A Sailor's Prayer is presented here by Mosaic Whispers. In a time of uncertainty and social isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic, members of Mosaic Whispers from throughout the years unite to sing their alumni song Sailor's Prayer virtually. 85 voices, 29 years. Sailor's Prayer is written by Rod MacDonald, arranged by Jon Krivitzky, and sung by past and current members of Mosaic Whispers, the oldest all-gender a cappella group at Washington University in St. Louis. Sound mixing by P. Daniel Newman, video editing by Reynolds Whalen.

A Sailor's Prayer Lyrics

Though my sails be torn and tattered
And my mast be torned about
Let the night wind chill me to my very soul
Though the spray might sting my eye
And the stars no light provide
Give me just another morning light to hold

I will not lie me down, this rain a-ragin'
I will not lie me down, in such a storm
And if this night be unblessed, I shall not take my rest
Until I reach another shore

If the only water left
Is but salt to wound my thirst
I will drink the rain that falls so steady down
And though night's blindness be my gift
And there be thieves upon my drift
I will thank the fog that shelters me along

I will not lie me down, this rain a-ragin'
I will not lie me down, in such a storm
And if this night be unblessed, I shall not take my rest
Until I reach another shore

Though my mates be drained and weary
And believe all hopes are lost
There's no need for their bones
On that blackened bottom
Though death waits just off the bough
We'll not answer to him now
He shall stand to greet the morning light without us

I will not lie me down, this rain a-ragin'
I will not lie me down, in such a storm
And if this night be unblessed, I shall not take my rest
Until I reach another shore

Welcome to Week 10 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. ​

Anchoring and lowering the topmasts in Delaware Bay

We assigned pairs to a series of one-hour anchor watches for the evening to make sure that our anchor held and to quickly identify any other potential emergencies. At midnight, the wind was really howling and the ship heeled over alarmingly several times, bringing a few others including feline crewmember Mrs. Freeboard up on deck. The anchor held, and by 4:00 AM, the wind subsided and the stars came out.
 
After a hearty breakfast, we set about the task of lowering our topmasts and topgallant poles so that we could take the ship into Wilmington later in the day. We underestimated the difficulty of accomplishing this at anchor with inexperienced volunteers. Taking each mast in turn, the plan was to attach a line to the topmast heel, pass it over the grooved mast cap and run it aft to a fife rail where a snatch block was rigged to direct the line to the capstan (a big rotating drum turned by handspikes or bars and used for heavy work). The crew would man the bars, take the strain and lift the topmast an inch so that the fid piece securing it could be knocked out. The crew would then gently walk the capstan backward until the crosstrees were in the tops.
​

​It was a sound plan. We began with the foretopmast. As soon as the strain came on the line, the wooden block at the fiferail shattered and the mast jumped down a good distance before the capstan took the shock. A small piece of the block’s wooden shell dropped harmlessly to the deck while the larger chunk whistled off at 100 mph toward New Castle. Fortunately the capstan and the crew held. The mast was lowered the remainder of the way without the block.
 
The maintopmast proved to be a bigger challenge. We used a modern steel block for this episode. When the bars were manned, Mike knocked out the fid block, and we lowered the topmast down several feet where we discovered that it was unable to drop clear of the main yard. We secured the line and rigged tyes (safety lines) to the yard in preparation for lowering. It would not budge. The yard had not been shifted since installation in Albany, and the necklace, securing it to the mast was now thoroughly infused with varnish. I had to harness up, cut some of the seizings, and then jump on the yard to get it to move. After getting Mike on the yard with me and spraying WD 40 on everything, we were able to work the yard down far enough for the topmast to drop into position well below the point where the topmast would drop.
​

​The next challenge was recovering our anchor so that we could get underway. We motored up to the anchor, pulling in the heavy cable along the way until we were “up-and-down,” that is the cable was now vertical between the hawse hole in the bow and the anchor down below. We attached a messenger line to the cable and led it back to the capstan. We manned the bars but the anchor was apparently buried deep in the mud. Last night’s high winds were surely a factor in burying the anchor so securely. We had to wait for slack tide before we could successfully bring it up. We were going to be late for the grand arrival.
 
It was dark when we entered the Christiana Creek leading into the Wilmington waterfront and our running lights failed. We sent the first mate out in the dink with a flashlight to find the way to our dock. He returned and led the ship there with his flashlight. We cleared a highway bridge with inches to spare, and had difficulty docking in the dark. The crowd that had planned to greet us was gone and all that remained were a few organizers and some warm beers.
 
Afterword

After a day in Wilmington, the Half Moon continued south to Washington, D.C. I had to get back to work and took the next train home to New York. Returning from Washington, tugboat captain Chip Reynolds came aboard. He took command of the ship during the return voyage and began a long and distinguished association with the ship marked by a much needed emphasis on safety. Countless school children sailed with the Half Moon on educational “voyages of discovery” between New York and Albany, and many of the lessons were filmed live to home classrooms by Skype. Reynolds had a crew of schoolchildren aboard the Half Moon in New York harbor when the planes were flown into the two towers of the World Trade Center in 2001. He kept everyone calm, and brought the children safely up the river where they could be reunited with family.
 
I joined the ship one last time in 2006 at the end of the sailing season to bring the ship to her winter berth in Verplank. We sailed much of that distance before a stiff and cold northwest wind. It was an exhilarating experience as we raced down the river between the Catskills and the Highlands during peak autumn color.
​

​In 2015, the voyages of discovery were suspended, Captain Reynolds was discharged and the Half Moon was sent to the Netherlands, arriving in August. She then proceeded to the Westfries Ship Museum in Hoorn where she was exhibited. There has been discussion about returning the ship to the United States in the near future but to date, no specific plan has been announced.
​

​​Building and sailing replica ships offers rare insight into worlds which no longer exist. Design details that at first seem frivolous or impractical are often revealed to make perfect sense as construction proceeds or as experience is gained operating the ship. Replicas help us to understand that our ancestors were not only daring and courageous, but equally ingenious and practical. Getting kids involved in these projects offers lessons in discipline, leadership and self-confidence and is a sure way to cultivate a deep appreciation for our maritime heritage. 

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". 

                                                No. 252- Washington Irving
The flagship of the Hudson River Dayline fleet- the “Washington Irving”- is a steamboat that is better known to the present generation, although her whistle no longer echoes among the Highlands of the Hudson; for it was 14 years ago that the pride of the Dayline met with an accident which ended her career.

The steel hull of the “Washington Irving” was built by the New York Shipbuilding Company at Camden, N.J., in 1912. Her keel was 405 feet long with an overall length of 416 feet, six inches. She had a breadth of beam of 47 feet, over the guards she was 84 feet, and her hold was 23 feet, seven inches deep. The gross tonnage of the “Washington Irving” was 3,104 and net tonnage 1,664. Her engine was constructed by the W. & A. Fletcher Company Iron Works of Hoboken, N.J., and was the incline double expansion type with three cranks and three cylinders. Two of the cylinders measured 70 inches in diameter and the third measured 45 inches, with a seven foot stroke. Steam was supplied by four single and two double ended scotch boilers carrying 170 pounds of steam and generating 6,000 horsepower.

The flagship of the Hudson River Dayline was launched at Camden, N.J., on Saturday, December 7, 1912- this date marking the 60th anniversary of the founding of the Dayline by Commodore Alfred Van Santvoord.

Destined exclusively for service as a day-boat between New York and Albany, the “Washington Irving” was by long odds the largest and most exquisitely furnished inland passenger vessel in the world. She had a passenger carrying capacity of 6,000, and made her first trip on Saturday, May 24, 1913, under the command of Captain David H. Deming with Thomas Hall as chief engineer.

Running in line with the Dayline fleet which consisted of the “Mary Powell,” “Albany,” “Robert Fulton,” “Hendrick Hudson,” and the “Alexander Hamilton,” the “Washington Irving” continued in service on the Hudson river until June 1926 when she met with an accident which closed her career.

On June 1, 1926 the “Washington Irving” left her pier at the foot of Desbrosses street, New York, bound for Albany with 200 passengers aboard. A heavy fog made the visibility very poor and the whistle of the “Washington Irving” kept up a constant din as she left her berth and headed upriver. The pilots of other vessels were also experiencing difficulty in navigating due to the fog, and thus it happened that the tug “Thomas E. Moran” of the Moran Towing Company, hauling two iron oil barges, hove into sight of the “Washington Irving”- too close to avoid a collision. One of the barges struck the “Washington Irving” aft of the wheel on the port side- smashing the side in completely.

Captain David H. Deming, commander of the pride of the Dayline, realized immediately the seriousness of the accident and tied down the whistle of his vessel for the purpose of summoning aid from other craft in the harbor. Passengers were ordered to the top deck to don lifebelts, and the continuous blasts of the “Washington Irving’s” whistle soon brought more than a dozen other vessels to her side. The ill-fated dayboat reached a pier on the Jersey shore where passengers were able to scramble to safety. Two lives were lost in the accident- a Mrs. Arthur Hoag and her three-year-old daughter of Long Island City.

The “Washington Irving” sunk along side of the pier- coming to rest on the end of the Holland Vehicular Tunnel. On February 14, 1927 the vessel was raised and later taken to Bayonne, New Jersey where she was tied up. In September 1933 the wreck of the “Washington Irving” was sold for junk to the Northern Metal Company of Philadelphia where she was taken and broken up.

Recorded in the summer of 1976 in Woodstock, NY Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay: Hudson Valley Songs Old & New was released in October of that year. Designed to be a booster for the replica sloop Clearwater, as well as to tap into the national interest in history thanks to the bicentennial, the album includes a mixture of traditional songs and new songs. This album is a recording to songs relating to the Hudson River, which played a major role in the commercial life and early history of New York State, including the Revolutionary War. Folk singer Ed Renehan (born 1956), who was a member of the board of the Clearwater, sings and plays guitar along with Pete Seeger. William Gekle, who wrote the lyrics for five of the songs, also wrote the liner notes.

"Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay," the album's title track, recounts the life of sailing sloops and Schooners coming in and out of Newburgh Bay, at the north end of the Hudson Highlands. The song references "Worragut," also known as "Weygat," which is Dutch for "wind gate," meaning the northern entrance to the Hudson Highlands, bound on one side by Storm King Mountain and Breakneck Ridge on the other. The stretch of river between Newburgh and Stony Point is bound on both sides by high mountains, and the river twists sharply. A difficult passage for sailors and known to contain tricky winds which required much tacking, the Hudson Highlands were best approached with caution. 

From the album liner notes, written by William Gekle, "And so it very often happened that sailing sloops, sometimes fifty or a hundred of them, anchored in Newburgh Bay just outside the passage, waiting for the right wind or the right tide - or both." 

"Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay" Lyrics
Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
Waitin' for the wind and tide,
Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
With the anchors over the side.

The skippers all sit on the rail to yarn,
Same as farmers out by the old red barn,
​The boys in skiffs have gone ashore
To ruckus outside the village store.

Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
Waitin' for the wind and tide,
Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
With the anchors over the side.

Now the wind comes up with a mighty roar,
Whitecaps roll from shore to shore
So it's anchors up and sail away
Down the Worragut from Newburgh Bay.

Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
Waitin' for the wind and tide,
Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
With the anchors over the side.

Now the sails are full and the sloops run free,
Beatin' through the Gate to the open sea,
There's Breakneck Hill on the looward side
And Storm King Mountain makin' up the tide.

Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
Waitin' for the wind and tide,
Fifty sail on Newburgh Bay
With the anchors over the side.

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!​

A Passage to Delaware Bay

​I joined the ship at Jersey City on the first Tuesday of October. The ship had only four volunteers but had gained a cat named Mrs. Freeboard. The Half Moon had more than enough freeboard, but our cat thought otherwise. She earned her “free” board by keeping the “pier ponies” (rats) off the ship. Our first mate went out looking to sign on a few more volunteers while the captain made chili. By this point in the ship’s career, a convenient galley and four berths had been set up in the ship’s forward hold. Historically, cooking was done on a tile hearth on the main deck within the forecastle. Crew had used this hearth previously for making cowboy coffee and boiling stews, but it was a poor substitute for a range and a refrigerator, especially in bad weather. Our food was substantially better than the dried and salted meats and weevilly biscuits served to the seventeenth century sailors. Since water became rank on long voyages, beer was the beverage of choice in 1609. We did not think it was a good idea to stock beer aboard the replica ship. We had plenty of challenges while sober. 
 
Crew members whipped old lines (finished off fraying ends) in the fo’csle and shared tales about previous trips. We ate dinner in the galley down below and watched the sunset from the mast tops. Our first mate was successful in recruiting two college students as volunteers. It was a cool, damp night so we bunked down in the galley for the evening.
 
Our new recruits came aboard at dawn and we got underway immediately, certainly before they had time to change their minds. Ideally, we should have had a mate and seven crewmembers. We were one short. The students, Mike and Ann, were a couple. Mike was very athletic and proved a quick study aloft. His girlfriend Ann had only come along for the ride, but was cheerful and ready to do her share of the work on board. We passed under the Verrazano Bridge, went by the old Romer Shoal lighthouse along the Ambrose Channel and out into the Atlantic where we paralleled the New Jersey shore. We boiled up a pot of oatmeal for breakfast and cooked chicken for lunch. Seas rose in the afternoon. Mike was the first one to feel ill. He declined our dinner of fried steaks and onions. The smell of the onions probably didn’t help.

​​We divided the crew into two watches (rotating teams) of three members each. Mike was completely out of commission and had rolled himself into a fetal position amongst coils of rope in the forecastle. Ann paid seemingly little attention to him, so from time-to-time, the others would check on him and make sure he was getting a little water.
 
As with the original, the replica Half Moon was steered by a traditional whipstaff instead of a wheel. The whipstaff is a vertical pole sliding in and out of a pivoting drum on deck. The lower end of this staff engages a long tiller which rides over a greased beam and connects to the top of the rudder. The whipstaff is housed within a protective hutch in front of the mizzenmast and well behind the mainmast. There is room in this hutch for the helmsman (the crew member steering the ship) an hourglass used for navigation and dictating the change of the watch and a binnacle, the cabinet containing the compass. Our replica also carried radar. The helmsman is protected from bad weather, yet can still see the set of the sails while watching the compass heading of the ship. However, in close maneuvering, the pilot must con (direct) the ship from the deck above, shouting commands to the helmsman below. 

​It was a stormy night and conditions were deteriorating. Although the helmsman’s hutch was largely enclosed and provided with a modern compass and radar, steering proved to be a very physical challenge. When the stern of the ship lifted up out of the water, the heavy oak rudder wanted to flop one way or the other. That force was transmitted pretty directly by way of the long tiller to the whipstaff. After bruising our chests several times, we rigged up a relieving line whipped around the steering pole that we could use as a shock absorber (maybe this is why it was called a whip-staff). Even so, maintaining a precise compass course was not possible. The best we could do was to keep heading generally south.
 
Several hours before midnight, I noticed a series of blips on the south side of the radar screen in the general path we were taking. Each time the radar swept the screen, these blips would be slightly reconfigured. Over the next several minutes they became closer and better defined. Not knowing what they represented and visibility being poor, I chose to avoid the cluster and turned the ship west. There was plenty of searoom and I was prepared to return to our original course as soon as we cleared this cluster. As we came around, the ship’s motion over the waves changed. The captain, who had been sleeping in the master’s cabin, sensed the change in course, entered the hutch, looked at the compass, and forced the whipstaff over to port while I tried to explain the situation. He either couldn’t hear me or didn’t believe me and kept swearing that I was trying to wreck the ship on the Jersey shore. Within seconds, our forward lookout ran back and screamed that we were headed into a bunch of oil or gas barges. Now the captain understood, but it was almost too late. I pushed the whipstaff hard over to starboard and we came very close to one of the barges. It appeared that the tug had lost control of her tow. We saw a long towing cable come out of the water nearby and snap taut with a thunderous crack.
 
I came off watch right after this incident and tried to catch a nap in the galley, but the recent close call and the jumping, corkscrew motion of the ship made sleep impossible. I also realized that in the event of an accident, getting out of the galley and up onto deck required navigating narrow passages, ladders and hatches. This prospect was not all that reassuring.
 
I went back on watch several hours after midnight. The captain went back to bed. Ann and I shared the steering while the first mate served as lookout. The sky lightened around 6:00 AM. Ann and I came off watch and went below to make a hot breakfast on the galley stove. After putting some coffee on, we started with a large frying pan full of bacon. As that was getting close to being ready, we started making toast and frying eggs in a second pan. At that moment, our generator conked out and we were absolutely blind. The galley was a pretty confined space two decks down in the bow with no natural light. We hit a big roller and the pans skidded off the stove top, revealing the orange glow of the burners. The hot pans and bacon grease were all over the deck, so we jumped up into the bunks to keep from getting burned. Ann felt for a flashlight in one of the bunks and found one on a pillow. Let there be light!  Miraculously, the bacon and eggs remained in their pans sunny-side up. The first mate fixed the generator, the lights, stove and toaster came back to life and we were able to serve a passable breakfast. Seasick Mike was better and was able to eat.

​A couple of exhausted goldfinches joined us as we approached Cape Henlopen and turned to enter Delaware Bay. A sail training schooner entered the bay well ahead of us but sailing before a favorable wind we eventually caught up with her. The wind increased to the point where it became prudent to trice (gather up) and furl the sails and come to anchor for the night. High winds associated with a dying offshore hurricane were forecast. We buttoned everything down. Ann prepared pasta and turkey meatballs for supper.
​
Join us again next Friday for the Part 5, the last, of the "Half Moon" adventure!

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 volunteers Carl and Joan Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published June 15, 1975.

“Naw, we just didn’t want the people on shore to think we were showing you the way to Poughkeepsie.”

One day back in 1927, the Poughkeepsie and Highland ferryboat “Brinckerhoff” has been up at the Hiltebrant shipyard at Connelly for minor repairs.  When she was ready to go back down river it was about 3 p.m.  At the same time, the "Jacob H. Tremper” of the Central Hudson Steamboat Company’s Albany to Newburgh service was unloading freight at her Rondout Creek dock on Ferry Street. 

The “Brinckerhoff" came down just as the "Tremper" finished unloading her freight and was getting ready to wind around.  The ferryboat passed by and fell in behind the Rhinecliff ferry "Transport" on her way out to the river. 

After the "Tremper" completed her turn around and was ready to go, the “Brinckerhoff” was down off the Cornell coal pocket.  Captain Baker of the ferryboat, looking back, thought it would be a good day to have some fun with the old "Tremper” and her captain Jack Dearstyne.  Captains Baker and Dearstyne had known each other for years and were good friends of long standing. 

When the “Brinckerhoff” was clear of the mouth of the creek, Captain Baker said to his engineer, “I’m going to give the “Tremper" a good run and give her our black smoke."  He even laid to out in the river for a few minutes to let the "Tremper" get a little ahead.  The "Brinckerhoff" always had the reputation of being a fast sidewheel ferryboat and Captain Baker figured it would be a pushover to get by the "Tremper," then in her final years on the river. 

Dearstyne on the "Tremper," however, when he was coming out of the creek could see what was afoot on the "Brinckerhoff."  He called to his engineer, Fred Van Loan, and told him what he thought Captain Baker was scheming.  Chief Van Loan said, “Cap, we are in luck because I’ve got two good firemen on watch.  I haven't opened up this old engine in 20 years, but I'll do it now and see what the old girl can take."  He then told his firemen to shovel in the soft coal and "keep her hot.”

By the time the "Tremper" cut the south dike of the creek and entered the river, Chief Van Loan had her throttle wide open.  Her ancient engine was making 22 revolutions a minute and black smoke was belching out of her tall smoke stack.  An ebb tide was running against a strong south wind, making the river very choppy with white caps.
​
The “Brinckerhoff” had purposely let the "Tremper” get ahead, Captain Baker thinking it would be more fun to overtake and pass her.  But as hard as the "Brinckerhoff" tried she could not shorten the distance.  

When the two were passing Esopus Island, the distance between them was still the same.  Every once in a while Chief Van Loan would run out in the "Tremper’s" after gangway to take a look and see if the ferry was gaining.  Then back to oil and grease the engine and see that nothing was running hot.  Turning up as fast as she was, the water in the "Tremper’s" wheel houses was leaking out all over, even on the top where they had opened the top hatch to let some splash out.

Down off "Riverby," John Burroughs’ home at West Park, Captain Dearstyne said to his chief, "Let’s let Baker get abreast of us and we'll go through the Elbow neck and neck.”  As the ‘'Tremper" slowed down, Captain Baker on the "Brinckerhoff" thought maybe she had to slow for some reason, came very close aboard, and hollered over, “Is something wrong Jack?”

Captain Dearstyne took the megaphone and hollered back, "Naw, we just didn’t want the people on shore to think we were showing you the way to Poughkeepsie."  Both laughed.  Boatmen were like that. 

As soon as the “Brinckerhoff” was abreast, the "Tremper" was opened up again and down through the Elbow past President Roosevelt’s mansion they sped.  The "Tremper" couldn’t gain either and neck and neck they went from the Elbow to the Columbia boathouse.  

The "Tremper" was on the west side of the river and since both were to land at Highland, the ferryboat had to slow down and let the "Tremper" make her landing first.  On the "Brinkerhoff" they called it respect for old age. 

The "Tremper” only lasted for one season more.  In 1929 she was sold for scrap and broken up at Newburgh.  Reclaimed land was placed over her old bones and not a trace of her is left. 

At first, it was thought the “Brinckerhoff" would have a better fate.  After the Poughkeepsie-Highland ferry gave up in late 1941, the “Brinckerhoff” went to Bridgeport where she ran to a pleasure park for nine years more.  Then she came back to Hiltebrants at Connelly for awhile before being towed to Mystic Seaport.  Her upkeep, however, was too much and the Seaport finally turned their backs on her.  She was acquired by someone who had plans for a restaurant and she was beached at Pawcatuck, opposite Westerly, R.I.  The town fathers didn’t look kindly upon her and finally, in the early 1960's, she was purposely burned and her remaining metal scrapped. 
​
So from the Hudson River they both knew so well, a fine steamboat and ferryboat have both gone, never to return.

"The Erie Canal Song," also known as "Low Bridge, Everybody Down," was first published in 1905 by Thomas Allen. Reacting to the changeover from mule power to powered barges and tugboats, Allen captured the nostalgia of 80 years of mule power on the canal, as well as some of its dangers - including low bridges!

Construction on the New York State Barge Canal began in 1905 and was completed in 1918, an expansion of the original Erie and Lake Champlain Canals, widening the channel and charting new courses around cities like Rochester. This signaled an end to mule-powered canals in New York State, as the D&H Canal had closed several years earlier, in 1899 (although cement was still transported by canal from Rosendale to Rondout on the D&H until 1917). 

This particular version was recorded by Bruce Springsteen for the album We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions (2006). 

Erie Canal Lyrics
I've got a mule and her name is Sal
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal
She's a good old worker and a good old pal
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal

We hauled some barges in our day
Filled with lumber, coal, and hay
We know every inch of the way
From Albany to Buffalo

[Chorus]
Low bridge, everybody down
Low bridge, yeah we're coming to a town
And you'll always know your neighbor
And you'll always know your pal
If you ever navigated on the Erie Canal

[Verse 2]
We'd better look around for a job, old gal
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal
You can bet your life I'll never part with Sal
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal

Get up mule, here comes a lock
We'll make Rome about six o'clock
One more trip and back we'll go
Right back home to Buffalo

[Chorus]
Low bridge, everybody down
Low bridge, yeah we're coming to a town
And you'll always know your neighbor
And you'll always know your pal
If you ever navigated on the Erie Canal

[Verse 3]
Where would I be if I lost my pal
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal
I'd like to see a mule good as my Sal
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal

A friend of mine once got her sore
Now he's got a broken jaw
Because she let fly with an iron toe
And kicked him back to Buffalo

[Chorus]
Low bridge, everybody down
Low bridge, yeah we're coming to a town
And you'll always know your neighbor
And you'll always know your pal
If you ever navigated on the Erie Canal
Low bridge, everybody down
Low bridge, yeah we're coming to a town
And you'll always know your neighbor
And you'll always know your pal
If you ever navigated on the Erie Canal
Low bridge, everybody down
Low bridge, yeah we're coming to a town
And you'll always know your neighbor
And you'll always know your pal
If you ever navigated on the Erie Canal

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Did you grow up singing this song in school? Have you ever visited the Erie Canal? Tell us your memories in the comments!

​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!​