(p. 40)   The North America is splendidly fitted up and furnished; the cabinet work very handsome; the whole establishment of kitchen servants, waiters, and cooks, all people of colour, on a great scale.  *** 

(p. 41)   We had breakfast and dinner in the steam-boat.  The stewardess observing, that we were foreigners, gave notice to my wife some time previous to the (p. 42) breakfast-bell at eight, and dinner-bell at two, so that we might have it in our power to go to the cabin, and secure good places at table before the great stream of passengers left the deck.  Both meals were good, and very liberal in point of quantity.  The breakfast consisted of the same article that had been daily set before us at the city hotel, with a large supply of omelettes in addition.  The equipage and whole style of the thing good.  The people seemed universally to eat more animal food than the British are accustomed to, even at such a breakfast as this, and to eat quickly.
                The dinner consisted of two courses, 1. of fish, including very large lobsters, roast-meat, especially roast-beef, beef-steaks, and fowls of various kinds, roasted and boiled, potatoes and vegetables of various kinds; 2. which is here called the dessert, of pies, puddings, and cheese.

                Pitchers of water and small bottles of brandy were on all parts of the table; very little brandy was used at that part of the table where we sat.  A glass tumbler was put down for each person; but no wine-glasses, and no wine drank.  Wine and spirits of all sorts, and malt liquors, and lemonade, and ice for all purposes, may be had at the bar, kept in one of the cabins.  There is a separate charge for every thing procured there; but no separate charge for the brandy put down on the dinner-table, which may be used at pleasure.  The waiters will, if desired, bring any liquor previously ordered, and paid for to them, to the dining-table.

p. 43      Dinner was finished, and most people again on deck in less than twenty minutes.  They seemed to me to eat more at breakfast than at dinner.  I soon afterwards looked into the dining-room, and found that there was not a single straggler remaining at his bottle.  Many people, however, were going into and out of the room, where the bar is railed off, and where the bar-keeper was giving out liquor.
              The men of colour who waited at table were clean-looking, clever, and active, -- evidently picked men in point of appearance.

              We had observed a very handsome woman of colour, as well dressed, and as like a female of education, as any of those on board, on deck.  My wife, who had some conversation with her, asked her, when she found that she had not dined with us, why she had not been in the cabin?  She replied very modestly, that the people of this country did not eat with the people of colour.  The manners and appearance of this lady were very interesting, and would have distinguished her anywhere.
                James Stuart.  Three Years in North America.   Vol. 1.   Edinburgh, 1833.

 FACILITIES FOR TRAVEL.
            The facilities for travel along the Hudson next season will, by the addition of the trains of the West Shore road, be very large.  We have only to refer to some of them to show that travel must indeed be very large in order that all the lines can be made to pay.  In the lower Hudson there will be three lines of steamers between Peekskill, Nyack and New York, a steamer will run as usual between Haverstraw and Newburgh, a steamer will run two or three times a day between West Point and Newburgh, a steamer will run between Newburgh and Poughkeepsie, two steamers will run between Newburgh and Albany, three steamers will run between Poughkeepsie and New York, three steamers will run between Rondout and New York, one steamer will run between Saugerties and New York, two between Catskill and New York, two between Catskill and Albany, two between Coxsackie and New York, four between Troy, Albany and New York, also in addition the two day boats between New York and Albany.  These make twenty-seven steamboats that will run night and day, saying nothing about handsome barges.  Add to these twenty six trains on the N. Y. C. & H. R. R. R., and twenty trains on the West Shore R. R., making forty-six trains in all.  The twenty seven steamboats have a carrying capacity of 10,000, and the trains, taking six cars to a train, a carrying capacity of 10,560, making a grand total of carrying capacity, by both cars and boats of 26,650 people. — Poughkeepsie Eagle.
            Rockland County Journal (Nyack, N. Y.), February 24, 1883

THE TRAVEL INCREASING. COMMUTERS ARE NOW COMING BACK TO NYACK.
The Saturday Half Holiday Train Will Be Put on the Latter Part of May.
            Traveling is steadily increasing to and from Nyack, and in a few weeks at the most the trains and boats will be carrying their full quota of passengers.  "The travel on the Northern Railroad," said Mr. William Essex, station agent at Nyack, to a reporter, "is now slightly increased over that of last year at this time, and I think the prospects are good for an increased number of passengers during the season.  A number of commuters are already back from the city in their Nyack homes, and most of them travel up and down daily.  A little later more cars will have to be put on the trains to accommodate the passengers.
            "I have not yet heard of any change in the time-table," continued Mr. Essex, "and I do not anticipate any.  The present time table appears to give general satisfaction.  The Saturday half-holiday train will be put on the latter part of May."
            Travel in other directions is also on the increase.  The Chrvstenah carries a goodly number of passengers to and from the city daily, and the number is steadily growing larger. There are more daily passengers to and from the West Shore station at West Nyack than there have been during the past season, and the Nyack and Tarrytown ferry is also doing an increased business.
            Soon the tide of Summer travel will set in in every direction, and Nyack will probably have its full share of those who come and go.
            Rockland County Journal (Nyack, N. Y.), May 4, 1895

​​A CRUISE ON A HUDSON RIVER HOUSE-BOAT.
By Jesse Albert Locke
            ["Tom Perkins" invites "J. S. Wellington" to join him and two other friends on a cruise on a house-boat he has designed and built; Wellington declines, supposing it won't be much fun.]
Two years ago a young physician in New York was trying to puzzle out the problem of his summer holiday, Where should he spend the two or three weeks he could take for recreation? On a certain hot afternoon in July, as he sat in his office thinking of the matter and longing for a breath of country air, an invitation to a decision arrived. It was in the form of the following note, characteristically laconic, from a friend who lived a few miles up the Hudson:
Riverview-on-Hudson, July 20, 1893
Dear Wellington: I start August 5th on a house-boat cruise. Party of four. Will you join us? Say yes and say it soon. Come up here the night before. Yours cordially, Tom.
            This brought an immediate reply.
                                    "Riverview-on-Hudson,
                                                "July 22d.
            "My Dear Wellington: I am not at all willing to count me out.  You must join us on our trip.  You know how I hate letter-writing, so a proof of my desire for your company will be the long and full explanation which follows.  In fact, I thought I had told you all about it before, but you are quite in the dark, I see.
            "I am inviting you to no experiment.  I built my house-boat and made a trial-cruise in her last summer.  It was a howling success.  Jack Dunham, who went with me, is wild to go again.  Let me tell you how I worked out my idea.
            "Living in a Hudson River town, I have been on the water a great deal ever since I was able to walk.  I have had numerous sail-boats of different sizes, but for some time I had been wishing I had some sort of a craft roomy enough to cruise in with a small party of friends.  A large yacht I could not afford, and so I conceived the idea of a house-boat, which I finally worked out to my satisfaction. 
            "I found that to be a complete success my boat must have five points of advantage.  First, it must be adapted to these waters.  The English house-boats might do on a quiet stream like the Thames, but they would not be suitable for traversing the Hudson.  The second thing to be secured was sufficient room.  I wanted enough space to allow four or five persons to live aboard comfortably.  Next, the boat (whatever it was) must be safe.  I could not ask friends to sacrifice pleasure and peace of mind on a really dangerous craft. 
            "It must also be, in some degree at least, self-propelling.  This would enable me both to take advantage of the opportunities for being towed, and on the other hand to be independent of towing, when I wished.  I wanted to be able to leave the channel and run into shallow water alongshore whenever desired.
            "Lastly, my boat (if it came into being at all) must be inexpensive.  Some very costly house-boats have been built for Florida waters.  One is said to have cost $40,000.  It is rumored that a syndicate has been formed to build and rent house-boats for summer use, each boat to cost from $5,000 to $15,000.  But these are not to be self-propelling.  They must be  towed to some one place and anchored there.  Besides, I had to reckon in hundreds -- not thousands -- of dollars.

​"As to my success in realizing my ideal, I am happy to say that I have secured every one of these five points.  My boat, Satan, only cost me $600, and it is roomy, safe, self-propelling, and easily navigated.  Let me describe its construction in detail.
            "I first build a large flat hull, 27 feet 9 inches long, and 9 feet wide.  Its draught of water is only 27 inches.  An 18-inch heel runs the full length.  On this hull I built the cabin, leaving deck-room fore and aft.  There are six feet of head-room in the cabin.  A heavy guard-rail or buffer, a foot wide, runs all around the boat to protect it in the necessary impact against canal-boat or dock.
            There are two spars, the mainmast having a lateen-sail, and the jigger the ordinary fore and aft rig.  The steering is done by a tiller in the usual way.  Under the forward deck slides an ice-box which will hold three hundred pounds of ice.  Two large lockers also slide in like drawers.  Under the stern deck is a bunker for charcoal on one side, and on the other a storage locker for tools, rope, putty, etc.  The roof of the cabin forms an upper deck, and an awning is stretched over it while at anchor.  There are two awnings also for the fore and after decks. 
            "The Satan really could no be upset.  The only danger, practically, is that of being becalmed in the channel at night, and so being in the way of the great steamers and the tows, which are constantly going up and down.  But this can be avoided by a little forethought.  It requires only one man beside the sailing-master to manage the boat.
            "You see how much I have secured.  I have the cabin space of an eighty-foot yacht at the cost of only $600 instead of $5,000.  I can go where yachts cannot go, in the swallow waters and lagoons alongshore.  On the other hand, I am not bound to stay in any one place when circumstances make it desirable to more.  If, for example, a cloud of mosquitoes settles upon us., we heed not suffer mild martyrdom because we cannot get towed off, as would be the fate of persons on one of the permanently anchored house-boats.  We simply put up sail and go elsewhere.  All the pleasures of out-door life -- the air, scenery, sport, etc. -- are ours, with enough novelty and change to keep up the interest.
            "If the wind fails it is very easy to get towed.  There are three regular towing lines (besides some smaller ones) which start from New York every day on their way up the Hudson, and are due at certain places at certain definite hours.  There are also steam canal-boats that will take one on.
            "There is quite a choice in routes.  My boat is adapted to any large river like the Hudson, or to any lake or canal.  In a canal, of course, the spars must be taken out.  I intend this time to go up the Hudson to Troy, through the Champlain Canal to Lake Champlain and back again.
            "Think over all this, take a good look at the photographs of the Satan which I send, and then let me know whether we may expect you on the 5th.  I feel sure you will come.
                                                "Yours cordially,
                                                                 "Tom Perkins,"
            The doctor telegraphed his acceptance and went to buy some outing clothes.  He left town, promising his medical chum (who was to look after his practice for him) some account of his new experience if he felt like writing.
            These were Dr. Wellington's letters.
                                              "Somewhere up the Hudson.
                                                            "August 8, 1893.
            "Dear Chummy: You see how prompt I am.  This is only our third day out.  We are lying at anchor this morning will all the awnings spread.  I don't know exactly where we are -- geographically -- but the little cove with its pebbly shore, the restful green of the wooded point, the shimmering river beyond, and above all, the delicious sense of its not making any difference in the world where we may be -- all this is enough to make it Elysium.  City life and bricks and mortar belong to a stage of inferno from which we have escaped.
            "We have a jolly, tight little home in the Satan.  Why Perkins, captain and owner, dubbed his craft thus is not apparent.  There are no satanic qualities about the boat.  Perhaps he had the Oriental idea of casting an anchor to windward, propitiating the genius of the underworld by an outward show of respect as a security against disaster.
            "Our cabin is one large room, from which a small corner has been cut off for a kitchen.  There is a door at each end, one opening upon the fore and the other upon the after deck.  Everything is very 'ship-shape.'  The captain has mastered thoroughly the necessary nautical science of stowing things snugly.  On the partition which cuts off the kitchen is a buffet where every cup and plate has its own place in a rack.  Our dining-table is a folding affair, like a lady's cutting table, and is fastened flat against the wall between meals.  There are two windows on each side, all having dark-green shades and dotted Swiss curtains.  Between each set of windows is an upright locker, and above the latter a swinging brass yacht-lamp.  The floor is covered with linoleum, and Japanese rush mats.  Silk yachting flags, photographs, and Japanese fans adorn the walls.  There are four camp-chairs -- with backs, fortunately.
            "The kitchen is a multum in parvo wonderfully worked out.  Our stove is a miniature range, such as is made for boats, and has all the conveniences.  It works to perfection.  The fuel is charcoal, which costs a dollar a barrel.  The captain says that it takes from one and a half to two barrels a week.  The bunker holds four barrels.  It is a great improvement upon an oil-stove, which is usually very disagreeable.  The odor of the oil generally pervades the boat, and everything is covered with soot.
            "The kitchen utensils hang on hooks against the wall, and underneath them is canvas stuffed with cotton, so that when the boat is in motion one's nerves are not irritated by rattling and banging noises.  Rows of canisters for flour, coffee, tea, etc., and a good assortment of canned goods find places on the corner shelves.
            "I am cook.  We debated at first whether the office should be hold in rotation or not, and concluded that things would run more smoothly if each man had his own duties and stuck to them during the trip.  I have had some experience in camp-cooking, and I took a few additional lessons from my landlady before I left town.  I also invested in one of the simple cook-books intended for 'young housekeepers,'  I have done very well.

"As to the rest, we need never want anything very long before three toots from a steam-whistle announce the approach of a 'bum-boat.'  A bum-boat (should you not know the term) is really a country general store afloat -- a small steam-tug which cruises about, supplying the wants of the canal-boat men.  The whistle has hardly died away before the bum-boat is fastened alongside, and we are invited aboard.  All around the walls of the cabin are doors which, when flung open, reveal a complete stock of groceries neatly arranged on shelves.  There are also miscellaneous articles and plenty of fresh vegetables which the bum-boat traders have obtained by barter from the farmers along the river.  There is always a large stock of 'wet goods,' which the canal-men buy in great quantities.  This, however, need not alarm the temperance enthusiasts, as the supply consists almost exclusively of ginger-ale and sarsaparilla.
            "Now for our daily routine.  Breakfast is a movable feast.  The rising hour means when the cook gets up, which is generally somewhere in the neighborhood of eight o'clock.  We sleep on woven-wire cots, two feet two inches wide.  Solid immovable berths are less comfortable and take up too much cabin-room.  While I light the fire and begin to cook breakfast, 'Rocks" (as we have nicknamed Jack Dunham, who is always imagining that we are running on a reef) puts the cabin in order.  The four cots, folded up and laid one upon another make a comfortable divan during the day. Four cretonne-covered pillows give it a cozy look.
            "After breakfast, the captain and Henry (the two assigned to outside work) wash the decks, hoist sail, get up the anchor, and we are off.  Meantime I as chef, take my ease, while 'Rocks' washes the dishes and sweeps the cabin-floor.
            "If there is a good wind we then sit out on deck and take a morning smoke, while we bother the captain with ignorant nautical questions as to why he should point his course in such a direction, or where he expects to take us.  If there is no wind, we lie at anchor, spread the awnings, read, talk, and amuse ourselves in various ways.
            "Lunch comes at one or two -- a cold meal if we happen to be sailing at the time. Then, generally, a siesta.  At four o'clock all are overboard for a swim.  Supper is always eaten by day-light, lest the lighting of lamps should draw in mosquitoes.  We never sail at night, but always anchor near the shore before sundown.  Supper sometimes has an elaborate dinner menu, and sometimes it is a very simple meal.  You have no idea what delectable things I have been able to concoct on a chafing dish.  'Rocks' sighs daily for Welsh rabbits, but the captain is insistent about some things and will allow no cheese on board.  He contends that it has such a penetrating quality that a single piece will make its presence felt for the rest of the voyage.
            "At night we sit on the upper deck, smoke, sing, listen to Henry's guitar, watch the night-boats on the river, and commiserate the poor devils like you who are sweltering in town.  At 9:30 p. m. the cots go up, and all hands turn in for the night.
            "The cruise is a grand success.  Vive le Satan!
                                                "Yours fraternally,
                                                            "J. S. Wellington."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                "In the Champlain Canal,
                                                            "August 21, 1893.
            "Dear Chummy: My career has not come to a watery end in spite of my long silence.  'Time was made for slaves.'  A holiday cruise without a lofty disregard for time would be as flat as an unsalted dish.
            "The last two weeks have been full of novel experiences.  The life of the anal-boat people is full of picturesque interest.  I had never come in contact with it before.  On our way to Albany, the captain of the canal-boat by which we were being towed invited us to dinner.  We found him, as we found most of the others of his class, somewhat bluff and rugged, but as manly, honest, and good-hearted a fellow as one could wish to meet.  I was surprised to find that some of the canal-boat captains are women, who own their boats and manage them well.
            "At Albany a permit must be obtained at the Capitol for taking a pleasure-craft through the canal.  There is no difficulty in obtaining this, however, and no charge is made.  We are now on our way back, having been through the Champlain Canal, and having spent a few days in Lake Champlain.
            "The canal begins at West Troy, and the distance to Whitehall, where it enters the lake, is sixty-eight miles.  There are twenty-six locks to pass through.  The scenery was really very beautiful at times.  In Lake Champlain we had some good fishing, taking a number of small bass, pickerel, and perch.  We were only sorry that we had so little time to spend there.  if our trip could have been a longer one, we could have passed through the Chambly Canal (at the upper end of Lake Champlain) into the Richelieu River and then into the St. Lawrence and on to the Thousand Islands.  Next year we hope to go through the Erie Canal to Buffalo, which will give us the scenery of the beautiful Mohawk Valley, and then on as far, perhaps, as Montreal.
            "We had several very amusing experiences while we were in the canal.  One evening we had laid up against the heel-path (the side opposite the tow-path) and the cabin-door had been closed for the night but not locked.  'Rocks' and Henry were asleep, while the captain and I were nearly ready for bed.
            "Suddenly there was a thud on the deck, the door was flung open, and in burst a thin, wiry, bustling little Yankee.  With no more introduction than 'Hello, boys!' and without waiting to say another word, be began a tour of the whole boat, opening every locker, examining critically everything he came across, spelling out the names of the brands of canned goods, and commenting rapidly to himself on what he saw.  His examination finished, he looked at the captain, remarked upon the thinness of the latter's legs, and with a 'Well, good-night, boys!' he disappeared in the darkness, and we never saw him again.  We had been too utterly astonished during his brief, whirlwind-like visit to do or say anything whatever.  We simply stared, motionless, until he had gone.
            "We are now approaching Troy.  The canal runs along an upper level around the side of a hill, giving us a far-extended view over the Mohawk Valley and River, some five hundred feet below, and the Erie Canal stretching off to the west.  I shall be sorry when our trip ends in a few days hence.  It has been the most enjoyable outing I ever had.  I shall probably tire you with my enthusiasm after I return.
            "Till then, believe me,
                                    "Yours, as ever,
                                                            "J. S. W."
 
            The best part of this story of a summer outing is that none of it (except the names and dates) is fictitious.  The Satan was built exactly as described, and is now ready for her third summer cruise.  What Captain Perkins has accomplished is within the reach also of any other lover of life on the water, at the same modest expenditure and with the same happy results.

Editor's note: Many thanks to volunteer researcher George A. Thompson for finding and transcribing this pair of fantastic stories of ballooning in 19th century New York. The first article was originally published as "A Night in the Air" in the New York Herald on July 26, 1874. The New York Tribune followed with "A Successful Balloon Voyage" on July 27, 1874. The articles follow the exploits of balloonist or "aeronaut" Washington Harrison Donaldson. 

Time, which does not wait for any man or any balloon accession, stole around to four o’clock. By that hour the balloon had been gorged with its gaseous lunch, and acted as if it were pretty full, plunging, rearing and cavorting in so enthusiastic a manner that it was evident to the practiced eye of Donaldson that it could not be held in leash much longer. There was the rush of a race around the track, and the blare of the band gave a brassy éclat to our departure.  Donaldson sprang into the ropes, and in an instant all eyes were centered on the swaying wicker car. The moment had come. There was just time to see the air grow white with the premonitory kerchiefs, and clear and distinct rang out Donaldson's voice, "Let her go!" In an instant we flashed seven hundred feet, straight as an arrow's course, into the air, and hung over the opening in the canvas roof of the Hippodrome, through which we had ascended.  But only of a moment. There was just time to respond to the waving adieux by friends and spectators, and to listen to the cheers of the populace who densely packed the neighboring streets -- cheers which came up to us with a faint and far-away suggestion, when we began to drift toward the Hudson in a southwesterly direction. Then we fully realized the fact that our aerial ship was launched for its uncertain cruise.

No one wanted to make notes then, no one cared a cent for the barometer or the direction of the current. The whole being was wrapped up in an indescribable feeling of delight.  

Beneath lay New York like a city of toy blocks, filled with a tremulous noise that came up clearly and yet softly to us. We could trace every street its entire length, could see the people moving to and fro like black specks, could hear alike the hoarse murmur of the populace, the twinkle of the street car bells, and the bark of a dog. Central Park lay spread out like a piece of delicate velvet embroidery, slashed within the silver of its lake and serpentine stream. Far away was the ocean, a sheet of glass, on which moved a multitude of white winged craft. with here and there a black plumed steamer. We could see the many-steepled city of Brooklyn and the glistening Sound beyond, smoky Jersey City and the picturesque villages of the Hackensack valley, all of fair Westchester, and far up the Hudson to where the mountains raised a purple barrier against the sight. Under such circumstances it is not surprising that one's nature expanded, and thoughts woven of the sunlight in which the balloon floated stole into the brain.  

Then the mystic chain was broken; then they looked around, asked each other how he felt, and producing note book and pencil fell steadily to work measuring enchantment and surveying the airy dream.

At nineteen minutes past four o'clock we were on a line with the colosseum and rising rapidly. Forty-second street and Seventh avenue was reached at twenty minutes past four, the barometer showing an elevation of 1,800 feet. At twenty-four minutes past four the balloon was 2,200 feet above the level of the sea.
Twenty-seven minutes past four o'clock the balloon's shadow fell on the waters of the Hudson, our elevation being 2,450 feet. From this point handfuls of colored circulars, taken along as part of our ballast, were thrown out, which slowly fluttered downward like
A FLOCK OF GORGEOUSLY TINTED BUTTERFLIES.

At half-past four o'clock we were 2,500 feet high. Then we began to descend until an elevation of 1,800 feet was taken at thirty-three minutes past four. By this time we had reached the Jersey shore and began to drift over Weehawken. Busy as the party were, there was plenty of time to note the charming effect produced by the green fields, dotted with villages, that lay unrolled beneath us like a gigantic panorama. Through the broad expanse of the country, rivers and streams of small size crawled like serpents, their silver scales
GLISTENING IN THE SUN.

Union Hill was passed at twenty minutes to five o'clock; elevation 2,250 feet. A moment later the Midland Railroad was crossed, and the balloon was greeted by a cheering whistle from the engine of a train of cars that scurried along beneath it, the passengers, leaning out of the windows of the carriages, enthusiastically waving their handkerchiefs.

When the watch marked fifty-three minutes past four o'clock Donaldson came down from the ring of the balloon, where he had been perched with his sun umbrella, and notified the five journalists who accompanied him to draw lots to determine in what order they should be dropped, as it was necessary, to insure the success of his trip, that the airship should be lightened, gradually. Five pieces of paper were numbered one, two, three, four and five respectively, thrown into a high white hat, and the drawing began, the understanding being that the men should get out in the order determined by their ballots.  The result was as follows: Herald, 1; World, 2; Sun, 3; Graphic, 4; Tribune, 5.  We were then at an elevation of 1,600 feet. 

AT THREE MINUTES OF FIVE WE PASSED OVER THE HACKENSACK RIVER, 
with Hackensack lying to the west. At eleven minutes past five the balloons had fallen so low that the barometer only measured 250 feet, and the drag rope, 350 feet in length, could be heard clashing around among the tree tops. Half of a bag of sand was emptied over the edge of the basket, and we shot up 300 feet, passing over a clearing in the forest where some school children were having a picnic. They saluted the voyagers right royally, and entreated them enthusiastically to descend. But Donaldson was forced to decline the invitation. At twenty minutes past five Paterson hove into view, the elevation being 625 feet. We fell again, being only 150 feet high at thirty-five minutes past five, with our drag rope raising havoc among the forest foliage. Our course was then north by west. At forty minutes past five, and when at an elevation of 250 feet, one of the party who had brought a life preserver along, calculating upon an ocean trip, offered to sell it at half price. No takers.

SKIMMING OVER A HILLTOP,
so near the surface that the trees nearly touched the basket, we were enabled to ask a rustic, at forty-three minutes past five, how far we were from New York city, and were told twenty-six miles. More ballast was thrown out here, and the balloon ascended rapidly. At fifty-five minutes past six our course was north-northwest.

The first landing made was at half-past six o'clock, in Muncy township, Bergen county, on Garrett Harper's farm. The ladies of the house, who at first took the party for surveyors of the new State line, and had retreated within their domicile with a rapidity of movement not excessively complementary to the surveyors, were prevailed upon to furnish us a drink of milk, and even got over their timidity so far as to clamber over a couple of fences and visit the field where the
BALLOON WAS ANCHORED.

They told us we were twenty-five miles from New York city. At eight minutes of seven o'clock we rose again and set steadily toward a mountain range, behind which the sun was declining with a true Italian pomp. At twenty-five minutes past seven, when a mile from the mountains, there came a dead calm -- that evening hush so apt to surround the mystery of the day's death. At thirty-five minutes past seven a landing was made in Ramapo township, upon the farm of

​MISS CHARLOTTE THOMPSON,
the charming actress, whose "Fanchon" is as familiar as a household word. Calling upon the lady, we were received most cordially, and when Donaldson invited her to take a short ride in the balloon she clapped her hands in girlish delight, excused herself for a moment, and soon reappeared, shawled and bonneted for the trip. We carried her about two miles, her carriage following the balloon, and left her at last waving her dainty cambric at us as we sped away in the gathering gloom. It was then eighteen minutes past eight o'clock.

From this out until half-past nine o'clock we sailed over a scene of savage beauty, lit up by the magic illumination of the moon, whose silver fringes had woven a veil of luminous haze, with which all nature was draped. Deep and darksome ravines, frowning bluffs, 1,500 feet high; shadowy valleys, in which twinkled the farm-house light, and from whose depth came up the lowing of cattle, were all passed, and suddenly the Hudson, surpassingly lovely as it toiled in 

THE GLEAMING ARMS OF THE MOON
burst upon our sight, a dream of spectral light, backed by a haunting nightmare of gloomy hills. We were low enough to speak the steamers, which acknowledged our presence with the shrillest of whistles. Our rope trailed in the water and left a wake of diamond sparks. 

West Point was passed at ten minutes to ten. Crossing the river above the town Cold Spring was reached, sixty miles from New York. At twenty minutes past ten Cornwall was left behind, and then we took the middle of the stream, arriving at Newburgh at twenty-five minutes to eleven. Following the Hudson in all its graceful bending we came at twenty minutes to eleven o’clock to Fishkill, where some favoring breezes harnessed themselves to our chariot and galloped inland with us. The balloon was still

TRAILING ITS DRAG ROPE
over the surface of the earth, and the effect produced by our passage over a town must have been startling to the slumbering citizens. The long-drawn hiss of the rope as it struck a roof, followed by the rat-a-plan chorus it played upon the shingles, and the fantastic farewell salutes it gave to crazy chimney tops were all the eerie stuff of which weird legends are made, and we felt positively assured that many a ghost story was left on our trail. Particularly attentive was the party to Wappinger’s Falls, over whose rooftrees the rope

SHRIEKED AND DANCED WITH SATANIC GLEE.
This place was passed at twenty minutes past eleven o’clock, and then began the serious business of the night, the watching for the dawn, as the moon had left us.

To sleep was a matter of impossibility. Leaving two on watch, with no more serious business than to report such and such a star on the port bow, the balance of the air travellers curled up in the bottom of the basket, with sand bags for pillows, and silently composed themselves to a contemplation of their situation. There was absolutely no sound save the croaking of the frogs and the hiss of the drag rope. It was a strange scene,

THAT BIVOUAC BENEATH THE STARS,
that camp in mid-air. So we drifted, drifted on until the east began to show the carmine upon its pallid cheek, until rosy flashes shot up the sky and the miracle of the sunrise was enacted once again. This was at half-past four o’clock, and from a sleepy ploughboy, whom we froze in an attitude of open-mouthed astonishment, we learned that we were in Columbia county.

We landed on the farm of Mr. J. W. Coon, in Germantown, four miles from the city of Hudson, and about 

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY MILES FROM NEW YORK
at twenty-four minutes past five o’clock, but not without some difficulty, having to resort at last to the valve rope and the anchor. Here the aeronauts were treated with courtesy, and after a hearty breakfast the party, minus the Herald and World representatives, who had drawn numbers one and two in the “get-out lottery,” and the Graphic man continued their jaunt, rising again at fifteen minutes past seven o’clock. After nearly describing a circle around the city of Hudson, the

BALLOON STRUCK A SOUTHWESTERLY CURRENT
at a high altitude and floated rapidly toward the Catskill Mountains. At half-past eleven it was within half a mile of the Mountain House, and the rope being within reaching distance it was taken hold of by a man and a conversation held with the aeronauts. They then threw out more ballast and arose to an immense elevation, still keeping a southwesterly course, which they were holding when last seen.

Professor Donaldson has informed the Herald representative that this was the most brilliant voyage he had ever made, and if he continues it as successfully as it was conducted up to the time the balloon landed in Columbia county yesterday morning the trip will cover the daring aeronaut with that glory which his skill and coolness deserve.

At 6.30 the rope caught and the balloon was made to descend, and the party landed near a farm house and got some milk. The balloon ascended again at 6:52, crossed the Piermont branch of the Erie Railroad, in the township of Ramapo, and landed on a farm in the township near the Summer residence of Charlotte Thompson, the actress, who was visited. She accepted readily an invitation to ascend, and in half an hour the party were off again with Miss Thompson in company. After going about two of three miles she was landed, and returned home in her carriage which had followed.

At 10 p. m. the air-ship was over the Hudson, opposite West Point, and only 40 feet above the ground.  During the night only eight pounds of ballast were thrown out.

At 5:24 on Saturday the grappling hook was thrown out and in a few seconds the party were landed on the farm of William Cooms, in Greenport. The Graphic, Herald and World representatives then got out and left for Hudson. The anchor was then loosened, and in three minutes the balloon was 2,200 feet in the air. At 9 o'clock it was 8,300 feet, nearly a mile and three quarters. The sun was very hot, and the thermometer registering 70. The balloon drifted slowly southward towards New-York. The City of Hudson was almost directly below, and a little off to the east, across the river, was Catskill, and beyond the Catskill Mountains. Four stratas [sic] of clouds were distinctly to be seen. The first or lower strata was of a dirty gray color; the second, a pure, gleaming, silvery white; the third, a beautiful deep azure, darker than the clear blue vault overhead; and the fourth or upper, a dark brown, almost the color of amber. Albany and Greenbush came in sight, with Troy beyond. Ballast was thrown out and the balloon rose rapidly to 9,000 feet -- so fast that the party had to shout to make one another hear. Then they descended.

For three hours and a half the balloon was nearly a mile and three-quarters high. All this time it was in sight of Hudson City. At 11 it arose over the first span of the Catskills. After several hours of travel the balloon sailed over a deep valley which Donaldson said would be good for a landing, and the anchor was dropped. It grappled readily, gas was let out, and the party descended among some small trees at 6:07 p. m. The place of landing was E. R. Young's farm, in Greenfield, Saratoga County, nine miles north of the place. The journey of 400 miles had been accomplished in 26 hours.

W. H. Donaldson had preceded his balloon flight up the Hudson with a botched attempt to balloon across the Atlantic. Later in 1874, he helped a Cincinnati couple marry in mid-air, and in 1875 attempted to balloon from Chicago across Lake Michigan when a storm came up, with fatal results. 

To learn more about Donaldson and his exploits, check out the additional resources below!

• "America's Balloonatic," by Peter Carlson, HistoryNet.com
• "Love Is In The Air," by Elizabeth Borja, Smithsonian Air & Space Museum
• "Professor Donaldson’s Unexpected Voyage To Connecticut – 1873" by New England Aviation History
• "Grooms, Balloons, and Aerial Honeymoons," by Jim Ignasher, New England Aviation History
• "W.H. Donaldson: The Lost Aeronaut (Podcast)" by Adam Selzer
• America's Daredevil Balloonist: W. H. Donaldson, 1840-1875 by James W. Raab (1999)

​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 story is from the October 5, 1889 issue of Harper's Weekly. ​The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

"A Barge Party - On our next page we have a view of a merry party enjoying a moonlight row on the Hudson River. The barge belongs to the Nyack Rowing Association. The scene is that wide and beautiful expanse of the Hudson which our Dutch ancestors named the Tappan Zee. It lies between Tarrytown and Nyack, and although not beyond the reach of tide-water and subject to the current, it still possesses the attraction of a calm and beautiful lake. Viewed from certain points it loses the impression of a river altogether, and seems a fair and beautiful sheet of water locked in by towering hills. The light-house in the centre of the picture is known as the Tarrytown Bay Light. On the left lies Kingsland Island, and in the background we have the village of Tarrytown, adorned with its gleaming electric lights.

These rowing parties are a source of keen delight to the lady friends of the members of each association. So far the clubs had not yielded sufficiently to the spirit of the age to admit lady members, and if any one connected with the association desires to give his fair friends an outing, he must engage the barge beforehand and make it a special event. As a general thing it is required that some member of the club shall act as coxswain; this to assure safety to the previous craft. The party may then be made up in accordance with the fancy of the gentleman who acts as host. Most of the associations have very attractive club-houses, where, after the pleasure of rowing has begun to pall, parties can assemble, have supper, and if there are lady guests sufficient, enjoy a dance. The club-house of the Nyack Association is a very attractive structure, built over the water, and forms a pleasant feature in the landscape. The members of these clubs are not heavily taxed, their dues scarcely amounting to more than $25 or $50 per year, yet their club-houses are daintily furnished, their boats of the best and finest build, and all their appurtenances of a superior order. So much can be done by combination.

In our glorious Hudson River we have a stream that the world cannot rival, so wonderful is its picturesque loveliness. High upon the walls of the Governor’s Room in the New York City Hall is a dingy painting of a broad-headed, short-haired, sparsely bearded man, with an enormous ruff about his neck, and wearing otherwise the costume of the days of King James the First of England. Who painted it nobody knows, but all are well aware that it is the portrait of one Hendrik Hudson, who “on a May-day morning knelt in the church of St. Ethelburga, Amsterdam, and partook of the sacrament, and soon after left the Thames for circumpolar waters.” It was on the 11th of September, 1609, that this same mariner passed through a narrow strait on an almost unknown continent, and entered upon a broad stream where “the indescribable beauty of the virgin land through which he was passing filled his heart and mind with exquisite pleasure.”
​
The annually increasing army of tourists and pleasure seekers, which begin their campaign every spring and continue their march until late in the autumn, sending every year a stronger corps of observation into these enchanted lands, all agree with Hendrik Hudson. Certainly it only remains for tradition to weave its romances, and for a few of our more gifted poets and story-tellers to guild with their imagination these wonderful hills and valleys, these sunny slopes and fairy coves and inlets, to make for us an enchanted land that shall rival the heights where the spectre of the Brocken dwells, or any other elf-inhabited spot in Europe.

Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in the Commercial Advertiser, a New York City newspaper, on March 17, 1831 - exactly 190 years ago today! Many thanks to HRMM volunteer researcher George Thompson for finding and transcribing this article. The following is a verbatim transcription (early 19th century spelling and all). 

The first passage of the season to Albany.  —  A gentleman who left this city on Monday evening, in the steam boat Constitution, writes from Albany on yesterday morning, as follows: — We arrived here at half-past 7 o'clock, last evening, in the steamboat Commerce, Captain Murray.  The Constitution began to encounter floating ice immediately above the Highlands, and pretty large fields of it were met before reaching Poughkeepsie — at which place we came to, until morning.  In the course of the night, the Commerce come up, and likewise anchored at our stern.  On leaving our berths yesterday morning, the ice appeared completely to block up the river two miles above.  Capt. Hoyt thereupon determined to proceed no further with the Constitution; the mails were sent ashore, and despatched by land; and the passengers went ashore likewise.  It was soon ascertained that Capt. Murray of the Commerce, was determined to push on, and plough his way through the ice as far as possible. — We accordingly took that boat, and started at half-past seven o'clock — encountering fields of drift ice, frequently stretching across the whole river, and covering its surface as far as the eye could reach; but the boat dashed on impetuously, without being absolutely stopped, until we passed Hudson.  Here, the ice having lodged upon the flats, the whole river was blocked completely across.  The Swiftsure having penetrated to Coxsackie, during the night, was no perceived above, on her return, attempting to beat her way down — this immense floe of ice having been brought into this cross-position by the tide, after the Swiftsure went up.  Both boats were now set to work, like two large battering rams, and in about two hours, succeeded in beating through.  At Coxsackie, we found that the ice for the whole distance above, reposed unmoved, as it had been left by the late vigorous winter.  Nothing doubting, however, the captain of the Commerce dashed on, and, strange to tell, the power of her engine, and the strength of the timbers of this powerful boat, enabled her to knock her way through a field of unbroken ice, varying in thickness from four to fourteen inches, for a distance of sixteen miles, i. e. to Castletown!  From this place to Albany, the ice was broken, and our speed was of course much accelerated.  It must have been a novel sight to the villagers along the shore, to find this vessel thus cutting her way through such a continuous field of ice, as yet unbroken, though in may places it had become very porous; and their pleasure was often announced by cheers and the firing of the "big guns."  Not the slightest accident occurred during the whole passage.  The arrival of a boat at Albany, was as yet altogether unexpected.

In this recent lecture for the Southampton History Museum, author and historian Skip Finley discusses his research from his new book Whaling Captains of Color: America's First Meritocracy (June, 2020). 

​Many of the historic houses that decorate Skip Finley’s native Martha’s Vineyard were originally built by whaling captains. Whether in his village of Oak Bluffs, on the Island of Nantucket where whaling burgeoned, or in New Bedford, which became the City of Light thanks to whale oil, these magnificent homes testify to the money made from whaling. In terms of oil, the triangle connecting Martha’s Vineyard to these areas and Eastern Long Island was the Middle East of its day. Whale wealth was astronomical, and endures in the form of land trusts, roads, hotels, docks, businesses, homes, churches and parks. Whaling revenues were invested into railroads and the textile industry.

Millions of whales died in the 200-plus-year enterprise, with more than 2,700 ships built for chasing, killing and processing them. Whaling was the first American industry to exhibit any diversity, and the proportion of men of color people who participated was amazingly high. A man got to be captain not because he was white or well connected, but because he knew how to kill a whale. Along the way he would also learn navigation and how to read and write. Whaling presented a tantalizing alternative to mainland life.

​Working with archival records at whaling museums, in libraries, from private archives and studying hundreds of books and thesis, Finley culls the best stories from the lives of over 50 Whaling Captains of Color to share the story of America's First Meritocracy.

The history of Black Americans is often purposely erased, so when conducting research for our new exhibit, “Mary Powell: Queen of the Hudson,” I was delighted to find several references to Black and African-American crew working aboard the Mary Powell.

One of the first clues we found was a photo of the crew, including a lone woman – Fannie M. Anthony [also spelled “Fanny”] – who was listed as the “stewardess” of the Mary Powell. Clearly Black or mixed race, I had to find out more about this intriguing woman. Although the research wasn’t especially easy, it was less difficult than I expected, because it turned out that Fannie was famous. 

Fannie M. Anthony was born on June 27, 1827 in New York City. Often listed in Census records as “mulatto,” according to a 1907 Daily Freeman article, “[h]er father was an East Indian, and her mother a full-blooded Indian of the Montauk tribe.”[1] In Census records, her father, Charles R. Smith is listed as “mulatto” and born in 1797 in New York (with his father listed as being born in Nevis, West Indies and his mother in New York), and her mother, Mary Walker, as born on Long Island.[2]

It is certainly possible that her mother was Montauk, but it is unlikely that her father was East Indian. Few, if any East Indians emigrated to the United States before 1830. In the 1900 Census and her 1914 death record, her race is listed as Black.[3] Many people of African descent often concealed their heritage in an attempt to deflect the worst effects of racism. In addition, census takers and journalists were often subject to their own personal biases, conscious or unconscious, and assigned race accordingly.

Fannie’s husband was Cornelius Anthony, born in 1825 in New Jersey. Census records also list him as “mulatto,” and the 1880 Census lists him as a steward aboard a steamboat. [4] Sadly, it does not indicate which one, although his 1900 obituary lists him as working aboard “Albany boats.”[5] It would be kismet if he and Fannie both worked aboard the Mary Powell, but that cannot be confirmed. He is listed as a carpenter in the 1900 Census, but other information in that record, including the spelling of names and birthdates, is inaccurate.

Cornelius died on or before Monday, July 16, 1900. The following day, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle published his obituary. It read, “Jamaica, L. I., July 17 – Cornelius Anthony, aged 69 years, a negro, a well known and respected resident of this place, died at his home on Willow street on Friday. Deceased was for many years head steward on the Albany boats and was known as a caterer of considerable note. He was at one time sexton of the Methodist Church of Jamaica. He leaves a widow and many near friends and relatives. Internment was made yesterday, at Maple Grove Cemetery.”[6]
​
An 1894 article in the Brooklyn Times Union indicates that he was sexton of the Methodist Episcopal Church at that time. Although we do not know which vessels he worked on as a steward, he must have had considerable skill in his management of the dining rooms, as his obituary also notes his fame as a caterer.

It is unclear when Fannie began her work as the “chambermaid” of the Mary Powell, although sources (listed below) suggest a start date of 1869 or 1870. Her occupation in the 1880 Census, at age 52, is listed as “steamer chambermaid.” Identified alternately as “chambermaid,” “stewardess,” and “lady’s maid,” Fannie worked in the “ladies’ cabin” of the steamboat Mary Powell.

In a private home, a Victorian era chambermaid cleaned and maintained bedroom suites. Ladies’ maids assisted upper class women with dressing, cared for their wardrobe, and dressed hair. As a day boat, the Mary Powell did not have sleeping cabins, so it is likely that the “ladies’ cabin” was a “saloon” or public indoor space designed specifically for women, likely including toilet facilities, couches, and other private comforts.

Since the days of Robert Fulton’s North River Steamboat, a separate, private cabin for women was reserved, allowing delicate Victorian sensibilities to relax, knowing that white women were protected from the attentions of single men. Fannie Anthony likely would have cleaned and maintained this space and assisted female passengers with requests, much like the steward would do for the rest of the steamboat. In all likelihood, as a “stewardess,” Fannie’s role was probably similar to that of a housekeeper in a wealthy household. Her husband Cornelius, as a steward, likely had a job similar to a household butler. In particular, he would oversee dining facilities and public spaces, ensuring their cleanliness and smooth operation, and overseeing waitstaff, porters, etc.

One of the earliest newspaper articles about her is a very complimentary one. Published in the Monday, September 17, 1894 issue of the Brooklyn Times Union, it quotes the Newburgh Sunday Telegram. The article, titled, “Compliments for a Jamaica Woman” reads:
“A correspondent of the Newburgh Sunday Telegram speaks very pleasantly of Mrs. Fannie Anthony, for many years stewardess of the North River steamer Mary Powell. Mrs. Anthony is a Jamaica woman, and the wife of Cornelius Anthony, sexton of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Jamaica. The correspondent says:

“’Mrs. Fannie Anthony, the efficient and obliging stewardess on the steamer Mary Powell, is about concluding her twenty-fifth season in that capacity. Mrs. Anthony enjoys an acquaintance among the ladies along the Hudson River that is both interesting and highly complimentary to the amiable disposition and cheery manner of the only female among the crew of the favorite steamboat. Mrs. Anthony travels over 15,000 miles every summer while attending to her duties on the boat. She seldom misses a trip and looks the picture of health and happiness. Many are the compliments I have heard from Newburg ladies of the genial stewardess’ worth aboard the boat. Rich and poor are alike to her. Her smile and mien are as cheery on a stormy day as on one of sunshine. Every member of the crew pays the homage due her, and the Captain thinks the boat couldn’t run without the stewardess. She is the second oldest traveler now aboard the vessel, but this statement does not imply that Mrs. Anthony is by any means very old. She is well preserved and active, and in every way a credit to her sex and race. Good luck to her.’”[7]

Note that the “Jamaica” woman refers to Jamaica, Long Island – it does not connect Fannie to the Caribbean island of Jamaica. If she was finishing her 25th season in the fall of 1894, that gives her a start date of 1869.

This article is very respectful, particularly when compared with subsequent publications. Fannie is referred to as “Mrs.” and by her full name.

A 1902 New York Press article about her, when she would have been 75 years old, writes, “She looks as young as when she bustled about in the saloon in 1860, her chocolate complexion betraying no ravages of time.”[8] It is unlikely that Fannie started in 1860. For one, the Mary Powell was not even built until 1861. In addition to the Brooklyn Times Union reference, which indicates a start date of 1869, a 1907 article in the Daily Freeman indicates that she had been in service aboard the Mary Powell “for thirty-seven continuous years,” giving her a start date of 1870.[9] Regardless of when she actually started her work, by the turn of the 20th Century she was a Hudson River legend.

An issue of the Newburgh Register from sometime after August 12, 1900 reads, “Mrs. Fannie Anthony, who for the past thirty years has been employed as a lady’s maid on the steamer Mary Powell, is spending the summer at Kingston, her daughter having taken her position on the Powell.” But clearly, as subsequent articles indicate, Fannie did not retire in 1900 and no mention is made of which daughter may have ultimately taken her place.

She is mentioned again in the May 6, 1902 issue of New York Press. In a gossip column entitled, “On the Tip of the Tongue,” following a brief description of the Mary Powell, there is a whole section entitled “Fanny.” The article is transcribed verbatim:
“’Fanny’ is known to a majority of regular travelers on the Hudson as the stewardess of the Mary Powell, a billet she has held ever since the boat was launched. No one knows her age, but it must be 80. She looks as young as when she bustled about in the saloon in 1860, her chocolate complexion betraying no ravages of time. The multitudes that have been in her care never bothered to inquire about her surname, but accepted her as ‘Fanny,’ and ‘Fanny’ she is to all. This good woman and my old friend H. R. Van Keuren are the only two living of the early crew of the Mary Powell. ‘Van’ has just celebrated his fiftieth birthday. He resigned the stewardship of the boat in 1876, I think, and got rich in another business. Recently when he stepped upon the deck of the Mary, who should run up and throw her arms about his neck but faithful old ‘Fanny?’”[10]

In reality she was 75, not 80 years old. This article, like several that follow, speak of Fannie in a condescending way, consistent with the racism of the day. In addition, Fannie’s position as chambermaid or stewardess meant that she was likely treated as a servant, albeit an upper level one. Hence the passengers never bothering to “inquire about her surname.” A stark contrast to the earlier, more respectful article of 1894.

On Wednesday, July 24, 1907, The Kingston Daily Freeman published on page 8 an article entitled, “Fannie of the Powell: A Character and Fixture on the Steamer.” It reads:
“Almost everyone who has even been on the Mary Powell has seen the stewardess, ‘Fannie,’ says the Poughkeepsie Star. She has been on the boat for thirty-seven continuous years. Her name is Fannie M. Anthony. Her father was an East Indian, and her mother a full blooded Indian of the Montauk tribe. She has the shoes that her grandmother was married in, and a copper kettle one hundred years old. She is a very fine looking woman, and talks history with authority. She has met in her time thousands of people, the majority of whom have passed away. All the prominent men who travel shake hands with Fannie and have an old-time chat with her. She is exceedingly interesting and full of [maint?] humor. She hates a snob, and knows ladies and gentlemen at sight. Fannie is the pet of the public and the faithful and honored servant of the Powell.”[11]

This article reflects the changing times and a new veneration for elders who had lived through a history-making era. The references to the 100-year-old copper kettle, her grandmother’s shoes (perhaps Montauk), and all the people who have “passed away” is not only establishing her as someone who can “[talk] history with authority,” but also establishing her as a third-generation free American, distancing her from the possible taint of slavery. Her role in public service and her long tenure aboard the Mary Powell led to her fame and the fondness with which newspapers and general public spoke of her.

Fannie retired from the Mary Powell in 1912, at age 85. She died on May 26, 1914 in Queens, just short of her 87th birthday, and was buried May 28, 1914 in Maple Grove Cemetery, in Kew Gardens, Queens.[12] Her husband Cornelius was also buried in Maple Grove Cemetery.  

Like Cornelius, she received a formal published obituary, emphasizing her status and fame in the community. On Thursday, June 4, 1914, the Poughkeepsie Evening Enterprise published “Aunt Fannie, of the Mary Powell Dies:”
“Mrs. Fannie Anthony, who for 39 years was chambermaid in charge of the ladies’ cabin on the steamer Mary Powell, died at her home at Jamaica, Long Island, on Friday, aged 87 years. She was in active service on the Powell until failing health and advancing years compelled her to give up her work two years ago, when she was succeeded by her daughter. To the traveling public she was familiarly known as ‘Aunt Fannie,’ and hundreds of visitors on whom she waited during her service have pleasant recollections of her. She began under the late Captain Frost, and continued under Captain Absalom Anderson, Captain ‘Billy’ Cornell and Captain A. Elting Anderson.”[13]

Two days later, on Saturday, June 6, 1914, Fannie made front page news in the Rockland County Journal – “Aged Chambermaid of Mary Powell Dead” – a verbatim reprint of the above Evening Enterprise obituary.[14]

The nickname “Aunt Fannie” is a complicated one. On the one hand, it likely was used by most as a term of endearment. However, the use of the word “aunt” in relation to older Black women in the 19th and early 20th century, especially by white people, is often a derogatory honorific. By using the terms “aunt” and “uncle,” white people could avoid using the more respectful “Mrs.” And “Mr.” with elder people of color, maintaining the racial hierarchy of white supremacy. People of all races in service were often referred to only by their first name as a way of highlighting their subservient role. At the same time, the Evening Enterprise also refers to her as “Mrs. Fannie Anthony,” giving her the proper honorific.

Here we also have confirmation that she was, indeed, succeeded by her daughter, although we still do not know which one. An Ada Anthony, granddaughter of Charles R. Smith (and therefore probably Fannie and Cornelius’ daughter) is listed in the 1880 Census, born in 1862.[15] By the 1910 Census, Cornelius is dead and Fannie is living alone with her widowed daughter (listed as granddaughter in the 1900 Census) Mary R. Smith and a boarder.[16]

Newspaper searches for Ada and Mary have so far revealed no leads. The Mary Powell itself was taken out of service in 1917, just five short years after Fannie’s retirement.

Fannie M. Anthony walked a delicate balance in the 19th and 20th centuries aboard the steamboat Mary Powell. Although she occupied a service role, often one of the few avenues of employment open to Black people, it seems that through sheer force of personality, excellence, and longevity, she managed to overcome some of the obstacles that faced most women of color at the time. Like the steamboat Mary Powell herself, Fannie achieved a measure of fame not usually afforded ordinary people.
​
I hope that by sharing Fannie Anthony’s story, we can help bring more details of her life and her family to light. If you have any information about the Anthony family not featured here, please contact the Hudson River Maritime Museum. We will update this article with more information when possible.

                                                           No. 27- M. Martin
           
Built in 1863 at Jersey City for the Catskill and Albany day route, the 191 foot “M. Martin” was considered at that time one of the most handsome boats of her type ever to appear on the Hudson river. And the “M. Martin” has a historic background second to none of the vessels ever to ply the Hudson.
              
Because she was constructed in 1863, shortly after the Civil War broke out, the “M. Martin” was pressed into service under General Grant, and during the latter part of the war she was used as General Grant’s dispatch boat on Chesapeake Bay, carrying troops and messages across the bay and river. The “M. Martin” was known as the “greyhound” of the fleet of inland steamers that served the federal government during the war, and after the fall of Richmond, President Abraham Lincoln and General Grant made a visit to the Confederate Capital aboard the “M. Martin.”
              
At the close of the war the “M. Martin” was brought north and purchased by Romer & Tremper of Rondout who placed her in service on the Newburgh and Albany route, running in line with the “Eagle.” These two boats ran together until August 2, 1884, when the “Eagle” was destroyed by fire and the “Jacob H. Tremper” was built to take her place.
              
In 1899, the “Martin” was sold to the Central Hudson Steamboat Company of Newburgh, and served that company many years. She was an exceptionally fine performing vessel in the ice and was thus one of the first out in the spring and the last boat in at the close of navigation in the fall.
              
On Thursday, June 16, 1910, laden with freight and about 20 passengers, the “M. Martin,” southbound from Albany to Newburgh, caught fire and was beached near Esopus Island on the east shore of the Hudson, where all passengers were taken off in small boats. Captain George Hadley first noticed smoke curling from the pilot’s cabin in increasing volume, so he beached the vessel, saw that the passengers were safely taken off, and then got the “Martin’s” firefighting apparatus working playing streams of water on the flames. It was a matter or about 10 minutes for the water to quench the flames, and with only a scorched pilot house to record her experience, the “M. Martin” proceeded on to Newburgh.
              
After repairs had been made, the “M. Martin” resumed service, running until the fall of 1918, when she was laid up. Then in the summer of 1920, the work of junking the “M. Martin” began. Everything of value was removed from a vessel that had once conveyed a President of the United States, and the hull was purchased by Patrick Doherty to use for dock purposes at Eavesport, a small landing near Malden on the Hudson.

                                                                      No. 177- Norwich
              
Running a close second to the Mary Powell for its fame on the Hudson river comes the old Norwich, known to followers of the river’s history as the “Ice King.”
              
The wooden hull of the Norwich was built by Lawrence & Sneden at New York in 1836, and her engine was the product of Hall & Cunningham of New York. From stern to stern the Norwich measured 160 feet; her breadth of beam was 25 feet five inches; depth of hold five feet nine inches; gross tonnage 255; net tonnage 127. Her engine was of the crosshead variety with a cylinder diameter of 40 inches with a 10 foot stroke, and she carried one boiler in her hold.
               
The Norwich was built for the New York & Norwich Steamboat Company and ran on Long Island Sound for a number of years after she was launched.
              
The year 1843 marked the appearance of the Norwich on the Hudson river- in service between Rondout and New York as a passenger and freight carrier; and about 1850 Thomas Cornell purchased the steamboat and converted her to a towboat.
              
It was about the middle of the nineteenth century  that the Norwich began a procedure which was to gain for her the title of “Ice King”- a title which was never disputed! Her construction was such that heavy river ice usually broke before her onslaught, and in the early spring and late fall the Norwich was a familiar figure breaking ice along the river.
              
The bow of the Norwich was so constructed that she could run upon and break down heavy ice fields, and the bottom of the steamboat was well protected with copper and steel. Her paddle wheels were fashioned out of live oak and iron, and her commander, Captain Jacob DuBois often said that, “She could run through a stone yard without damaging herself.”
              
The spectacle of the Norwich battling heavy ice was always interesting to watch, and occasionally when endeavoring to break down large mounds of ice, the staunch vessel was turned over on her side. At such time prompt action was necessary by the crew in the shifting of chain boxes and weighty ballast to right the vessel. The wheels of the Norwich were so placed that one of them could be detached quickly- and thus the tilting of the steamboat was of little importance. It is safe to assume that the Norwich saved many thousands of dollars of damage by her successful attempts at breaking up the ice in the river and thus preventing floods and serious jams.
              
Frequently the Norwich was called upon to rescue vessels caught in the ice on Long Island Sound, and in the year 1851 she fought what was perhaps her greatest battle with the ice. The steamboat New Haven was caught in the ice, and the Norwich went to her aid. Rows of ice so high that the stranded New Haven could not be seen from the pilot house of the Norwich was finally crushed down by the old “Ice King,” and the Sound vessel was released from its perilous position.
              
Usually the first vessel on the river in the spring and the last to tie up in the winter, the Norwich was also a conspicuous figure in the steamboat parade in New York harbor on September 25, 1909. On two occasions the Norwich was almost destroyed by fire, (December 16, 1906 and August 30, 1909) and both times she was rebuilt and placed in service.
              
Many of the well-known figures in Hudson river history were connected with the Norwich at one time or another, including Captain George B. Gage, Captain Stephen Van Wart, Captain Jeremiah Patteson, Captain Delzell, Captain Harry Barber, Captain James Welsh, and Captain Jacob DuBois.
              
​The Norwich continued her career on the Hudson river until 1921 when she was deemed of no further use and was tied up at Port Ewen. In November 1923 the Cornell Steamboat Company sold the Norwich to Michael Tucker of Port Ewen, who broke her up for scrap. Today the fame of the Norwich is constantly recalled through stories passed from one individual to another, and visitors to the Senate House in Kingston are reminded of the old “Ice King” when they view the bell of the Norwich which is displayed in the local museum.