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.

Editor’s note: This article contains racial slurs quoted as part of period newspaper articles and advertisements.

In the summer of 1881, the Kingston Daily Freeman ran a series of articles about what became known as “glee clubs,” made up of Black or “colored” crewmembers of the steamboats Mary Powell and Thomas Cornell.

The prevalence of singing aboard steamboats on the Mississippi is well-documented. Sea musician Dr. Charles Ipcar documented some of this history in “Steamboat and Roustabout Songs.” Roustabouts, also known as stevedores, were regular or short-term dock workers who primarily moved cargoes and fuel on and off steamboats. In the American South, these laborers were primarily Black, and coordinated loading by singing, keeping the freight moving to a rhythm – much like sailboat crews would coordinate hauling lines by singing sea shanties. When these songs were doubly coordinated with specific dance moves, they were known as “coonjine.”[1]

It is unclear whether or not Hudson River steamboats also had crews of roustabouts or stevedores who sang at their work. Most of the bigger steamboats were designed for passenger use, so the only cargoes were fuel and food for the trip, and passenger’s luggage. One newspaper article from 1890 indicates that Southern Black longshoremen did come north for work in New York Harbor, particularly after white longshoremen were organizing unions and strikes.[2] That same article also indicated that at least one “Mississippi roustabout” was leading a group in singing roustabout songs. But while it’s not clear that steamboat crew on the Hudson River sang regularly, references to Southern roustabouts and their songs did occur frequently in New York.
​
Roustabout songs were often among those included in minstrel shows - often performed by white musicians in blackface enacting racist caricatures of the Black Americans they purported to emulate. The popularity of minstrel shows and music date back to the 1830s, but during Reconstruction (1865-1877), many Black Americans saw career opportunities in taking control of the narrative and performing their own minstrel shows. Minstrel shows were among the most popular form of entertainment in 19th Century America. Many romanticized plantation life and depicted enslaved people as simple and happy with their enslavement. These depictions just as popular, if not more so, in the North than the South. Below are two examples from New York newspapers.

​The headline “Mississippi Roustabouts” is a racist account of visiting the Mississippi, published in the Buffalo Evening News, September 15, 1904. The second is an advertisement for the Glens Falls Opera House advertising the show “The Romance of Coon Hollow,” a popular show that opened on Broadway in 1894. Songs or scenes listed in the advertisement include "The Great Steamboat Race" and "The Jolly Singing and Dancing Darkeys." These are just two examples of how racial caricatures of Southern and Black life had entered the mainstream popular culture in New York in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

It is against this complicated backdrop that we encounter the “glee clubs” of the steamboats Mary Powell and Thomas Cornell.

Initially referred to as “colored singers” (the “glee club” title came later), our story begins on July 29, 1881, with a short article in the Kingston Daily Freeman called “Musical Talent on the Cornell” :

“The steamer Cornell’s colored boys are fast coming into prominence as good singers, and it is believed that in a short time they will organize themselves into a vocal club. Wednesday night when the famous vocalist Mrs. Osborn favored the Cornell people with some selections from her repertoire, the boys started plantation songs and Mrs. Osborn, as well as several gentlemen on the steamer who are good judges of music, stated that the singing was excellent. If they organize they will give the Mary Powell singers a challenge to prove which of the two clubs is better.”[3]

Four days later, the Freeman followed up with “A Challenge” :
​
“The Mary Powell Colored Singers Challenge the Singers on the Cornell.

“Last Friday evening the Freeman published an item commending the singing of the colored deckhands [dockhands?], cooks, etc. on the Thomas Cornell, and also said there was a prospect that they would organize themselves into a vocal club and then compete with the famous Mary Powell singers as to which is the better club. The Powell boys saw the article in the Freeman and are ready for the fray. They desire us to challenge the Cornell’s singers for a prize of $50, the contest to come off at any time the Cornell vocalists may select within the next two weeks; the place, judges and other arrangements to be mutually agreed upon. Several of the Powell crew have belonged to professional troupes, and they feel confident of outsinging their formidable rivals. One or two of them will stake $5 apiece on the contest. It is thought a good idea in the event of a match ensuing that some large hall be hired and that a small admission fee be charged, which will somewhat defray expenses. No doubt a large audience would witness the match. Come, Cornell boys, accept this challenge and show your prowess. You will have to work hard, though, for the Powell singers are very good.”[4]

It is unclear whether or not these groups were simply recreational clubs for employees of their respective steamboats, or if the groups performed while on the job. The Mary Powell did have a reputation for musical entertainments, but according to surviving concert handbills, these were usually orchestral performances of classical music. In addition, one photo of the Mary Powell orchestra survives, and this incarnation at least, from 1901, is all white.

Eight days after the Freeman suggested a formal singing contest, the Kingston reading public got just that. “Cornell-Powell Singers,” published on August 10, 1881, reads:

“A Prize Singing Match for $50 a Side to Come Off Within a Short Time.

“About three weeks ago the colored singers on the Thomas Cornell were lauded by the Freeman for their excellent vocal accomplishments and at the same time we proposed the starting of a singing match between them and the famous Mary Powell singers. The Powell boys saw our article and authorized us to challenge the Cornell singers for a prize singing match, which we did and as a culmination of arrangements toward such an end a committee from the Cornell waited upon the Powell men yesterday morning to accept the challenge. Accordingly some time within the next three weeks Kingston will witness a first-class prize singing match in either Sampson Opera House or Music Hall for a prize of $50. Each club is to select and sing its own songs. Both clubs are now organized for business under the title of the “Cornell Glee Club” and the “Mary Powell Glee Club.” Constant practicing from now until the match comes off will be in order on these two steamers and passengers will have a rare treat.”[5]

By renaming themselves as “Glee Clubs,” the steamboat employees were staking territory as professional singing groups. Originally created in 18th century England, glee clubs were small groups of men singing popular songs acapella, often with close harmony. Started on college campuses in the Northeast, glee clubs soon spread across the country, but remained primarily the domain of white men. By the end of the 19th century, many of these groups were regularly singing minstrel music and “Negro spirituals,” often in blackface.[6]

The two groups of steamboat employees may have simply decided that being a “glee club” was more descriptive than “colored singers,” or more respectable, or might raise more interest among the general public.

The last sentence of the above article is also an interesting one, implying that the groups planned to practice, if not perform, while at their work aboard their respective steamboats. The reference of the songs being “a rare treat” indicates that singing while working aboard was not a common occurrence.

By August 12, the date was set. The Daily Freeman reported that the match would take place on August 20, 1881. Tickets were “thirty-five cents for general admission, and reserved seat tickets will be sold at fifty cents.”[7] The Poughkeepsie Daily Eagle advertised the same.[8]

Two days after the concert took place, the Poughkeepsie Daily Eagle published a full account of the event, “Singing for a Prize: Mary Powell vs. Thomas Cornell” :

“We extract from the Rondout Courier’s account of the singing match at Music Hall, Kingston, Saturday evening, so interesting report of the contest between the colored employees of the Thomas Cornell and Mary Powell.
 
“Music Hall was a scene of most intense interest on the occasion. Our colored friends seemed to [own?] the whole town, and the great hall, although too large for the audience, as too small for them – Prof. [Jack?] Miner was Judge.
 
“As the Powell was late and the Cornell early, the Cornell Club was first on the stage. The stateroom [eight?] of the Cornell came upon the stage with determination written upon every brow. They are darker and sturdier than their competitors, looking more like plantation hands, as befits a freight boat [editor's note - the Thomas Cornell was a passenger boat, not a freight boat]. They had more depth of hold and breadth of beam, and there was more solidity about them. Their bass was very bass indeed, Mr. Lew Vandermark scraping the very [lowest?] of his lower notes, and the leader, Aug. Fitzgerald, kept steadily the main channel of his tubes. The marked [characteristics?] of the two clubs were brought out very distinctly when the Cornell Club, at the hint of George F. [?] sang, “Mary had a little lamb,” which had been previously rendered by the Powell boys. In this the “baaing” of the lamb is given, with variations.
 
“The Powell boys are of lighter build and complexion than their competitors. They sing out their notes with a sort of twirl, as if one had ordered 'broiled blue fish' or 'Spanish mackerel,' with Saratoga potatoes, while the Cornell boys came up with the mere solid beefsteak and boiled murphies of a 'stateroomer supper.'
 
“The members of the clubs were as follows:

"Cornell Glee Club – Aug. Fitzgerald, leader; L. Schemerhorn, Eugene Harris, [Dav.?] Johnston, George Dewitt, Lew Vandemark, Chas. Van [Gaasbeck?], Dennis Johnston, Miss [Lizzie?] Hartly, pianist.

"Powell Glee Club – I. P. Washington, leader; J. C. Washington, James Poindexter, Wm. McPherson, B. G. Smith, Robert Martin, Harry Coulter, Prof. John [Mougan?]. The latter also acted as pianist.
 
“The audience was a fair one. It thoroughly enjoyed itself, an after the crews got fairly warmed up it got considerably excited, and stamped and shouted and clapped in the wildest manner, winding up in a round of cheers.
 
“The Cornell Club mainly confined itself to pious tunes; “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” “Prepare Me Lord,” and the like, filling the programme, while the Powell boys had lighter pieces and evinced a strong preference for [fancy?] [selections?]. The Cornell crew sang “Sweet Ailleen” very prettily, and did better with the songs than the hymns.
 
“The audience was well pleased with “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and “Oh Them Union Brothers,” in which the Cornell crew caught the wild melody nicely. The Powell followed with “Hark, Baby, Hark,” sang very prettily indeed, and “Row the Boats,” in which the sweep of the melody is very sweet. The Cornellites came up smiling with their religious tunes, of which “Pray all along the Road” was the most noticeable. Then came one of the gems of the evening, “Night Shades,” by the Powell boys, which the audience was highly pleased with and “Old Oaken Bucket,” which they sang nicely. For an encore they dipped into the religious vein, which seemed to stir up the Cornellites, who retorted with “Mary had a Little Lamb,” with which the Powellites had previously brought down the house. The version was a little different, but both took with the house. The audience at this point applauded the Cornellites very heavily, which caused the Powellites to bring out their best and “Mary Gone with a Coon” was given.
 
“The programme was finally closed with the Powell boys singing “Good Night” when Geo. F. [Kjerstad? Kjersted?] brought forward Prof. Miner. He made a few remarks in which he said he had tried to perform his duty as Judge honestly, and then disclosed that the victory rested with the Mary Powell club, when there was great applause, and the audience died slowly out.”[9]
 
Here we finally get some details! We have names of the participants, for one, and details of the concert itself, including the songs.
 
Sadly, we also have a complicated blend of admiration and racism. Of the Cornell singers, the author writes, “They are darker and sturdier than their competitors, looking more like plantation hands, as befits a freight boat.” (Note that the Thomas Cornell was a passenger vessel build specifically to rival the Mary Powell, not a freight boat.) Whereas, “The Powell boys are of lighter build and complexion than their competitors. They sing out their notes with a sort of twirl, as if one had ordered ‘broiled blue fish’ or ‘Spanish mackerel,’ with Saratoga potatoes [potato chips], while the Cornell boys came up with the mere solid beefsteak and boiled murphies [potatoes] of a ‘stateroomer supper.’”
 
Here, the author conflates appearance with singing talent, implying that the more slender and lighter complexioned “Powell boys” sang with more delicacy and finesse than the darker complexioned “Cornell boys.” One wonders if the Mary Powell crew were specifically selected for employment due to their lighter skin tone, or if it was simply coincidental. Shades of blackness and whiteness were very important in the racial hierarchy of the United States, with lighter skinned people often receiving better or preferential treatment when compared with darker skinned people. The persistent use of the term “boy” to refer to Black adult men is also a racist microaggression, designed to imply inferiority when compared to white men.
 
Ultimately, the Mary Powell crew were declared winners, a result backed up by a single line in the New Paltz Times on August 24, 1881. Although many of the songs listed are unfamiliar to modern audiences, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” has persisted, as has “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” which was interestingly performed by both groups.
 
Preliminary search results for the members of the two glee clubs both before and after the concert resulted in few hits, although by 1903, a Lew Vandemark was part of a group called “Smith’s Colored Troubedours,” which gave a performance before the cakewalk at “Charley Conkling’s Masquerade” in Middletown, NY.[10] 

If you would like to assist us by researching these men (and one woman!), their names are as follows.
 
Thomas Cornell Glee Club members:

• Aug. Fitzgerald, leader;
• L. Schemerhorn,
• Eugene Harris,
• [Dav.?, probably David] Johnston,
• George Dewitt,
• Lew Vandemark,
• Chas. Van [Gaasbeck?],
• Dennis Johnston,
• Miss [Lizzie?] Hartly, pianist.

​Mary Powell Glee Club members:

• P. Washington, leader;
• J. C. Washington,
• James Poindexter,
• Wm. [William] McPherson,
• B. G. Smith,
• Robert Martin,
• Harry Coulter,
• Prof. John [Mougan?]. The latter also acted as pianist.

​I have found no further reference to either glee club, nor similar groups connected to Hudson River steamboats, but I hope that by sharing these stories we can discover more information about the club members and their work. 

If anyone would like to see original images of the newspapers, or has leads on any of the people listed above, other references to the glee clubs, or to other singing clubs associated with steamboats, please contact us at research@hrmm.org. 

Filmmaker Ken Sargeant has compiled many of Henry's stories, including with footage from a filmed oral history interview, into "Tales from Henry's Hudson." 

In 2013, Arts Westchester put together this short video of Henry, combining oral histories from the Hudson River Maritime Museum and film interviews by Ken Sargeant. You can watch more of Henry on film below:

For today's Media Monday, we thought we'd highlight one of the best storytellers on the Hudson River. Henry Gourdine, a commercial fisherman on the Hudson River since the 1920s, was a famous advocate for the river and its fishing heritage. Born on Croton Point on January 7, 1903, his reminiscences of growing up along the waterfront, defying his mother to spend time there, and his working life on the river, captured the imagination of the region at a time when commercial fishing was under threat from PCBs. 

A boatbuilder, net knitter, and fisherman, as well as a storyteller, Gourdine helped preserve many of the fishing crafts. He taught boatbuilding and net knitting at South Street Seaport, recorded descriptions of many heritage fishing methods on tape, and would happily talk about the river and fishing to anyone who asked. 

Henry Gourdine passed away October 17, 1997 at the age of 94. Read his New York Times obituary. 

In 2006, the New York Times published a retrospective on the impact of Henry Gourdine on local communities throughout the valley. 

The Hudson River Maritime Museum has an extensive collection of oral history recordings of Hudson River commercial fishermen. Marguerite Holloway interviewed Henry Gourdine several times between 1989 and 1994, covering a whole host of fishing-related topics. Those oral histories now reside at the Hudson River Maritime Museum and have been digitized for your listening and research pleasure. Click the button below to take a listen!

Built in 1927, Henry Gourdine's fishing shed stood for decades along the Ossining waterfront. But the days of the working waterfront were over, and Ossining sold the property to developers in the early 2000s. By 2006, work was set to begin, and Henry's shed was not part of the for condominiums overlooked the Hudson River. Despite pleas from local conservationists and the Gourdine family, including a temporary injunction from a court, the shed was ultimately demolished in May, 2006. 

Henry's fishing equipment and two boats were salvaged from inside and saved by Arts Westchester and family members. 

Preservationist and cataloger of ruins Rob Yasinsac cataloged the shed and its contents in April, 2006, before it was bulldozed. Read his account and see more pictures. 
​
Sadly, the development soon stalled, and ground was not broken on the condos until 2014. 

Perhaps as an apology for the demolition, the condominium development known as Harbor Square created a waterfront park and named it Henry Gourdine Park in honor of the man who fished off its shores for nearly 80 years. 

The park was opened in June, 2018. You can learn more about the park and its amenities and visit yourself. 

Did you ever meet Henry Gourdine? Have you ever fished on the Hudson River? What's your favorite Henry Gourdine story? Share your thoughts in the comments!

​The History Blog is supported by museum members and readers like you! Donate or join today!

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 Neris, Wisconsin 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.

You may have seen sea shanties in the news lately. CNN has talked about them. And NPR. Our friends at SeaHistory did a lovely writeup, too. For some reason, these historic maritime songs have struck a chord with folks around the world. 

Shanties may have started their modern revival with the 2019 film, Fishermen's Friends, based on a true story about a group of Cornish fishermen whose work song chorus catapulted them to unexpected stardom in the UK. The film became available to American audiences via streaming giant Netflix in 2020. 

Sea songs and shanties are two different things, according to experts interviewed by JSTOR daily and Insider.com. Shanties are work songs, often designed for call-and-response. Sea songs are those about the sea, but not designed to be sung while at work. Both evoke a bygone era the lends itself to romanticism, even as the real life experience was less than ideal. 

So why "The Wellerman" and why did Shantytok become a thing? Scottish postal worker Nathan Evans (he's since quit his job with a record deal in hand) posted a video of his acapella version of "The Wellerman," a 19th century New Zealand whaling song to TikTok with the hashtag #seashanty on December 27, 2020. Kept home by the pandemic lockdown, along with many other people around the world, Evans' version went viral. The next day, Philadelphia teenager Luke Taylor used TikTok's duet feature to add a harmonizing bass line to Evans' video. That version, too, went viral, and other TikTok users from around the world kept adding harmonies and instrumentals to build on Evans' original song. 

"The Wellerman," also known as "Soon May the Wellerman Come," is a song based in real life. Joseph Weller was a wealthy Englishman suffering from tuberculosis. A doctor recommended a sea voyage, and Weller and his family found their way to Australia in 1830. The next year, they purchased a barque and established a whaling station in nearby New Zealand - likely without the permission of the local Maori, who raided the station several times. The Wellers persisted until Joseph died in 1834. His sons continued whaling for several years, but sold out in 1840 and returned to Sydney. In later years the station also doubled as a general store supplying other whaling ships as well as their own. When the Wellers sold out, the station continued as a general store. So from the chorus of the song the lines, "Soon may the Wellerman come and bring us sugar and tea and rum" are likely a direct reference to the Weller family store supplying whaling ships. Read more about the history of "The Wellerman" and a biography of the Wellers. 

Unlike the sort of whaling practiced in Nantucket and made famous by Moby Dick (fun fact - Herman Melville actually worked on a Weller whaling ship), whaling in New Zealand in the 1830s was done from shore and was developed in response to declining sperm whale populations (learn more about shore-based whaling). Maori people in New Zealand also practiced whaling, and the crews of whaling vessels and stations were likely racially and ethnically diverse. Edward Weller himself married a Maori woman (learn more about Maori whaling traditions and the Weller connection).

The above version of "The Wellerman" is by the Irish Rovers and was filmed in 1977 aboard a sailing ship off of New Zealand. 

1. There was a ship that put to sea,
The name of the ship was the Billy of Tea
The winds blew up, her bow dipped down,
O blow, my bully boys, blow.

Chorus: Soon may the Wellerman come
And bring us sugar and tea and rum.
One day, when the tonguin' is done,
We'll take our leave and go.

2. She had not been two weeks from shore
When down on her a right whale bore.
The captain called all hands and swore
He'd take that whale in tow.

3. Before the boat had hit the water
The whale's tail came up and caught her.
All hands to the side, harpooned and fought her
When she dived down below.

4. No line was cut, no whale was freed;
The Captain's mind was not of greed,
But he belonged to the whaleman's creed;
She took the ship in tow.

5. For forty days, or even more,
The line went slack, then tight once more.
All boats were lost (there were only four)
But still the whale did go.

6. As far as I've heard, the fight's still on;
The line's not cut and the whale's not gone.
The Wellerman makes his regular call
To encourage the Captain, crew, and all.

You may have seen it spelled "chantey" or "chanteys" before, based on the French word "chanter" meaning "to sing" or "chantez" meaning "Let's sing" (both pronounced "shawn-tay"). Although most dictionaries now agree that the "correct" spelling is "shanty," "chantey" has held on in many American communities. Perhaps to differentiate it from the waterfront shack also known as a "shanty?" (that word also derives from the French - this time the French-Canadian "chantier," meaning a lumber camp shack). Or perhaps because Americans are more likely to adopt foreign words wholesale into the lexicon.

Any way you spell it, chantey, chanty, shanty, or shantey - all are technically correct.

Some have questioned whether the reference in "The Wellerman" to "bring us sugar and tea and rum" was a reference to slavery. But given that "The Wellerman" is set in New Zealand, it was far more likely that the reference was about delivering sailors' rations, rather than a direct connection to slavery.

However, sea shanties do have a direct connection to Africa and slavery. Call and response style work songs were common in West Africa, where many people were captured and sold into slavery for hundreds of years. Enslaved people brought these work song traditions with them when they were forced into labor in the Americas. Slaves worked in fishing, on sailing ships, and even on steamboats. Slaves who loaded and unloaded steamboats often sang a style of work song that came to be known as "roustabout" songs. When combined with dance, this song style was known as "coonjine" (learn more). Singing was one way that enslaved people could push back against the brutal domination of enslavers. 

Some references even indicate that Black and enslaved people themselves were once called "chanteys," reflective of their singing talents. 

New York singer and historian Vienna Carroll (who we've featured before), has also helps preserve New York's Black maritime history through song. Her version of "Shallow Brown" recounts an enslaved man, Shallow Brown, being sold away from his wife to work on a whaling ship in the North. 

Whaling in particular offered opportunities for free Black sailors and whalers in the United States. As whaling shifted to the Pacific and the Arctic, Black mariners were able to escape the harsher racism of the Caribbean and the American South. You can learn more about enslaved and free Black mariners in a previous blog post by historian Craig Marin. 

As anyone who has ever tried to raise a sail knows, singing "Haul Away Joe" can help you work in tandem with others. Keeping a rhythm helps with hauling, rowing, pulling in nets, loading cargoes, and any other heavy task that requires more than one person to work in rhythm with another. Singing also keeps the mind occupied, but focused on the task at hand. The West African call-and-response style became integral to shanties and was quickly adopted and adapted by sailors of all ethnicities. 

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Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and to celebrate his contributions to the Civil Rights movement, we thought we would share some information about an earlier Civil Rights and labor rights activist, Paul Robeson. 

Born in 1898 in Princeton, New Jersey, Robeson was most famous for his role in "Show Boat," which he first played the role of "Joe" on Broadway in the 1920s, and later in the 1936 film version, in which he sings, "Ol' Man River."

But Robeson was not cast as Joe in the 1951 film version of "Show Boat," because he was blacklisted by Hollywood and later investigated by the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) for his political beliefs and his outspoken advocacy of labor rights and Civil Rights. You can learn more about Paul Robeson's life in this short documentary: 

So what's the connection to the Hudson River Valley? In 1949 Paul Robeson was one of several performers invited to participate in a concert to benefit the Civil Rights Congress. The concert was to take place on August 27, 1949, just north of Peekskill, NY. Robeson had performed in Peekskill at least three times before. But 1949 was different. 

Robeson had begun to be more vocal about his beliefs and advocating for Civil Rights and labor rights and against the Ku Klux Klan, colonialism, racism, and capitalism. In March of 1949, Robeson had attended the World Peace Conference in Paris - an international event sponsored by the Soviet Union. While at the conference, Robeson gave a speech about the tenuous US/USSR relationship. What he actually said, and what was reported in the American media, were two very different things. 

He said: 

"We in America do not forget that it was the backs of white workers from Europe and on the backs of millions of blacks that the wealth of America was built. And we are resolved to share it equally. We reject any hysterical raving that urges us to make war on anyone. Our will to fight for peace is strong...We shall support peace and friendship among all nations, with Soviet Russia and the People's Republics."

But the Associated Press quoted him as saying:

"We colonial peoples have contributed to the building of the United States and are determined to share its wealth. We denounce the policy of the United States government which is similar to Hitler and Goebbels.... It is unthinkable that American Negros would go to war on behalf of those who have oppressed us for generations against the Soviet Union which in one generation has lifted our people to full human dignity."

The inflammatory quote falsely attributed to Robeson later turned out to be submitted before Robeson was even finished speaking. This report led Robeson to be widely condemned throughout the United States as "un-American," and the Peekskill Evening Star encouraged people to boycott the concert due to Robeson's participation. 

The day of the concert, hundreds of locals, including the American Legion and members of the Ku Klux Klan, attacked concert-goers with rocks and baseball bats. It took hours for the police to arrive, and when they finally did, they took little action. Robeson was lynched in effigy and eleven people were injured. A cross was burned nearby and visible from the concert grounds. The attacks began before Robeson arrived, and when a friend drove him to the concert, he had to be restrained from confronting the rioters. The concert was postponed until September, 4, 1949 - Labor Day. 

Local officials, including police, failed to take responsibility for the violence. Applications for the local KKK chapter actually increased after the riot. Labor unions and local supporters of Robeson organized protests of the riot and gathered hundreds of union members to help guard the rescheduled concert.

On the day of the second concert, locals, including members of the VFW and American Legion as well as (presumably) KKK members gathered to protest - shouting epithets at concert-goers and accusing them of communism as they arrived.

20,000 people attended the concert on September 4, which had many other performers, including Pete Seeger. Robeson closed out the concert with his most famous song, "Ol' Man River." 

Although the September 4, 1949 concert was held without violence, as the concert-goers tried to leave, their cars had to crawl past a gauntlet of rioters, who threw rocks, broke windshields, windows, and headlights, and screamed obscenities. Law enforcement largely stood by and watched the violence.

Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, and Lee Hays, who had also been scheduled to perform, shared a car with Pete's wife Toshi and their children. Woody Guthrie pinned up a shirt (red, of course) to the window to prevent shattered glass from injuring the children. Pete saved several rocks that made their way into the car and cemented them into the chimney of the house he and Toshi later built in Beacon. 

This period footage illustrates some of the protests and the violence following the concert and includes commentary from Pete Seeger. Please note, racial epithets are used in this period film footage. ​

Over 140 people were injured, either from broken glass and projectiles hurled at their vehicles, or they were pulled from their vehicles and beaten. Among those injured was Eugene Bullard, America's first Black combat pilot and a veteran of World War I. He was viciously beaten, including by members of state and local law enforcement. The attack was captured on film and in photographs, but no one was ever arrested or prosecuted for the assault.

On September 7, 1949, just days after the riots, a group of musicians and songwriters put together a hastily recorded record - The Peekskill Story. Narrated by Howard Fast and sung by the Weavers (including Lee Hays and Pete Seeger), the album was a mix of music and spoken word report of the organization of the two concerts that both ended in riots. It included a snippet of Paul Robeson singing "Ol' Man River" at the concert, as well as a recording of some of the epithets the rioters were yelling at concert-goers. You can listen to the full album below, or learn more about it here. 

​The Peekskill Riots remain a stark illustration of anti-communist rhetoric in the years leading up to McCarthyism and the Red Scare. Despite protests following the riots, including a large one in Albany protesting to Governor Thomas Dewey about the inaction and possible participation of law enforcement in the riots, Dewey and others blamed the violence on communists. Many of the concert performers, including Pete Seeger, Lee Hays, Woody Guthrie, and Paul Robeson, were blacklisted. In the 1950s, Seeger and Robeson were both called before the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) and accused of communism. You can listen to Robeson's testimony below:

As a Black man with connections to the Soviet Union, Robeson bore the consequences of blacklisting with more difficulty than Guthrie and Seeger. Even former allies at the NAACP, including Jackie Robinson and Eleanor Roosevelt, spoke out against him, fearful that association with communism would hurt the movement. In retaliation for his beliefs, many of the organizations and institutions which had previously lauded his accomplishments, erased him from their records. 

Robeson's career never recovered. Following the end of McCarthyism in 1957, he launched a brief comeback tour, traveling and performing for several years before his mental health deteriorated, as depression and paranoia set in. He had never stopped speaking out for marginalized peoples around the world. But in 1963, he officially retired and went into relative seclusion, making few public appearances. Soon, his physical health began to deteriorate as well. He died on January 23, 1976 from complications of pneumonia at age 77. 

Robeson and the Peekskill Riots were the subject of many documentaries following Robeson's death, including The Tallest Tree in Our Forest (1977), Paul Robeson: Tribute to an Artist (1979) and Paul Robeson: Here I Stand​ (1999). 

Despite all the difficulties he faced for his beliefs, Robeson remains a giant among Civil Rights advocates around the world. His personal accomplishments and his unwavering commitment to justice, regardless of the costs, are worth remembering. 

"Down in the River to Pray" (also known as "Down to the River to Pray," "Down in the Valley to Pray," "The Good Old Way," and "Come, Let Us All Go Down") is a traditional American song variously described as a Christian folk hymn, an African-American spiritual, an Appalachian song, and a southern gospel song. The exact origin of the song is unknown. Research suggests that it was composed by an enslaved African-American.[1]
​ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Down_in_the_River_to_Pray

​

DOWN TO THE RIVER TO PRAY - LYRICS

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the robe and crown
Good lord, show me the way!
 
O brothers let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down,
Come on brothers let's go down,
Down in the river to pray.
 
As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the robe and crown
Good lord, show me the way!
 
O mothers let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down,
Come on mothers let's go down,
Down in the river to pray.
 
As i went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the starry crown
Good lord, show me the way!
 
O fathers let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down,
Come on fathers let's go down,
Down in the river to pray.

Source: Musixmatch

During the summer of 1884, Black veterans of the Civil War gathered on piers in Manhattan and what was then the independent city of Brooklyn. The steamboat John Lenox pulled up, towing a barge, and soldiers who served in a battalion named for abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison climbed aboard along with their families. This flotilla steamed through the New York Harbor and up the Hudson River, landing at a spot on the New Jersey banks that was called Excelsior Grove.[1] The veterans could spend the day swimming, hiking towards the Palisades rock formations that towered above, picking pimpernel flowers and wild strawberries, resting in the shade under oak and tulip trees, and listening to music.[2] Chatting with former comrades in arms and practicing military drills, Black soldiers remembered fighting in the battles that ended slavery.[3]

This was one of many “excursions” to give city people without much spare change the chance to escape for a day from their dense and crowded urban neighborhoods. Getting out of the city was more than a matter of relaxation and recreation during this era, when most believed that bad smells were what made them sick.[4] Urban sanitation systems had not caught up with the rising population and rank odors wafted from overflowing outhouses and piles of uncollected garbage that festered in the streets.[5] On the decks of steamboats and in leafy waterfront groves, city people breathed deeply, hoping that the fresh air would fortify their weary bodies. At least sixty-nine lush excursion destinations with cool breezes, refreshing shade, and gorgeous views opened within a forty-nine mile radius of lower Manhattan between 1865 and 1900.

This map shows the approximate locations of excursion groves that I have found.

Everyone who lived in the densest, most impoverished, and least sanitary parts of the city yearned for a change of air and scenery, but excursions were especially meaningful to Black New Yorkers during the tense Reconstruction Era. While people of African descent were working to transform emancipation into an opportunity to finally secure full political and social equality, white neighbors adapted white supremacy for a nation without slavery. In New York, Black people faced harassment by the police, severe economic discrimination, and violence at the polls.[6] Intimidation and threats met them in the city’s parks, where they tried to claim their equal right to public space.[7] “Sable soldiers” were “drilling (in the dark) in one of our public squares,” reported the New York Herald in 1867. It was not safe to display Black “martial glory” in the parks except under the protective cover of nightfall because many white men considered military service to be their exclusive honor.[8] But outside the city in places like Excelsior Grove, soldiers like those who served in the William Lloyd Garrison Post No. 107 could wear their uniforms with pride, in safety. On chartered steamboats and in privately rented groves, Black New Yorkers could enjoy blooming landscapes together, away from the judgmental eyes and clenched white fists that greeted them whenever they went outdoors in the city. Excursions offered Black people the chance to breathe—and not just the fresh air that was scarce in Manhattan.

New Yorkers of African descent were able to access these getaways starting in the 1870s because at least some white owners of steamboats and groves would accommodate any party with money to spend. These entrepreneurs got rich as excursionists bought cheap refreshments and pooled their pennies to rent the leafy grounds and the flotillas that carried them there. Orville Dudley was one of the businessmen whose eagerness for profit outweighed his racism when he decided whether or not to rent his grove in Hastings-on-Hudson to city people of African descent. A Black social club called the Green Horns visited Dudley’s Grove in August of 1870 and the Bethel African Church arrived the following summer. Dudley used the worst racist slur to describe these excursionists in his recordkeeping book. He called one party “a mean lot” and wrote of the other, “rough don't want them again.”[9] But Dudley loved money and Black people from the city had it, so he continued renting the grove to their excursion parties.[10] By the 1880s, Black churches, militia companies, and mutual aid associations visited destinations owned by other entrepreneurs too, like Excelsior and Riverside Groves and Iona Island.[11]

Excursions opened a previously closed window for Black New Yorkers eager to get out of doors and out of the city. During the early nineteenth century, people of African descent were not welcome to join white patrons who gazed at flowers, ate ice cream, and sipped alcohol in the shade at commercial “pleasure gardens” in what was then the outskirts of New York.[12] Black entrepreneurs tried to open their own gardens in the 1820s, but faced racism on top of the usual business risks of bad weather and fire. The police ordered the closure of one of the gardens, while three others lasted for just one summer.[13] Near mid-century, beer gardens began opening in forested spots of upper Manhattan, but German American proprietors kept people of African descent out, decorated the grounds with racist imagery, and hosted offensive minstrel shows, where white actors with darkened skin performed gross stereotypes. By excluding and ridiculing people of African descent, these immigrant entrepreneurs—who themselves faced bias and prejudice in a nativist society—shored up their own access to white privilege.[14] After the turn of the century, amusement parks like Coney Island often had segregated facilities and were full of racist games like “African Dodger” and “Kill the Coon,” which beckoned visitors to throw balls at the heads of employees who were either Black or wearing blackface.[15] But between the eras of commercial gardens and amusement parks, steamboat excursions offered Black New Yorkers a rare chance to escape from the city with safety and dignity.

In green refuges along the Hudson, Black residents of the metropolitan area strengthened social and political ties. New York’s Black community was growing at a rate more than double that of the white population in the 1870s, fueled in part by migrants fleeing white terrorism in the South.[16] But white supremacy shaped northern cities too, so Black New Yorkers who could not count on equal access to goods and services created their own institutions to care for one another, fundraising for these efforts by holding excursions. The Good Samaritan Home Association, for example, financed mutual aid work by selling fifty-cent tickets for an excursion to Dudley’s Grove. Funds raised at this grove also supported the Progressive American, an autonomous Black newspaper that offered a counter voice to the white supremacist media of the time.[17] Excursions for churches, militia companies, and social clubs stopped in New York and Brooklyn, uniting newcomers with longtime residents of both cities to build a metropolitan Black community.[18] Excursions forged connections between people of African descent at an important political turning point. Municipal leaders had rarely considered people of African descent as constituents before the Fourteenth Amendment made Black Americans citizens in 1868 and then the 1870 ratification of the Fifteenth Amendment promised all male citizens the right to vote.[19] Excursions helped consolidate the Black community as unprecedented access to the ballot box presented new opportunities to shape urban politics.

Excursions were further politicized because Black leisure was controversial in a society rooted in slavery. Myths that people of African descent were devious, sneaky, and born to work circulated widely to justify an institution that relied on surveillance, control, and forced labor. During the Reconstruction Era, Black Americans who seized chances to leisure resisted the ideology that had rationalized slavery. By going on excursions, Black residents of New York, Boston, Wilmington, and Washington, D.C. insisted that they were deserving of pleasure, relaxation, comfort, and ease.[20] Whites responded by doubling down on the trope that people of African descent were dangerous when left to their own devices.[21] Along with racist images, stories, and performances, newspaper coverage of excursions made the case against Black leisure.

Black excursions rarely made the news unless something went wrong.[22] Plenty of excursions passed peacefully, but white readers eagerly consumed sensationalized news of violence. The New York Times cast an 1887 Good Samaritan Home excursion as a scene of chaos, where “the razor went flashing through the air, the beer mug rose on high, a cane whirred overhead, and then the blood flowed.”[23] A score of other papers published their own accounts of the damage wrought by these “Implements of War” as the steamboat chugged away from Dudley’s Grove, back towards the city.[24] But this “riot lasted” for only ten minutes, admitted the Times, while the Tribune called the event “almost a riot,” rather than a full blown rebellion.[25] Newspapers exaggerated scuffles on excursions for white readers ready to believe that people of African descent had violent tendencies.[26] As Black excursionists left urban hardships behind, racist ideology followed in their wake.

Despite biased coverage, excursions offered Black residents of the metropolitan area some respite from the intense racism that they experienced in daily life. Boarding steamboats with members of their growing community, excursionists traded provocations by white neighbors and harassment by the police on dusty and filthy urban streets for verdant views, salty breezes, and the dignity of autonomous Black spaces. Excursions posed a stark contrast to Manhattan, both in terms of environment and atmosphere. For Black people navigating white supremacy in a dense, polluted, and divided city, the Hudson River was a pathway towards relief that was all too brief.