accurate replica, and perhaps not even a very good-looking one.

At issue was the tragic sinking of the Brigantine ALBATROSS in 1961. A “school ship” carrying 13 American teenagers and five crew members went down in a sudden squall in the Gulf of Mexico. Six lives were lost, including four of the students. Although the ship was Panamanian registered, the USCG investigated the accident. Additional analysis resulted in the publication of On the Stability of Sailing Vessels by USCG officers John G. Beebe-Center and Richard B. Brooks in 1966. This work questioned the reliability of traditional stability assessment techniques for sailing vessels and would result in the adoption of more stringent USCG stability criteria.

While the Maine fleet of “windjammer” schooners had been grandfathered when it came to stability requirements, new vessels would now come under additional scrutiny because of the ALBATROSS, even those built prior to the publication of the Beebe-Center & Brooks paper. The schooner MARY DAY, built for the charter trade by Harvey Gamage and launched in 1962, somehow sailed beneath the Coast Guard’s radar. This was not the case for the topsail schooner SHENANDOAH, also built for the charter trade by Gamage and launched in 1964. Because SHENANDOAH did not satisfy the Coast Guard’s stability requirements, the schooner’s owner was not allowed to charge his passengers any fee for its entire first season. The following year, Capt. Bob Douglas was able to obtain a conditional stability letter.

Cy retained a Boston-based attorney in the spring of 1966 on behalf of Pete and the “sloop committee” to help facilitate a dialogue with the Coast Guard and explore various possibilities for the future vessel’s operation. Not coincidentally, Douglas had used this same attorney for his legal troubles. One option that was explored was to form a cooperative, wherein all the members of the cooperative would be considered “shareholders” and thereby owners of the vessel. The Coast Guard rejected this approach. Ultimately, Cy convinced HRSR to build their sloop to meet Coast Guard regulations, very likely the very first sailing vessel built to meet the new, more onerous stability requirements. This was not until as late as May or June of 1968, and there was still no plan to actually carry paying passengers.

When, exactly, Pete realized that the sloop could be a tool to help clean up the river, we don’t know. However, in a New York Times article written following the organization’s first major fundraiser on October 2, 1966, he is quoted as follows:
"Some people might think it’s the most frivolous thing in the world to raise money for a sailboat. But we want people to love the Hudson, not think of it as a convenient sewer."

Despite Pete’s “green” inclinations, clearly many people within the organization were solely interested in maritime history and had no interest in being standard-bearers for the environmental movement. This is reflected in the results of a membership vote to name the sloop in March of 1969. There were 44 names nominated. Some of them were pretty silly, such as GREASY LUCK and SEWER RAT. In the end, the name CLEARWATER narrowly edged out HERITAGE, with HOPE OF THE HUDSON placing third.

While there may not have been existing Hudson River sloops for Cy to study, he was able to research the vessel through builders’ half-hull models, periodicals and reference works, including John W. Griffith’s Treatise on Marine and Naval Architecture, published in 1850, and Lauchlan McKay’s The Practical Shipbuilder, published in 1839. He gleaned information about rigging details through paintings, period photographs and even a placemat or two that he discovered in a gift shop. He also had access to photos and drawings from Howard Chapelle, the great American naval architect and maritime historian, who was then a senior historian at the Smithsonian Institution. “Chap” provided Cy with the lines of the 1848 sloop VICTORINE and two others.

Ultimately, Pete and company decided their sloop should measure approximately 75 feet long as this would allow for more headroom below decks. Cy presented preliminary drawings at the organization’s annual membership meeting on November 5, 1967.

By late January of 1968, Cy had performed the necessary work to put the sloop project out to bid. He sent bidding documents to at least three yards in Maine and three in New York, including Rondout Marine. Cy also inquired with at least two yards overseas – one in Spain and another in Yugoslavia – where he had connections. Soliciting a bid from a foreign yard was not his idea. The organization thought that a foreign-built vessel might be less expensive. So Cy also agreed to look into shipyards in Nova Scotia. It was his opinion however that “the desirability of a yard is probably inversely proportional to the distance from the United States.” In the end, Harvey F. Gamage, Shipbuilder, Inc. of South Bristol, Maine came in with the lowest bid of those yards that submitted bids -- there is no evidence that any foreign yard did -- and was awarded the contract.

Construction of the sloop began in August 1968. There was a keel-laying ceremony at the shipyard on October 18 attended by about 50 HRSR members. Toshi Seeger anointed the length of the sloop’s keel with Hudson River water, and Pete led everyone in song. After two-years of recruiting new members and vigorous fundraising, there was finally something concrete to celebrate. Over the next several months, however, a lot more money still needed to be raised. Approximately 200 guests attended a special fundraiser hosted by Mr. & Mrs. Steven Rockefeller at the Rockefeller Farm Barn at Pocantico Hills in November. There were informational meetings and slide show presentations at rotary clubs, libraries and coffee houses. Numerous concerts were held, including a sold out performance at Carnegie Hall in April 1969.

Three larger gifts -- $10,000 each -- came from the Boscobel Restoration, Inc., the Lila Acheson Wallace Fund, and the Rockefeller Family Fund.

On May 17, a crowd of about 2,500 gathered at the shipyard. People packed inside the boatshed to hear speeches and celebrate the occasion with song. At approximately 12:30 PM -- high tide -- Clearwater slid down the marine railway and into the waters of a quiet cove alongside the Damariscotta River. The schooner BOWDOIN was in attendance, as was Maine’s governor, Kenneth Curtis. It was a belated birthday present for Pete, who had turned 50 precisely two weeks earlier.

Over the course of the next six weeks, the ship’s crew got busy rigging, fitting out, and provisioning the vessel. There were sea trials and Coast Guard inspections. But before the sloop could leave South Bristol, the shipbuilder needed to be paid in full. In the days before the sloop set sail, Toshi Seeger frantically called up a number of friends -- people she and Pete knew from the folk music world -- to secure personal loans to pay the bill. The Newport Folk Festival loaned the organization $10,000. The Seegers chipped in another $7,000.

Finally, on June 27, the sloop set sail for Portland, the first stop on its journey. One of the plans to raise money was to give a series of concerts at various ports-of-call between Maine and New York on the sloop’s maiden voyage. To this end, most of the sailing crew was made up of musician friends of Pete’s. Billed as the “Hudson River Sloop Singers,” the group included Pete, Capt. Allan Aunapu, Louis Killen, Gordon Bok, Don McLean, Jimmy Collier, Rev. Frederick Douglass Kirkpatrick, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott and others. They made about 20 appearances including at The Fens in Boston and the Newport Folk Festival. The money raised made it possible to begin to repay those loans.

On August 1, 1969, CLEARWATER tied up at South Street Seaport to much fanfare and with New York City Mayor John Lindsay onboard. What had started as a “pipe dream” nearly four years earlier was now a reality. A Hudson River sloop would be sailing the river once again.

Fifty years later, CLEARWATER is still sailing. From on board, hundreds of thousands of school children -- and group sail participants of all ages -- have experienced the beauty and wonder of the Hudson River ecosystem. CLEARWATER’S award-winning education program has provided a model for organizations around the country, and the sloop remains a powerful symbol in the fight for clean water and a healthier, greener planet.

​This article was originally published in the 2019 issue of the Pilot Log. ​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 30, 1972.

In the days when the Hudson River was relatively pollution free, every spring shad fisherman could be found with their nets from New York City north to Castleton.  Shad fishermen would frequently venture far from home, going to a spot on the river that was particularly to their liking and there set up their operation.  One of these was Bernard “Nod'' Washburn of Sleightsburgh.  

When I was a boy, "Nod" Washburn was a neighbor of ours.  He was then an old man.  and would fascinate me with the recounting of his shad fishing experiences.  “Nod” also impressed me as a boy with an expression he would use when something especially caught his fancy.  He would say, “By the handle of the great horned spoon!,’’ an expression I never heard anyone else use. 

In the 1880's, 1890's and the early years of this century, “Nod" and his father always fished for the spring run of shad at Cranston’s, later known as Highland Falls.  The steamboat landing at that point was then known as Cranston’s after the large hotel then located there.

The hotel later became what is now Ladycliff Academy, just south of Highland Falls village. 

A Portable Shanty
With the coming of spring, “Nod” and his father would load their round bottom shad boat with nets, floats, supplies and a portable shanty to live in.  They would then leave Sleightsburgh and row over to the Romer and Tremper steamboat dock at Rondout. 

There, their boat and gear would be hauled aboard either the “William F. Romer" or the “James W. Baldwin.”  Leaving Rondout at 6 p.m., they would then sail down the river, as the old timers would say, on the “night boat.”

On the way down river, the Washburns would sleep right in their shad boat that was being carried on the freight deck.  Being known by the crew, they would have their supper down in the crew's mess room.  “Nod" told me he always preferred to go down on the “Romer” because he knew the steward, Henry Bell, would always give them a good supper.  In return, the Washburns always saw to it that Steward Bell and his family received their share of fresh shad for the season. 

They would arrive at Cranston's about 2 a.m. in the lonely morning hours, after making all the landings between Rondout and Highland Falls.  "Nod" said they couldn't get much sleep because at every landing there would be the noise of loading freight, the rumble of the hand freight trucks, and the mate hollering at the freight handlers to hurry up so the steamer could get away on time. 

Leaving the ‘Romer’
After the “Romer” left the dock at Cranston’s, she would pull out in the river and stop, swing out her forward davits, lower the Washburn's boat and all its gear in the river, and then continue on her way to New York City.  "Nod" and his father would then row over to Boat House Point on the east shore, pick out a good location and set up their shanty.  They would then get their fishing gear ready "to get on the make" with the first flood tide.

If the tide was right, they would make their first drift at about 8 or 10 a.m.  Sometimes they missed the first flood tide, and after getting things all set, would be so tired they would sleep until late morning.  They camped and fished off Highland Falls yearly from about the first of April until Memorial Day. 

On nights when the Washburns had shad to ship to New York, they would raise a red lantern to let either William Mabie, the pilot on the “Romer" or Abram Brooks, the pilot on the "Baldwin” know there would be shad to be put aboard the steamer.  When put on the steamboat, the shad were packed in long boxes filled with ice on the freight deck, and the mate would see to it they were well taken care of.  “Nod" and his father preferred the Romer" as their friend "Billy" Mabie[,] the pilot, would always drop a copy of the Kingston Daily Freeman in their boat to be read when drifting with their nets on the flood and ebb tides. 

When the steamboat reached New York, a representative of the New York markets would meet the boat at the Franklyn Street pier and buy the shad.  The mate Henry Kellerman of the “Romer" or the mate of the “Baldwin" did all the financial transactions in the big city.  When the steamboat came back up the  next night, the fishermen would have to be over at the dock at Cranston's to collect their money, which was always right to the penny.  Then they would settle their account with the mate. 

‘True Blue’ Mate
Washburn said never once was anything written on paper.  Everything was left to the honesty of the mate.  Always he was ‘‘true blue," as a boatman would say. 

As spring wore on and it came to the latter part of May, changes would come to the river.  The south wind of summer would begin to blow up through the Highlands, bringing with it the smoke from the chemical works at Manitou; the “Mary Powell” would commence her daily runs to New York; the mosquito[e]s would rise from the marshes in back of Conn's Hook; the water would start to get warm and the shad would start to get soft. 

One morning, “Nod" Washburn's father would say, "Well 'Nod', who comes up tonight?” “Nod" would answer, "Well, Pop, it’s the ‘Romer,’ she went down last night."

His dad would say, "We are going to get her up tonight.  I’m getting homesick for Sleightsburgh.  When I get aboard, I am going up in the pilot house and shoot the breeze with ‘Billy’ Mabie and find out all that we missed since we've been away from Sleightsburgh and Port Ewen.  When we get home tomorrow, I can sleep all day."

Back in Rondout
When their boat was put off the "Romer" in Rondout Creek, the Washburns would just row across the creek to the shore by the old sleigh factory that used to be east of the shipyard, pull their boat up on shore, and go up the hill to their home and go to sleep.  Then, later, they would go back down, unload their boat, and put their shad nets away for another season. 

Back in those days, "Nod" said you could leave your boat down on shore with all supplies in it and nobody would touch a thing — even if it sat there for a week.  So ended another long ago day of shad fishing in the lordly Hudson.

​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!​

Two small passenger boats miscalculated and got stuck on the jetty on the southside of the Rondout Creek, c. 1910.  The Chapman floating derrick was called in to put them both back in the water. Saulpaugh Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum

May marks the birthday month of the sloop Clearwater, which was launched on May 17, 1969 in South Bristol, Maine. To celebrate, we thought we'd share another Pete Seeger song, but this one in a little more informal setting. 

On morning of August 21, 2010 Pete Seeger, Lorre Wyatt and friends gathered aboard the Hudson River Sloop Clearwater to film their performance of the new song "God's Counting on Me, God's Counting on You." After the filming, while the Clearwater was docking, they had an impromptu jam session that included this song "Sailin' Up, Sailin' Down." Pete Seeger played banjo and took two solos. Lorre Wyatt played acoustic guitar and sang a verse.

Pete passed away in 2014, but his legacy lives on. We were fortunate to have him involved in and present for the construction of the Kingston Homeport and Education Center right here at the Hudson River Maritime Museum - that building is shared with Clearwater, which uses it as their winter home port.  

"Sailin' Up, Sailin' Down" Lyrics
Sailing up (sailing up), sailing down (sailing down)
Up (down), down (up!) - up and down the river
Sailing on - stopping all along the way
The river may be dirty now but it's getting cleaner every day

People come (people come), people go (people go)
Come (go), go (come) - up and down the river
Sailing on - stopping all along the way
The river may be dirty now but it's getting cleaner every day

Garbage here (garbage here), garbage there (garbage there)
Here (there), there (here) - up and down the river
Sailing on - stopping all along the way
The river may be dirty now but it's getting cleaner every day

Catching fish (catching fish), catching cold (catching cold)
Cold (fish), fish (cold) - up and down the river
Sailing on - stopping all along the way
The river may be dirty now but it's getting cleaner every day

People come (people come), people go (people go)
Come (go), go (come) - up and down the river
Sailing on - stopping all along the way
The river may be dirty now but it's getting cleaner every day


Clearwater needs your help just as much as we do. You can donate to support them to make sure they're around for another 50 years!
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Stay tuned for a "History of the Clearwater," which will be posted this Thursday, May 14, 2020 in honor of Clearwater's birthday.

For an overview of the construction of Clearwater and her launching, you can visit our online exhibit "Rescuing the River: 50 Years of Environmental Activism on the Hudson." 

Did you ever sail aboard Clearwater? Did you ever sing this song with Pete? Share your memories in the comments!

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!​

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. 60- C.W. Morse
The 427 foot “C.W. Morse” was built in 1903 for the People’s Line of Albany, and was the first of the steamboats to be constructed with a steel hull. She was one of the most luxurious steamers built for Hudson river travel up to that time and was constructed to run in line with the magnificent “Adirondack” which had set a standard for excellent steamboat accommodations. The “C.W. Morse” had no less than 450 staterooms exclusive of those used by the officers.

The travelers first impression of the “C.W. Morse” was gained upon entrance into the magnificently proportioned and richly finished lobby or reception hall. On one side a beautiful mahogany stairway led up to the salon. From the vantage point of this stairway one could get a fine view of the lobby, brilliant in its gilded arched ceiling and exquisite mural decorations, and the dining saloon, a regal apartment with large windows closely set with an average breadth of 58 feet and with a seating capacity of 300 people. In addition to this main salon there were two handsomely furnished private dining rooms with richly carved mahogany woodwork and the ceiling decorated in gold and white and illuminated by 250 electric bulbs held in bronze-green fixtures.

There were a number of deluxe cabins whose walls were hung in silk and cotton of pleasing pinks, blues, and greens, and ceilings done in ivory and gold. These cabins were richly furnished with double beds, and had private baths and the arrangements were such that the cabins could be taken separately or in a suite.

The decks of the “C.W. Morse” were of unusual width and the upper deck permitted an unobstructed promenade around the entire steamer. Aft upon this upper deck was the large Palm Garden with the café adjoining it.

The “C.W. Morse” was equipped with electric thermostatic push buttons, fire alarms, automatic whistles, watchmen’s clock, telephones for special service, and where auxiliaries were not run by steam, electric motors were used. Two complete and separate systems of steering gear were used- steam driven and hand-driven.

A regular floating palace- that was the term that describes the “C.W. Morse.” The People’s Line had omitted nothing in her construction or equipment which made for safety or comfort, and no detail of luxury had been slighted.

In the fall of 1917 the “C.W. Morse” was acquired by the Federal Government and taken to the Brooklyn Navy Yard where she was used for housing navy recruits. At the close of the war she was returned to her old New York-Albany run. In 1923 she was renamed the “Fort Orange” and continued in regular service until 1927 when she was laid up at Athens and was used only occasionally after that. In the summer of 1935, after having been gradually stripped of her furnishings for use on other boats, she was taken to New Haven, Conn., and partially broken up. The hull was taken intact to Bridgeport, Conn., where it was installed as a breakwater at the entrance to the harbor.

Welcome to Week 4 of the #HudsonRiverscapes Photo Contest! We asked members of the public to submit their best photos (no people) of the Hudson River and tributaries, 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. ​