Today is Memorial Day. And although the real meaning of the holiday often gets lost in all the sales and barbecues, we thought we'd take some time to remember some of the unsung heroes of wartime - the U.S. Merchant Marine.

This WWII-era newsreel highlights the important work of the Merchant Marine during the war:

The Merchant Marine refers to all U.S. flagged cargo ships and freighters. During wartime, these civilian vessels - and their civilian crews - were crucial to moving war materiel and maintaining supply lines across the oceans. Because these men were not officially enlisted in the military, despite their hugely important wartime work,  they have not traditionally been celebrated on Memorial Day. In fact, National Maritime Day, held on May 22nd, is often referred to as the Merchant Marine Memorial Day. But merchant mariners had a higher wartime casualty rate than any  branch of the military during the Second World War. One in 26 merchant mariners died in the war, a higher rate than even the U.S. Marines. 

During WWII, approximately 243,000 merchant mariners served, and over 9,500 died as a result of enemy action, nearly 4%. In contrast, the U.S. Coast Guard, in which 242,000 served, lost 571 men to enemy action, or about a quarter of a percent. Despite these high casualty rates, because they were not enlisted in a branch of the military, the Merchant Marines were not eligible for Purple Heart medals. In 1943, Congress attempted to rectify that lack with the establishment of the Merchant Marines Mariner's Medal. Over 6,000 medals were awarded before it was discontinued in 1956. It was not awarded in subsequent conflicts, but in 1992, the US Department of Transportation announced several new medals which were retroactively awarded to merchant mariners who served in Korea, Vietnam, and more recently wartime engagements, including Operations Desert Storm, Iraqi Freedom, and others. 

To get a taste of the dangerous voyages that merchant mariners made in wartime, there are a couple of movies to check out. The first is "Action in the North Atlantic," a 1943 film starring Humphrey Bogart. ​

Although it focuses on the captain of the lead naval destroyer escorting a convoy across the Atlantic, you get a feel for the extreme danger posed to merchant mariners by U-boats, and how many ships and lives were lost attempting to keep the supply lines open and running. Based on the real events of the Battle of the Atlantic, "Greyhound" makes for good, if nerve-wracking, watching.  

“If you’re a merchant sailor, you don’t know if the ship you’re on at any moment will suddenly explode. You don’t know if it is hit and you have to go in the water, will you be found? … If you’re a survivor, you hope to God you get in a lifeboat, and then you hope that somebody picks you up. Otherwise, you’re done.” To learn more about the real life counterparts of the Greyhound​, check out this article from the Smithsonian Magazine. ​

As we remember all those who lost their lives in military action this Memorial Day, we hope you'll remember the Merchant Marines, too.

​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!​

Amidst islands and mountains.
 
It was a warm and misty morning. The mist seemed to amplify the sound of the Amtrak and Metro North trains braking at the station and starting up on their runs into and out of the City. Everyone was glad to go outdoors and breathe fresh air after a night of smelling the composting toilet. We cooked a hot breakfast outdoors on our new camp stove. I noticed that someone had installed a voluptuous figurehead on the bateau’s bow. Apparently, a Barbie doll washed up on the shore overnight and was repurposed as nautical decoration on the Sturgeon’s stem. I’m pretty sure that it was the work of Muddy Jr.
 
As promised, we dug out the toilet and filled it with fresh cedar chips. We cleaned up the clubhouse and placed the sloop model back on the table. The tide was a little earlier than anticipated so we got started at 8:30 AM.
 
From the north, Pollepel Island appears almost like a cork in the neck of a bottle at the northern entrance to the Hudson Highlands. It is the gateway to the flawed and gusty winds of the Worragut, or “wind gate” that passes beneath Storm King Mountain. The island was long thought to be inhabited by dark spirits. Sailors would tip their hats here when entering the Highlands in the hopes of making safe passages. Nevertheless, terrible accidents occurred along this stretch of the river, including a sloop capsizing in 1824, drowning 35, and the beheading of the man at the tiller of another sloop after his neck became entangled in the main sheet while jibing. I managed to make sure that the crew was thoroughly spooked in advance of our approach to this foreboding passage through the mountains.
 
In 1777, Pollepel Island was considered central to the American defense of the Hudson River. A string of Chevaux de Frise, rock-filled cribs with iron-tipped spikes, were laid on the river bottom from the Island to Plum Point in order to obstruct British warships. The spikes failed and the British passed these defenses to burn Kingston and Livingston estate of Clermont later in the year. Many of the de-fanged cribs remain on the river bottom here, a testament to the struggle to defend the Hudson.  More than a century later, arms merchant Francis Bannerman relocated his business to the island and built a castle-like armory and residence here between 1901 and 1918. Many now refer to Pollepel Island as Bannerman’s Island. Several fires and an explosion gutted the armory, leaving it a picturesque but ominous ruin.  
 
We reached the island about an hour after our departure from Beacon. The wooden boats were beached in a shallow cove on its east side. The canoe went back to get everyone off the sailboat which had to anchor in deeper water.

The island and its turreted ruins were completely neglected and undeveloped when we landed and everything was covered with grapevines and poison ivy. One had to pick a route into the ruins of the arsenal very carefully to avoid the worst of it. We made our way to the castle keep as a group and we went inside the “Moat Lodge,” a subterranean chamber near the gated entrance to arsenal. This room had survived the fires and explosion that gutted the armory and it still retained its plaster walls and Baroque fireplace and mantel. It was pretty thrilling for the kids on this trip. We found recently used candles on the mantel and indecipherable but finely formed letters and symbols inscribed at the top of the walls. Some of the kids wondered aloud if this place was currently in use for satanic rituals or witchcraft.
 
We went back into the sunlight and explored the rest of the armory and the site of Bannerman’s house. Half an hour or so after our arrival, I gathered everyone up to head back to the boats. A bunch of the kids insisted on going back to the Moat Lodge for a final look. As the rest of us began picking our way back to the landing, I heard blood curdling screaming from underground and turned to see terrified kids scrambling out of the hole. They screamed, cried and bushwhacked right through the poison ivy; often tripping, but following an absolutely straight line for the boats. I thought that perhaps they had found a yellow jacket nest. I was mistaken. One straggler told me that witches were hidden on the island and observing us. They had placed masks on the mantle to re-consecrate the Moat Lodge after our initial visit. I went back to investigate. Sure enough, I found seven grotesque papier-mâché death masks on the mantle. They were definitely not there when we first visited the chamber. The other boys were crying to get away from the island right away. Muddy Paddle Jr. unusually quiet. His many artistic projects in our household included making papier-mâché masks for Halloween. I looked at him briefly but said absolutely nothing. Naturally, the mocking masks stayed behind. The prank was never revealed.
 
We continued south past Storm King Mountain and reached Cold Spring at noon. It was shaping up to be a hot afternoon. Several tour boats including the historic Commander passed by us and expressed interest in our flotilla. We pulled past West Point itself at 12:30, ate lunch in the boats and continued south against a light breeze. We saw Dunderberg Mountain, the mythic lair of the goblin controlling the Highlands, rising high above an island on the west shore. At 2:30, we found a small beach at the island where we all went ashore for a much needed rest. Iona Island is infused with enough myths and urban legends to give even the most rational among us some foreboding. For 50 years and through both World Wars the remote island served as a naval munitions depot. Its remote location helped to insure against widespread casualties and destruction in the event of an explosion. At the time of our arrival, it had been abandoned to a herd of deer. The older kids asked to camp here overnight, so we rearranged crew assignments in the boats and left them with the war canoe, drinking water and a camp stove. The island is now a protected habitat and no longer open to visitors or campers.
 
The bateau and the sailboat departed, pulled into the Horse Race, rounded Jones Point and faced a stiff wind and chop from the south.  Making progress across Haverstraw Bay became wet and excruciating for the rowers in the bateau, particularly without the muscle of the older boys. Mischief is ever-present in the lee of the Dunderberg and so it was that the sailboat’s tiller broke off here, nearly leading to a capsize. The boat abruptly rounded-up and was hit by a steep wave soaking the kids in the bow. The crew hauled down the sails, started the motor and figured out how to steer with a paddle. We struggled to cross Haverstraw Bay to reach Verplank where we had made arrangements to camp at a boatyard that had hosted us on previous trips. We finally arrived at 4:00 PM and the rowers left the bateau unpacked while they collapsed on the grass in the shade of a rusty old crane.
 
We had pasta for dinner at Verplank, told stories around a citronella candle and turned in early. The primitive campers on Iona Island explored the grasslands and climbed the flat-topped monolith at the south end. Dinner consisted of soup and cicadas. After gathering a quart of exhausted cicadas, the kids plucked their wings off and sautéed them in a skillet with wild onions. They tasted like almonds and had the texture of popcorn.
 
On a previous trip, a large, inscribed iron ring was discovered at the top of the monolith. When it was disturbed by the boys and taken to the campsite, a frightful thunderstorm descended, with rapid lightning and furious winds. The storm knocked down and rolled up several tents and capsized the war canoe. When it was over, the question of returning the ring to ensure safe passage was earnestly discussed. It was returned and the mercurial Dunderberg goblin was appeased. This and other stories were told until late into the evening. Nothing was done to offend the spirit of the mountain this time and the campers passed the evening restlessly but without incident.

​The next installment of Muddy Paddle's Bateau will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddle Paddle on the Erie Canal,  Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his first canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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!​

2021 marks the 50th anniversary of the last trip of the Hudson River Dayline steamboat Alexander Hamilton. The last of the sidewheel steamboats on the Hudson and built in 1924, the Hamilton looms large in the memories of many Hudson River residents. 

On Saturday we took a look at the Hamilton and a surviving life ring. Today, we get to enjoy a short video of the Hamilton's last voyage.

In this newscast from 1971, a reporter interviews Hamilton employees and passengers on her last-ever trip. One employee optimistically states that "Next year we'll have a new ship." Although he may have gone on to work on other passenger boats in New York Harbor or the Hudson River, no sidewheel steamer was ever again built for use on the Hudson River.

If you would like to learn more about the Alexander Hamilton, please visit the Hudson River Maritime Museum and view our new mini-exhibit on the 50th anniversary of her last trip. 

Many thanks to the Steamship Historical Society of America for digitizing this fascinating piece of Hudson River history.

2021 is the 50th anniversary of the last trip of the sidewheel steamboat Alexander Hamilton, so we thought we'd highlight one of the artifacts currently on display in the museum's new mini-exhibit about the Hamilton and her last voyage.

This life ring from the Alexander Hamilton was donated to the museum in 1986 by Charles Metzger, just 15 years after the Hamilton​'s last trip. 

Built in 1924 and taken out of service at the end of 1971, the Alexander Hamilton was built for the Hudson River Day Line and is considered "the last of the Dayliners," and was the last Hudson River sidewheel steamboat constructed. Over 300 feet long, she was not the largest of the Hudson River steamboats, but her construction toward the end of the steamboat heyday on the Hudson River makes her unique. Accommodating over 3,000 passengers, she ran from Albany to New York City until the last few years of her service, when the route was shortened to Poughkeepsie to New York City.

Life rings like this one were used as emergency life preservers for situations when passengers or crew fell overboard or when anyone ended up in the water and needed rescuing. They were designed to be thrown out to a person in the water, and had a line attached so that rescuers could pull the overboard person back to the boat for recovery. Historic life rings were often made of cork, but after WWI they were also made of balsa wood. These lightweight substances would float, allowing the overboard victim to keep their head above water until rescue. The ring design was first posited by Leonardo DaVinci, and was easy to place around one's middle, which is why the rings are sometimes called lifebelts or lifebuoys, among many other names. 

Life rings still remain in use today at marinas and on board vessels where passengers and crew do not regularly use personal floatation devices due to the size of the vessel. The overall basic design remains unchanged - a circle or u-shape floatation device with a line attached to shore or the vessel. Some modern life rings include water-activated lights and GPS tracking, especially those used on ocean-going vessels.

This life ring from the Alexander Hamilton is one of several historic life rings from Hudson River steamboats in the museum's collection. If you would like to visit this artifact in person, it is currently on display in the museum's East Gallery.​

​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!​

Visiting Pete Seeger’s place.
 
It was sunny and mild at sunrise. Our camp stove valves were missing so we had to settle for cold cereal, Tang and doughnuts for breakfast. After breaking down the tents and packing up, we hit high tide perfectly again.  At 9:00 AM the bateau pulled out into the river with the other boats. The wind picked up and all three boats quickly reached Crum Elbow, FDR’s stretch of the river, under sail and with the assist of a strong ebb tide. From here, the river runs straight down the Lange Rack, long reach, for ten miles, past Poughkeepsie to Clinton Point. The wind was directly astern here and the boats made a long and exhilarating run without any effort.
 
Cliffs define the west shore of the river above Poughkeepsie. They are colorfully painted with the letters and symbols of some of the colleges that have traditionally competed in rowing here. Competitive rowing requires unity of command and a high degree of teamwork. Although the boats making this journey were far different and much more forgiving, the same principles were being learned and applied. The kids were complaining less and taking real pride in successfully completing each leg of the journey.
 
We reached the two bridges at Poughkeepsie just before noon and ate lunch on the fly around Blue Point. There had been consideration of landing for a rest at a beach and rock outcropping at Van Keurens, but the wind and tide were too good to waste. The Sturgeon led the pack coming into Beacon at 3:15.
 
We had arranged to stay at the Beacon Sloop Club for the evening. The building was identified from the river by a large pine tree that rose out of and high above the roof near the rotting ruins of the Newburgh-Beacon ferry slip. The boats were tied up at the Sloop Club docks and Pete Seeger welcomed us and unlocked the clubhouse for us. We asked Pete what we could do to help at the club. He asked us to clean out the composting toilet and fill it with sawdust in the morning. The composting toilet was situated level with the roof. Stairs led to the entrance door which featured a ventilation hole cut to resemble the traditional crescent moon. The elevated outhouse sure didn’t smell very sweet, but we were grateful to have a roof over our heads for the evening.
 
We moved a few tables around to create room for our sleeping bags including one with a model of the club’s sloop Woody Guthrie on it. The ferry sloop herself lay at anchor nearby and from a distance looked a lot like her big sister Clearwater.
 
I wish I could report that Pete came back in the evening with his banjo for a sing-along, but it didn’t happen on this trip.
 
A few of us took the sailboat out for a spin in Newburgh Bay around dinnertime. Even with the scars from urban renewal, Newburgh was a compelling sight from the river at this time of day with the broad expanse of water in front of the city. We returned in time for a hearty dinner brought in by friends. We had a restless night in our urban environment listening to the trains coming into the nearby station, sirens in town and laboring tows pushing up the river.

​The next installment of Muddy Paddle's Bateau will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddle Paddle on the Erie Canal,  Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his first canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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: This account, "Wheeling on a Towpath," was originally published in the New-York Tribune on August 20, 1899. Many thanks to HRMM volunteer researcher George A. Thompson for finding and transcribing this article.

THE SCENERY UNCHANGED.
History does not say whether Washington Irving ever rode a wheels. If he did it must have been of the ancient velocipede variety, which had more novelty than pleasure in it. But the scenery which called forth his admiration from the deck of the directors' special boat has changed but little to-day, and the wheelman an see and do in two days what probably took Irving five or six. The ride along the canal path is an ideal one for the wheelman, and it is rather strange that it is not more known to the touring wheelman. The riders of the immediate neighborhood use the towpath constantly to get from place to place along its banks, but the wheel with baggage roll or baggage carrier strapped upon its frame, showing the rider to be a tourist from a distance, is a rarity.  It is an ideal route for touring, as it takes the rider by rolling farmlands and quiet meadows through mountain passes and rugged forests, along babbling brooks, placid ponds and tumultuous dashing rivers, and yet there is not a hill to push up, for it is all on the level. It has all the advantages that can be obtained in wheeling through a beautiful mountainous country, without any of the disadvantages of hill climbing and rough roads.

Probably the principal reason why the path has not been more popular and better known to the touring wheelman is that the canal company was supposed to have prohibited wheeling, and at many of the lockhouses are signs warning wheelmen that a $5 fine will be the penalty for riding on the path. But the law has been practically a dead letter, and the writer, who has ridden the path for three years, never heard of its being enforced. Now that the canal has practically been abandoned, and the patient mule, which his melodious voice and his playful habit of kicking at a wheel, is a thing of the past, there is no longer any reason for riders not to visit this wild and romantic region.

The canal is something less than 120 miles long. While, of course, it can be easily done in a couple of days, or even in a day, if the rider rides à la Murphy or Taylor, still, a congenial party of three or four can make a most delightful holiday of it by taking a week or ten days to it, that is, if the entire trip from the city and back is made awheel, going up the Hudson to Rondout and doubling back from the coal fields to Port Jervis (better make that stretch by rail), and then south by the Milford [illegible] to the Water Gap and toward the city again, down and through the mountains of Northern New-Jersey. Such a holiday party should not neglect to strap a rod or two to wheels, as the numerous rivers which are feeders to the canal are noted for their bass, trout and perch. As a generous appetite generally waits on the wheelman, a mess of fish fresh from the stream will add much to the bill of fare if the wheelman has to tarry overnight with some obliging farmer.

​THE BEST ROUTE TO RONDOUT
 As most riders are familiar with the roads on both sides of the Hudson to Rondout this part of the trip need not be dwelt upon. Suffice it to say that the easiest and best way north is up the Saddle River Valley from Hackensack, to Suffern, thence up the Ramapo Valley to Newburg, crossing the Hudson to Fishkill, and continuing on the east bank to Rhinebeck. Then go by ferry over the river again. After all that is said about bicycling along the shores of the Hudson, the roads are poor and the hills hard north of Tarrytown, and only in a few places are the river views within sight to repay for the labor and discomfort of poor "going." The Hackensack-Suffern-Newburg route is trustworthy, and the roads are uniformly excellent.

At Kingston, a quiet spin may be made around the ancient capital of the State. The State House is still in existence, also several other old buildings whose history might be interesting to look up. In the cemetery of the old church are buried several heroes of the Revolutionary War. Rondout, the eastern terminus of the canal, is now politically part of the city of Kingston. While it is not a particularly attractive town in any way, it is a busy one, being the river shipping point of several  important industries. A dusty and not very attractive road leads out of Rondout, following the river of the same name under the shadow of Fly Mountain to the canal basin at Eddyville, where the enormous tows or collections of canal boats were formerly gathered for the trip to the city. The towpath proper begins here, passing several small groups of houses at the locks. Rosendale of cement fame, is the first and the only important town for fifty miles. Out in the open country, beyond Rosendale, the fascination of the canal path riding begins. As there are no hills or grades to be overcome, the rider can reserve his strength for the distance he has planned to do. The surface is always fair, and at times excellent; even when fresh gravel has been placed on the path there is generally a footpath worn by the motor power of the canal. The drawbacks for wheeling are the numerous locks, there being more than fifty between tidewater and the Delaware River. Sometimes they are frequent, nine of them in one section of two miles; at others they are miles apart: as at Summit there is a seventeen-mile level, and further on a ten-mile level. The approaches to the locks are comparatively easy, and the ten or fifteen feet rises can usually be "rushed." It is seldom the rider is forced to dismount, but when they come half a dozen to the mile they get monotonous, and the rider is apt to discover something interesting in connection with the lock, which will give him an excuse to dismount and inspect it.

A WIND THROUGH THE HILLS.
The canal is seldom straight for more than half a mile. It constantly follows the twists and turns at the foot of the Shawangunk range of hills. The vistas which are constantly opening before the wheelman are delightful. On one side of the narrow towpath is the placid canal, and on the other the Rondout Creek, sometimes a rushing mountain stream, and at others widened out into a small lake. On the south the Shawangunk (pronounced Shongum) Mountains follow the canal to Port Jervis, with the hotels at Mohawk, Minnewaska, Mount Meenahga and other places perched high above. To the north are the Catskill Mountains, with their summer hotels and sky-perched villages. Bold Slide and other prominent mountains are land marks until the day's trip is nearly over.

The flora is particularly varied and abundant. Wild roses, daisies, black-eyed Susans, loose-strife, convolvulus and other make patches of color, which are reflected many times in the canal and river. The canal seems to be specially attractive to may forms of animal and bird life. Rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks are constantly dashing across the path and flitting among the bushes and trees, or flying overhead are innumerable flocks of spike-tailed swallows, brilliant orioles, indigo birds, robins, yellow birds, jays, cuckoos, red winged blackbirds and pugnacious king birds, chasing their hereditary enemies, the crows. Off the mountains sometimes an enormous hawk or eagle may be seen. The sharp, shrill cry of the catbird and the cheerful bobwhite, and toward dusk the call of the whip-poor-will may be heard. 

In the sixty miles between Rondout and Port Jervis there are only a few small towns.  Rosendale, Napanock, Ellenville, Wortzboro and Cuddabackville are the principal places. They all have fairly comfortable hotels and bicycles shops, where repairs can be attended to. 

At Ellenville the activity on the canal ceases as the Delaware and Hudson company no longer ships coal by boat. The eastern end is at present kept open to accommodate the stone industries, but at no distant date the entire waterway will be abandoned, and a railroad will probably take its place. In the mean time the League of American Wheelmen and others are taking steps to make the towpath a permanent bicycle path.

Today's Media Monday is all about woman lighthouse keeper Kate Walker! Kate was the keeper at Robbins Reef Lighthouse from 1890 to 1919. Although she did not keep her lighthouse for as long as Catherine Murdock, Katherine Walker became just as famous. To learn more about Kate, check out this video by the U.S. Lighthouse Society's Historian. 

The Robbins Reef Lighthouse is currently owned by the Noble Maritime Collection in Staten Island. The Hudson River Maritime Museum is working on a documentary film about Hudson River Lighthouses, and Robbins Reef is one of them! You can help bring the museum's documentary film series to life by sponsoring or donating at www.hudsonriverwise.org/support. 

​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: In 1996, our intrepid writer, Muddy Paddle, built a historic wooden bateau and took it and a group of kids down the Hudson River. Accompanied by a war canoe and a modern sailboat, the three vessels had many adventures along the way. Check back each Friday for the next installment. ​

Day of the cicadas.
 
We departed Saugerties at high tide a little after 9:00 AM after cleaning and locking up the lighthouse. It was hazy and mild and the river was calm. Several big petroleum barges created wakes, but the bateau’s bottom had fully absorbed water and served as a very stable platform.
 
The cicadas were deafening today. Millions were attempting to fly across the river but thousands failed, dropping into the water exhausted. A dozen or more landed in our boat, fascinating the crew. Garth asked if they were edible. I replied yes, but that they would go down better without the wings. No one was ready to accept the invitation….yet.
 
Muddy Paddle Jr. found a dead bass floating upside down in the river just ahead of us. He was in the bow and used a spare paddle to flip the rotting hulk into the middle of the boat where it began a stink that revolted everyone. The rowing abruptly stopped as crew members tried to get away from the carcass and the flies that immediately discovered it. The other boys were not amused and didn’t see any humor in this smelly scene. I used our bailing scoop to try to gather up the rotted fish and swing it overboard, but it broke into pieces, many of which landed on personal gear and food bags. After violently gagging, I got all of it out of the boat and flushed the site generously with river water. Nevertheless, the sharp stink hung around along with a cloud of flies for the remainder of the day. It goes without saying that Jr. was not very popular. When lunch came around, his sandwich was the only one that was flattened and soggy.
 
A breeze picked up out of the north and the Sturgeon shipped her oars and set her sail. As we approached the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge, a Dutch-styled sloop with leeboards came out from the cove behind Astor Point to meet us. Named Skillypot, the Dutch term for turtle, she sailed with us for a few minutes. Her skipper, Roger, built her at Rokeby in the previous year and like our boat, she was oiled with pine tar and linseed oil. Roger made his home aboard the boat. Her maneuverability was very impressive. After sailing several circles around us, Roger and his friend wished us well, hauled their sheets and returned to Barrytown on the eastern shore.
 
The wind shifted to the northwest and we had drifted too far toward the east to clear Sturgeon Point on our way to Mills-Norrie State Park in Staatsburgh. We hauled down our sail, broke out the oars and pulled toward Kingston, still aided by the ebb tide. Once closer to the west shore, we again shipped the oars and set the sail. The wind had strengthened and our heavy bateau responded sluggishly. The halyard block lashings at the masthead failed and the yard and sail flew forward. We unstepped the mast, cut a length of line, and tied it back in place with a very un-nautical knot. Raised back into place, the sail was set once again and the bateau picked up speed. As the Esopus Meadows lighthouse neared, the whole rig went overboard in a strong gust. The mast step at the bottom of the boat had fractured. The mast, spar and sail were gathered up and we relied on the oars to take us into the park marina. We arrived at about 3:00 PM, about half an hour after the war canoe. The boys set up tents while I made makeshift repairs to the mast step. We later learned that Roger’s Skillypot sank at her berth that afternoon when one of her shell planks squeezed out of position. She was raised and repaired, but some of his personal effects were destroyed.
 
We had a cool and comfortable night for sleeping. We were excited about meeting Pete Seeger in Beacon tomorrow.

​The next installment of Muddy Paddle's Bateau will return next Friday! To read other adventures by Muddy Paddle, see: Muddle Paddle on the Erie Canal,  Muddy Paddle: Able Seaman, about Muddy Paddle's adventures on the replica Half Moon, Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson, about his first canoe trip down the Hudson River.
 
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!​

​The following text is a verbatim transcription of "Rivals of the Hudson" published in the New York Herald on August 5, 1881. Many thanks to volunteer George Thompson for finding and transcribing this article.

Rivals of the Hudson. The Mary Powell and Albany as Speedy Travellers.
It is not a new thing for steamboats on the Hudson, in their eager competition for popular favor, to try to outrival each other in speed. This keen rivalry has been a source of endless entertainment to the denizens of the romantic banks of the American Rhine, and it has been useful at least in this, that it has given to the wayfarers in search of the beauties of the noble river the advantage of travelling on what are undoubtedly the fastest steamers in the world. No one who has travelled on the Kaiser Wilhelm or any of the others of the so-called palace steamers of the Rhine will for a moment compare them in point of speed to the Albany, the Vibbard or the Mary Powell.  But still they are not happy — the people along the Hudson River. Fast steamers they know they possess, but they want to know which is the fastest. They want a steamboat race. Though many are supposed to be of Dutch extraction, and therefore presumed to be of that staid and sober temperament opposed to the pleasure of excitement, there is no doubt that a genuine steamboat race would be one of the greatest delights of their placid lives. Life in the Hudson River towns and villages is rather dull and news is scarce. There are a number of weekly papers in the Hudson River settlements which, whenever the news budget becomes slim, immediately reopen the favorite popular topic — i.e. the steamboat race. Anything on that subject is as sure to be read with the greatest avidity as the British government is sure to pay the interest on its consols. It stirs up a ripple of excitement in the whole region, is copied from one paper into another, and soon the banks of the Hudson, from Tarrytown to Albany, reverberates with the eager question, "When will it take place?" There is something very homelike and affectionate in the staunch adherence of the people to their favorite boat. As one of the captains expressed it the other day, travel on the Hudson boats seems like a "family affair." People get into the habit of riding on a certain boat, and go by it year after year unless, indeed, their boat allows itself to be "beaten" in too transparent a fashion. There is a great deal of room for "fine figuring" on the question of comparative speed, as no formal contest has yet taken place, and it is wonderful to hear with what accuracy and precision the friends of each boat will figure out by how many revolutions of the wheels and quarter lengths the one boat has the best of the other.

The Two Rivals.
The two great rivals just at present are the Albany, of the Albany day line, and the Mary Powell, running to Kingston, both guaranteed by their owners to "whip the universe" for velocity. Each boat has a host of friends who back the opinions of respective owners and captains with the most enthusiastic positiveness as to the vastly superior swiftness of the one against the other. That there has been no formal race  — for, of course, every day that the boats are running they are trying to outdo each other  — is a source of infinite disgust to those sanguine friends of the Mary Powell and the Albany. A number of times has the contest been projected, and immense excitement along the river has been the result from the moment the race has been on the tapis. Everyone, more or less, has been wanting to bet on the result from $10,000 down to a white hat. And after a ripple of excitement the fever of anticipation has subsided into keen disappointment when it has been ascertained that there would be no race after all, and that all bets were "off.” A few people have been found, to be sure, who have been old fashioned enough to declare that it was a very good thing that no race was to take place and that no one was to be blown up, but these were outvoted by a large majority and declared to be "old fogies." The man whose heart is bent on seeing a race, and particularly such a unique contest as a race between two great palace steamers, each noted for very remarkable speed, wouldn't mind a little playful diversion like that.

Is It to Take Place?
More recently, however, reports that a race was projected and was definitely to take place as soon as the busy season was over have assumed such a tangible shape that it was thought worth while to sift these rumors, and with this view, the captains of the two boats have been sounded, and the results of the interviews are here given. It will be soon seen that though both sides think there is no comparison to be made as to the speed of each other's steamers the matter of the race is still left somewhat dubious. The engineer of the Mary Powell remarks that should a race take place, a man who could charter all the available New York Central trains to follow the boats and charge $25 a seat (or $5 more than even the extortionate Patti is reported to expect in this American El Dorado) would make his fortune. But it requires no very lively imagination to picture to one's self the scene which such a race would call forth. The two steamers, followed by a perfect cloud of craft, from the biggest ferryboats to the smallest rowboat and trains and carriages  and buggies and vehicles of every description lining the two shores and trying to keep up with the two gigantic racers for as long a time as possible. It was the universal opinion of all those whose views were sought on the question that more money would changes hands than probably at any horse race that has ever taken place in this country. It is certain that if the latest project again falls through there will be manifest disappointment, not only in betting quarters, but among many who are usually not interested either in racing or betting, but who would like to witness a trial of speed between the two steamers claiming to be the fastest in existence. And now the readers of the Herald will probably be interested to learn what the leaders of the rival hosts of steam boatmen may have to say on the subject.

Captain Anderson, of the Mary Powell.
Captain Anderson, of the Mary Powell, is a fine specimen of an old captain. He is a veteran in the service to which he has devoted over thirty years of his life. The Captain has a kindly shrewd face, but the most marked feature is an expression of predominant caution. There is a wary look out of his eyes, and his venerable gray mustache adds to this expression. One could very soon gather, even after a scant observation of the man, that however much the reputation of the Mary Powell might be dear to him, and though he would, no doubt, like to establish her superior speed as against that of the hated rival, he would still think more of the solid popular belief in her safety, which, he fears, might be endangered by such a devil-may-care proceeding as a race. When he spoke of the Mary Powell as being too much of a "family boat" for such a reckless procedure one could see that the proud glistening of his eyes, as he pronounced the words, spoke well for the safety of the lovely mothers and darling infants which are so numerously placed under his care on every trip. Of course, as will be seen later on in an interview with the Captain of the Albany, the latter sneers at this noble regard for the "family boat" feeling and pooh-poohs it, declaring that the Albany is just as much of a "family boat," and that he, nevertheless, would be perfectly willing to consent to a race. But, for all that, the "family" feeling will probably be on the side of Captain Anderson, and future generations will be grateful to him for not having exposed them in their present tender state of babyhood to the ignominy of having been conveyed up or down the river in what Captain Anderson gravely fears might be forever after dubbed a "racing boat."

How the Albany's Model Was Spoiled.
"What about the proposed race between your boat and the Albany?" the captain was asked.

"Well, I have heard a great deal about it," the good Captain replied with a smile.

​"The weekly papers along the river have made a great outcry about it of late, but then they always do it when news gets scarce."

"Do I understand you, Captain, that it is only talk then, and that no race will be arranged?"

"Oh, I really can't tell you anything definite," the Captain replied.  "All I can say is that the Mary Powell is not afraid."

"You think she is really the faster boat of the two, Captain?"

That word "really" seemed to be a little too much for the Mary Powell's commander.

"Why, I know she is," he replied in energetic tone; "the Mary Powell is the fastest boat in the world.  She hasn't her equal anywhere."

"How about the Albany?"

"Well, the Albany is a good boat, too; but unfortunately she's ben spoiled. You see, her model is all wrong. She'd be a very fast boat and might catch up with the Mary Powell if she had not been built six feet too wide across. They ought to have modelled her after the Mary (this word the old Captain pronounced in a very affectionate tone) and then she would have been all right."

"What is the outlook for a race between the two boats, Captain?"

"Well, I have been pressed by a number of friends who travel by this boat to consent to a race, because they think they can make a pile of money out of it, and then they would like to see Captain Hitchcock's pretensions — you know, he's the captain of the Albany — silenced once for all."

Vast Sums to Be Bet.
"How much are they willing to bet?"

“Well, there is a certain party of capitalists who always travel by this boat who talk of putting up $50,000. Then there's another party wanting to bet $10,000. Oh, there's no lack of money," the Captain added with quite an exhilarated manner, being evidently warmed up by the subject.

"If the race comes off when is it likely to take place?"

"Oh, of course, it could only take place after the season, and then we'd take no passengers at all — that would be against the law."

"Would you consent to it, Captain?"

This was a "poser," but the Captain, after a little hesitation, said: — "Well, if my friends insist upon it perhaps I might, but then I'm opposed to it myself, and I'll tell you why. Not that there would be any doubt about our beating the Albany, there's another reason why I am opposed to it, and don't think I'd like to consent to it."

"And why is that's Captain?"

"Well, the Mary Powell, you know, is a family boat, and has always been a family boat. We carry in her all the time a great number of ladies and children, who go with us unattended. Why, they feel here as they would in their own homes. Every woman and child between New York and Kingston knows the Mary. Now, I would not like her to get the reputation of a racing boat. That is why I do not like to accommodate my friends who want me to race her against the Albany after the season."

The Albany's Faults Pronounced Hopeless.
“You have never had any actual contest, Captain?"

"No, except this. Everybody knows what time we make and that the Albany does not come anywhere near it. You ask anybody who has been travelling by the two boats and is not particularly friendly to either and they will tell you that. Well, last fall, after the season, the Albany, just to show what she could do, after all that had been said about the Mary Powell being such a superb boat, made a race against time up the river, and in the first nine miles up to Fort Washington she was five minutes behind the Mary's time."

"Hasn't she been doing better this season, Captain?"

"Why, no; she can't do any better unless they change her model and make her more like the Mary. Why, during that race against time her wheel made twenty-six and one-half revolutions to the minute to our twenty-five, and yet we go faster. That shows that there's something radically wrong with her."

"How fast are we going now, Captain?" was the final question asked, as the boat seemed to be under full headway and favored by tide and wind.

"About twenty-five miles an hour," the Captain proudly answered; “and that only with thirty pounds of steam, while we can carry fifty if we like. So you see what the result would be if we'd race with a boat like the Albany. Mind you, in whatever you say in the Herald, remember I have nothing to say against Captain Hitchcock or his boat; all I say is, that if he thinks he has as fast a boat as the Mary he is very much deceived; that's all."

What One of the Engineers Says.
One of the engineers of the Mary Powell was gently accosted; but he drew himself up, and in a serio-comic style, which would have done credit to an actor, said, "Well, now, we engineers have so often been misrepresented on this subject that, like other public men, we now decline to be interviewed." Presently, however, he became more communicative, and did not hesitate to give his views.

"Why," said he, "there can be no doubt as to which is the faster boat of the two. It takes the Albany three hours and twenty-five minutes to go to Newburg, and we make one landing more — Cornwall — and do it in three hours and twenty five minutes, beating her by five minutes.  What do you think of that?"

An expression of high approval greeted this complacent query and drew out further interesting statements bearing on the question.

"Last fall, when she made her race against time, from Twenty-second street to Poughkeepsie, making the trip in 3h. 13m., she ran behind time fully 2 minutes.  I'll show you how: — The Mary Powell left Twenty-second street at 3:34 and arrived in Poughkeepsie at 7:09, making the trip in 3h. 35m. Now, they only allowed us 2 minutes for every stop, but, as a matter of fact, it takes us 5, and counting only 4 minutes for each of the six stops, or 24 minutes in all, we did it in 3h 11m. and beat her by 2 minutes, didn't we? And then she carried forty-five pounds of steam and we carried only thirty-four, and they had her all cocked and primed for it, while we were not prepared in the least."

Why a Race Will Not Take Place.
"Do you think a race will take place?"

"Well, I don't know; I think it doubtful."

"Why."

“For several reasons," and here the engineer smiled and his eye gave a merry twinkle.

"Just name one."

"Well, you see one of the boats would have to be behind, and that would be quite a damper on he business for the future.  That's the principal reason."

"Do people, then, care so much whether the one boat reaches her destination a couple of minutes sooner than the other?"

"I should think they did! Why, this is our fast week, when we have the tide in or favor.  Next week, when it is against us and we'll be five minutes later, a great many of the people riding with us this week will go up to their homes by the Central. This is a fast age.," the engineer added sententiously.

"Do you think that a race would create much excitement?"

"There never was anything like the excitement you'd see. The man who would charter all the trains in the New York Central to follow the boats and charge $25 a seat would still make his fortune. More money would change hands than at any race that has ever been held in this country. Why, it would be the greatest thing known!"

"By how much would you beat the Albany, do you think?"

"Oh, it's hard to say."

"Take a race to Poughkeepsie; would you beat her by fifteen minutes?"

“Oh, no; we'd do well to beat her by a few lengths. But, then, as I said before, I don't think you'll see a race. I know that if I had the two boats I wouldn’t consent to it. Now, each boat has her friends and is considered the fastest by them, while the race would put a damper on one of the two. And then you can't always tell what might be happening on a certain day. The water might not work well in the boiler or a journal might become hot; some mishap might happen and the reputation of the boat might be jeopardized, while she might really be the faster of the two."

Captain Hitchcock "Ready for ‘Em.”
"We're ready for 'em!" Captain Hitchcock, of the Albany, stoutly exclaimed when approached on the subject yesterday. The Captain is also a weather-beaten veteran, like his rival of the Mary Powell.

"I'm told your model has been tried and failed?" was the next query.

"Why, I know they told you that on the Mary Powell, and of course they did.  They  think there never was a model like hers."

"I'm also told you ought to have fashioned the Albany more after the model of the Mary Powell to have made a really fast boat of her."

"I'll never make the Albany like the Mary Powell, because then she'd be completely spoiled. Why, the man who made the Mary Powell's model told me that Captain Tallman, of the Daniel Drew, came to him and told him to spoil her, and that he cut her away so as really to have spoiled her; and Captain Anderson tells you that the Mary Powell is the better model? Well, that's rich, I must say."

“Captain, I am very much perplexed," the interviewer appealed, "by the conflicting statements I have heard about the two boats. Now tell me, please, which is which?"

“Why, there's no comparison. We had the Mary Powell some years ago, and if she had been such a superior boat don't you think we'd have kept her?"

"But since then it is claimed she has been remodelled."

"Remodelled?  A few old rotten timbers taken put and a few new ones put in their places," the Captain responded, with an expression of unmistakable disgust stealing over his face. "I tell you just all there is about the Mary Powell. The Mary Powell is a wonderfully good boat when she's got a tide like a millrun and a regular gale of wind blowing in the right direction — then she'll make first rate time. But the Albany is the only boat in the world I ever saw that could make time against tide, wind or anything else, and always does make time!"

"But isn't your boat six feet too wide?"

"Oh, Captain Anderson told you that too, did ne? Why, if she was twelve feet wider than his boat she'd still be faster. I really wish the Albany were five or six feet wider than she is!"

The Money Behind the "Albany."
"The Mary Powell has a fifty thousand dollar pool behind her in case of a race, I'm told, Captain?"

"Fifty thousand dollars?  We can go that better and triple it," was the contemptuous reply. "Does Captain Anderson tell you he's got a party willing to bet $50,000 that the Mary Powell beats us?"

"That's just it, Captain."

"Well, I don't believe it — unless these are men who travel with him and he's filled them up with good things and deceived them. Now, mind you, I have nothing against Captain Anderson or his boat — all I say is that if he thinks he has a faster boat he is a very much mistaken man."

"We won't stickle at a few thousands, Captain, but do you really think that considerable money would be bet on the Albany in case of a race with the Mary Powell?"

"Do I?  Why, Joe Cornell, of the Citizens' Line, wants to take $20,000 right off, and John Chase, of the Hoboken Ferry, says to put him down for $10,000. Those are only two men. They'll get all the money they want — no trouble about that, my friend!"

"Would you consent to a race?"

"I'd like to see it.  It's really the only way to settle the question," the Captain added, in a firm decided — almost bitter — tone. "If Captain Anderson thinks he has the faster boat, why the only way to settle it is to put the two boats together.  It's the only way, and I'd like to see it done."

"What do you think the result would be?"

The Captain's answer was sharp and quick. "I don't think they'd go very far before they would go back," he replied, and he added vigorously. "I think they'd feel sick at their stomachs before they were out any long distance."

The Mary Powell Misproportioned.
"Why do you think so, Captain?"

"Why, the Mary Powell is all out of proportion. She wasn't made right. She was cut away too much, to begin with, and they she has a 72 cylinder, while her air pump, bed plate and condenser are made for only a 62 cylinder. Now, the Albany has a 73 cylinder and is proportioned for it throughout."

"What time are we making now, Captain?"

"About twenty miles an hour."          

"Five miles less than the Mary Powell?"

"Did they tell you she was making twenty-five miles and hour?  (In a tone of immense astonishment.)  Well, well!"

"How much pressure do you use?"

Here the engineer, who had heard part of the conversation, broke in, saying, "Don't tell him how little we use, or we'll have to bet even, and they won't give us any odds!" At which hilarious sally both captain and engineer gave a gleeful chuckle."

"Captain Anderson says he would not like to let the Mary Powell race because she is a 'family boat?'"

"Well, and ain't we a family boat?" the Captain spoke up, warmly. "Ain't we as much of a family boat as they are? Why, just go down to the cabin and you won't be able to step over all the babies that are about. Haven't we as many women and babies on board as they have?  Just look and see for yourself."

"Conceding that point, Captain, he also seems to be afraid that it might give the Mary Powell the reputation of a 'racing boat?'"

"That's all poppycock! Isn't she racing now every day as it is? She's got the reputation of a racing boat now, for they want to beat everybody else, and they say she can whip creation. I'll tell you what I'll do. If they don't want to bet I'll go for fun. Why, if she wins, it'll be the greatest feather in her cap, and I'll acknowledge the corn. (With a mock rueful air.) I'll tell you up and down than that I was a sadly, sadly deceived man."

"And in that case, Captain, would you model her after the Mary Powell?"

"Model the Albany after the Mary Powell? Do you think that's what I have been forty-nine years steamboating for? Not much!"

"But supposing you two were to come in bow and bow?"

"I'll guarantee against that. I'm not much of a betting man, but I'll bet $5,000 on that — myself!"

End of article, published August 5, 1881 in the ​New York Herald.

The Albany and the Mary Powell did eventually get their race. It was a short one, but considered a race nonetheless! On Wednesday, July 19, 1916, the Powell and the Albany were both headed south on the Hudson at approximately the same time. As the Mary Powell left the dock at Milton, the Albany was just a few minutes behind, and put on a burst of speed in an effort to past. The two boats went full steam ahead for Poughkeepsie, but the Mary Powell was the victor.  ​

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We are into shad season now, so we thought we'd share more stories from our Hudson River Commercial Fishermen oral history collection!

Today's story comes from Port Ewen commercial fisherman George Clark, talking about growing up fishing with his father Hugh Clark, and an encounter with a fish market dealer who tried to get the better of them.

If you'd like to see Hugh Clark's original shad boat, it is on display at the Hudson River Maritime Museum toward the back of our East Gallery in the boat slings. 

​To listen to all of George Clark's oral history interview, visit New York Heritage. 

​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!​