It was very warm -- a sort of sultry, sticky day, which makes you feel as if you had washed yourself in molasses and water, and had found that the chambermaid had forgotten to give you a towel. The very rust on the hinges of the Park gate has melted and run down into the sockets, making them creak with a sort of ferruginous lubricity, as you feebly push them open. The hands on the City Hall clock droop, and look as if they would knock off work if they only had sufficient energy to get up a strike. The omnibus horses creep languidly along, and yet can't stand still when they are pulled up to take in or let out passengers -- the flies are so persevering, so bitter, so hungry.

​Let us go over to Hoboken, and get a mouthful of fresh air, a drink of cool water from the Sybil's spring, a good roll on the green grass of the Elysian Fields. Down we drop, through the hot, dusty, perspiring, choking streets -- pass the rancid "family groceries," which infect all this part of the city, and are nuisances of the first water -- and, after stumbling our way through a basket store, "piled mountains high," we at length find ourselves fairly on board the ferry boat, and panting with the freshness of the sea breeze, which even here in the slip, steals deliciously up from the bay, which, even here in the slip, steals deliciously up from the bay, tripping with white over the night-capped and lace-filled waves. Ding-dong!  Now we are off!  Hurry out to this further end of the boat, where you see everybody is crowding and rushing. Why?  Why?  Why, because you will be in Hoboken fully three seconds sooner than those unfortunate devils at the other end. Isn't that an object?  Certainly. Push, therefore, elbow, tramp, and scramble!  If you have corns, so, most likely, has your neighbor. At any rate, you can but try. No matter if your hat gets smashed, or one of the tails is torn off your coat. You get ahead. That's the idea -- that's the only thing worth living for. What's the use of going to Hoboken, unless you can get there sooner than anyone else?  Hoboken wouldn't be Hoboken, if somebody else should arrive before you.

Now -- jump! -- climb over the chain, and jump ashore. You are not more than ten feet from the wharf. You may not be able to make it -- but then again, you may; and it is at least worth the trial. Should you succeed, you will gain almost another whole second! and, if you fail, why, it is only a ducking -- doubtless they will fish you out. Certainly they don't allow people to get drowned. The Common Council, base as it is, would never permit that!
           
Well! here we are at last, safe on the sands of a foreign shore. New Jersey extends her dry and arid bosom to receive us. What a long, disagreeable walk from the ferry, before you get anywhere. What an ugly expense of gullies and mud, by lumber yards and vacant lots, before we begin to enjoy the beauties of this lovely and charming Hoboken!  One would almost think that these disagreeable objects were placed there on purpose to enhance the beauties to which they lead.
           
​At last we are in the shady walk -- cool and sequestered, notwithstanding that it is full of people. The venerable trees -- the very same beneath whose branches passed Hamilton and Burr to their fatal rendezvous -- the same that have listened to the whispering love-tales of so many generations of the young Dutch burghers and their frauleins -- cast a deep and almost solemn shade along this walk. We have passed so quickly from the city and its hubbub, that the charm of this delicious contrast is absolutely magical.

What a motley crowd! Old and young, men women and children, those ever-recurring elements of life and movement. Well-dressed and badly-dressed, and scarcely dressed at all -- Germans, French, Italians, Americans, with here and there a mincing Londoner, with his cockney gait and trim whiskers. This walk in Hoboken is one of the most absolutely democratic places in the world -- the boulevards of social equality, where every rank, state, condition, existing in our country -- except, of course, the tip-top exclusives -- meet mingle, push and elbow their way along with sparse courtesy or civility.
           
Now, we are on the smooth graveled walk -- the beautiful magnificent water terrace, whose rival does not exist in all the world. Here, for a mile and a half, the walk lies directly upon the river, winding in and out with its yielding outline, and around the base of precipitous rocky cliffs, crowned with lofty trees. From the Bay, and afar off through the Narrows, the fresh sea breeze comes rushing up from the Atlantic, strengthened and made more joyous, more elastic by its race of three thousand miles -- as youth grows stronger by activity. Before us, fading into a greyish distance, lies the city, low and murky, like a huge monster -- its domes and spires seeming but the scales and protuberances upon his body. One fancies that he can still hear the faint murmur of his perpetual roar. No -- 'tis but the voice of the pleasant waves, dashing themselves to pieces in silver spray, against the rocky shore. The retreating tide calls in whispers, its army of waves to flow to their home in the sea.
           
Take care -- don't tumble off these high and unbalustraded steps, -- or will you choose rather to go through the turn-stile at the foot of the bluff?  It is very lean, madam -- which you are not -- and we doubt if you can manage your way through. We thought so!  Allow me to help you over the steps. They are placed here, we verily believe, as a practical illustration of life -- up one side of the hill, and down the other -- for there is no material, physical, or topographical reason, that we can discover, for their existence.
           
​Here is a family group, seated on the little wooden bench, placed under this jutting rock. The mother's attention is painfully divided equally between the two large boys, the toddling little girl of six, who laughs and claps her hand with glee at discovering that she can't throw a pebble into the water, like her brothers -- and the baby, who spreads out his hands and legs to their utmost stretch, like the sails of a little boat which tries to catch as much of the breeze as it can, and who crows like a little chanticleer, in the very exuberance of his baby existence. Two half nibbled cakes, neglected in the happiness of breathing this pure, keen air -- which, by the way, will give them a tremendous appetite, by-and-by -- are lying among the pebbles, and ever the baby has forgotten to suck its fat little thumb.

The Sybil's Cave, with its cool fountain bubbling and sparkling forever in the subterranean darkness, now tempts us to another pause. The little refreshment shop under the trees looks like an ice-cream plaster stuck against the rocks. Nobody wants "refreshments," my dear girl, while the pure cool water of the Sybil's fountain can be had for nothing. What?  Yes they do. The insane idea that to buy something away from home -- to eat or drink -- is at work even here. A little man, with thin bandy legs, whose bouncing wife and children are a practical illustration of the one-sided effects of matrimony, has bought "something to take" for the whole family. Pop goes the weasel!  What is it?  Sarsaparilla -- pooh!
           
​Now let us go on round this sharp curve, (what a splendid spot for a railroad accident!) and then along the widened terrace path, until it loses itself in a green and spacious lawn, lovingly rising to meet the stooping branches of the trees. This is the entrance to the far-famed Elysian Fields. Along the banks of the winding gravel paths, children are playing, with their floating locks streaming in the wind -- while prone on the green grass recline weary people, escaped from the week's ceaseless toil, and subsiding joyfully into an hour of rest -- to them the highest happiness. The centre of the lawn has been marked out into a magnificent ball ground, and two parties of rollicking, joyous young men are engaged in that excellent and health-imparting sport, base ball. They are without hats, coats or waistcoats, and their well-knit forms, and elastic movements, as they bound after the bounding ball, ....

Yonder in the corner by that thick clump of trees, is the merry go-round, with its cargo of half-laughing, half-shrieking juvenile humanity, swinging up and down like a vessel riding at anchor. Happy, thoughtless voyagers!  Although your baby bark moves up and down, and round and round, yet you fell the exhilarating motion, and you think you advance. After all, perhaps it would be a blessed thing if your bright and happy lives could stop here. Never again will you bee so happy as now; and often, in the hard and bitter journey of life, you will look back to these infantile hours, wondering if the evening of life shall be as peaceful as its morning.
           
​But the sun has swung down behind the Weehawken Heights, and the trees cast their long shadows over lawn and river, pointing with waving fingers our way home. The heart is calmer, the head clearer, the blood cooler, for this delicious respite. We thank thee, oh grand Hoboken, for thy shade, and fresh foliage, and tender grass, and the murmuring of the glad and breezy waters -- and especially for having furnished us with a subject for this chapter.

A few years ago the Metropolitan Museum of Art release this beautifully shot film of New York City in 1911. Made by a team of cameramen with the Swedish company Svenska Biografteatern, these views of New York were just one of the films they made chronicling famous cities around the world. 

Some of this footage may look familiar, as you may have seen a shorter version (basically they cut the steamboats out!) published in 4K on YouTube a few years ago that went viral. A genealogist even did a follow-up investigation of some of the people featured in the film, and tracked down their ancestors!  

But for the maritime historians at HRMM, the version published by MOMA was super fun to watch because we got to see several historic steamboats in action! The Orient, Mary Patten, Rosedale, and the sidewheel steam ferry Wyoming are all featured, and the Rosedale and the Wyoming are both depicted underway with their walking beam steam engines rocking away. It's interesting to see how slowly the walking beam is moving when compared to the speed of the boats, which indicates that those pistons are moving with an incredible amount of force to turn the paddlewheels so quickly. 

Although the rest of the film is fun to watch, the steamboats are in the first two minutes, so we thought we'd give a little history of some of the vessels you're seeing!

The sidewheel steamboat Orient was originally built in 1896 as the Hingham for the Boston & Hingham Steamboat Company. In 1902 she was purchased by the Montauk Steamboat Company and renamed Orient, where she operated until 1921 when she was sold to a company in Mobile, Alabama and renamed Bay Queen and continued to operate until 1928. 

Built in 1893 in Brooklyn, NY the Mary Patten was operated by the Patten Steamboat Company, running between New York City and Long Branch, NJ, which was a resort area in the late 19th century. The Patten Line (also known as the New York and Long Branch Steamboat Company) was founded by Thomas G. Patten in 1890 and in 1893 he built a new passenger steamboat named the Mary Patten after mother, Maria (Mary) Patten, who had died in 1886. (It is not, sadly, named after heroic Cape Horner Mary Ann Brown Patten.) The steamboat Mary Patten stayed in the family and on the NYC run until 1930, when the Patten Line folded and the Mary Patten was sold to the Highlands, Long Branch, and Bred Bank Steamboat Company, where she may have operated for a year until being taken out of operation. 

The history of the sidewheel steam ferry Wyoming was not easy to track down, especially since there were a number of other vessels named Wyoming, including an earlier sidewheel steamboat immortalized by James Bard. But thankfully Brian J. Cudahy's Over and Back: The History of Ferryboats in New York Harbor had some answers. 

The iron-hulled, walking beam sidewheel steam ferry Wyoming was built in 1885 by Harlan & Hollingsworth in Wilmington, Delaware for the Greenpoint Ferry Company (1853-1921). The Wyoming was in service as a ferry on the East River until around 1920, when she was sold to the City of New York. She "later ran for upper Hudson River interests" (p. 444 of Cudahy) until she was scrapped in 1943, likely a victim of both bridges and the war effort.

The above photo, taken in 1940 by steamboat historian Donald C. Ringwald, may have been one of her last. 

If you'd like to learn about the last steamboat visible in the film above, the Rosedale​, stay tuned! We'll featured more on her later this week.

Today's Media Monday is a great story about being stranded on the Newburgh Beacon Ferry! When the weather gets colder, most boat traffic on the Hudson River ceases, except for commercial traffic in the shipping channel, which today is kept open by Coast Guard icebreakers. 

​Most historic boat traffic on the Hudson River was seasonal, too, mostly because the Coast Guard icebreakers are a 20th century invention. Because they traveled the same space frequently, most ferries tried to stay in service as long as possible in the days before bridges, and they were often the last vessels on the river each year. But it didn't always work out so well! Listen below for the full tale.

Brief summary: In the early 1950's, the Ferry got stuck in the ice on its 11:30 PM return trip to Beacon. Betty Carey remembers the story of one passenger who was stranded on the boat until rescued the next morning.

Have you ever gotten stranded because of snow or ice? 

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!​

On Saturday we featured a historic wooden sign from the Newburgh Ferry Terminal. Today, for Media Monday, we're sharing some stories from the ferry.

This first story, from the Sound & Story Project, tells of what happened when the ferry encountered some ice.

To hear what the ferry might have sounded like traveling through the ice, check out this historic recording from Conrad Milster, who recorded the ferry Dutchess​ traveling through the ice. 

The Newburgh-Beacon ferry ceased operation in 1963 with the opening of the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, but was revived in 2006 as a commuter ferry for residents traveling to the Beacon train station. 

Have you ever traveled on the Newburgh-Beacon ferry, either the original or the new one? Tell us about your experiences in the comments!

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Today's Featured Artifact is this sign from the Newburgh Ferry terminal. Reading "Ferry Entrance - Pay Toll Here" with a red arrow in a red frame, this striking sign was designed to show the way for vehicles to drive onto the ferry. 

Although it is unclear when exactly the sign was created, you can see it in this photo of the Newburgh Ferry Terminal, c. 1957. The sign is on the toll booth in the lower right-hand corner. The Newburgh-Beacon Ferry departs in the background. If you look closely, you can see the words "New York State Bridge Authority" on the side of the ferry, and the name of the ferry on the pilot house - the Beacon. The Bridge Authority had purchased the ferry service in preparation for the construction of the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge and operated three car ferries - the Beacon, the Orange, and the Dutchess.​

Here is a zoomed in shot of the same photo, where you can see the sign more clearly. 

The Newburgh-Beacon ferry continued to operate until November 3, 1963, when the ferry service was ceased following the opening of the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge. The ferries themselves were scrapped over a series of years, and the Newburgh Ferry Terminal, which dated back to 1899, was demolished with Urban Renewal in the 1970s.

If you'd like to see the "Ferry Entrance" sign in person, come and visit it at the museum! It is on display in the East Gallery.

​The History Blog is supported by museum members and readers like you! Help keep these articles free and available to everyone. Donate or join today!

Editor's Note: This article is from the November 7, 1891 issue of Harper's Weekly. The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written. ​

                          "Getting on Top of the Palisades by Jno. Gilmer Speed
The largest elevators for carrying passengers in the world have just been completed on the banks of the Hudson, near Weehawken. The high table-land in New Jersey, opposite New York city, and between the Hudson River and the Hackensack, has up to this time not been used as generally for purposes of pleasure and residence as it should have been. This elevated plain, known as the Palisades, is at its beginning some one hundred and fifty feet above high tide, and is over a mile wide at the same point. It stretches north for many miles up the Hudson River, and naturally rises in elevation as it proceeds. This high land has been accessible only by steep grades for wagon roads, and by means of stairways which climbed laboriously up the steep cliff. The Hudson County Railway Company, which operates the elevated road at Hoboken and controls many of the street car lines in that neighborhood, has of late years been extending these lines, and increasing the facilities for getting on top of the Palisades, and from one part of this high plateau to another. The most recent addition to the plant of this company has been the building of huge elevators at Weehawken, where the ferry-boats from Forty-second Street and Jay Street, New York city, discharge their passengers, and where also the West Shore Railway starts north and west to Albany and Buffalo. These elevators are the largest ever constructed for passengers, and in planning them the engineers have adopted new devices to secure their safety against accidents. From the elevators, which rise just from the water’s edge, there is an immense viaduct or elevated railroad which runs some eight hundred feet back to the hill, where connections will be made with the various steam and horse cars which will run in one direction and another.

In crossing the Hudson River from New York the stilt-like structure for the elevators and railroad cars looks frail and delicate, and suggest more a spider’s web than a very stable and solid structure capable of carrying immense weights and moving loads, and still having a surplus strength very much beyond the weight which could ever be placed upon it. At a distance one cannot fail to have the feeling that the structure is too light and insecure to ever do any very heavy or continuous work. This feeling is very much the same that one experiences in looking from a distance at the high curve on the New York Ninth Avenue elevated road above the Central Park. Arrived at Weehawken, however, and standing under the structure, the veriest novice in bridge-building cannot fail to be impressed with the strength and solidity of these steel piers and trusses. They do not look light now, but seem entirely sufficient to do the Titan’s work for which they were designed. What this work is may be gathered from the fact that in every hour six thousand persons can be taken each way, up and down the elevators and to and fro across the viaduct, which is 153 feet above the water. Elevators have never before been asked to do such work as this.
The elevator tower has been made for three cars, each of which will hold one hundred and thirty-five persons. They run independent of each other, and all can be going either up or down at the same time, or variously, as desired. The doors are almost as wide as the cars, and the conductor with a simple device opens and closes both doors at once. On one side the passengers are discharged, and they enter from the other end; therefore, when there is a rush of travel, the cars will empty and fill at the same moment. The elevators are designed to have a speed of 400 feet a minute, but it is not proposed to run them faster than 200 feet a minute. At this rate each elevator will take up the 153 feet from the water’s edge to the viaduct 135 persons in 45 seconds, and it is estimated that in 30 seconds more the passengers can be discharged and a new load taken on. For the ordinary traffic there would be no need for such quick work or so large a capacity as this, but within a short time places of amusement and a race-track have been started near Weehawken.  To these places and from them great and impatient crowds come and leave at the same hour, and it is necessary to handle a whole boat or train load at once.

The power to run the elevators is hydraulic, the water being stored in compressed tanks under a pressure of 190 pounds per square inch by means of two compound condensing Worthington pumps of about 85-horse power each. Only two of these boilers, however, will be used at once, and the third will be held in reserve. The same firm which built the lifts in the Eiffel Tower has designed and constructed these enormous elevators.  F.E. Brown, Jun., of the Otis Company, designed the whole elevator plant, the engineer in charge in both instances being Mr. Joseph R. Furman, of the same company. Mr. Furman is a young man, not yet twenty-seven, and has justified the responsibility intrusted to him most admirably.

The most important feature in the construction of an elevator is the device for stopping it in case of an accident. In nearly all of the modern elevators these devices have been made to act automatically, so that nothing need depend upon the skill, courage, or presence of mind of the conductor. Were this not so, it would test the courage of any man to trust himself to the careless men in charge of the elevators in the large office buildings, the architects of which usually specify that the elevators shall have a speed of 700 feet per minute. It is true that none of them goes so fast as this, for the reason that it would be impossible for the conductors to stop accurately at the several floors to discharge or take on passengers. But it is pleasant to know that even though a conductor should lose his head, or the car break loose from its ropes, it would be stopped by the devices now in general use, and no one would be hurt. The testing of these devices is therefore most important, and the test applied by the builders to these huge cars which are to lift people to a level with the top of the Palisades was watched with interest by all concerned. The apparatus for testing consisted of a heavy timber trestle supporting the guide strips, between which a temporary cage loaded with 84,000 pounds of cast iron – equivalent to the weight of the cars and their load of people – was suspended on a trip lever, the support of which could be disengaged by pulling on a light line. The safety grips, which were the actual ones to be used in the permanent elevators, were placed under the cage, one on each side, in their proper position with relation to the guide strips. From each safety grip a light line, representing the governor ropes to be used on the elevators, was carried to and attached to the cross-head of the timber trestle.

At the signal the lanyard was pulled and the cage with its load released. It dropped freely about two inches, when the safety engaged with the guide strips, and after a further slide of one and three-quarter inches came to rest without shock. Then another test was made with 2000 pounds more of iron added, and the result was substantially the same. Then came a third test, for the personal satisfaction of the engineers who had designed the safety device. With a load of 36,000 pounds they let the car fall ten inches before the safeties were applied, and on this occasion the car dropped only eighteen inches. This was eminently satisfactory to them, as had also been the other tests.

The guide strips are of yellow pine, six inches by eight inches, built up in three pieces of two and two-thirds by six inches, strongly spiked together, and are secured to the latticed channel iron posts of the elevator tower by three-quarter-inch bolts spaced about fourteen-inch centres; the heads of these bolts are countersunk in the faces of the guide strips, so as to leave a smooth guiding surface. The safety grips consist of forgings with a rectangular notch surrounding the guide strip, the edges of the notch being beveled to form cutting edges. Below the main forging is bolted a plate with a similar notch, but having toothed edges, the whole swinging on a centre so placed that when the safety is in normal position the toothed and chisel edges are well clear of the guide strips, but when swung outward they engage and cut into the guide strip on its face and two sides. The test on the Eiffel Tower elevators loaded with 32,000 pounds was very gratifying to the French engineers. On the first elevator, when the ropes were cut, the car fell twelve feet. On the second car, when the safeties had been readjusted, and the same weight put on, the fall was only eight inches.

The largest elevator in use in New York city is that in the tower of the Produce Exchange. This will carry fifty persons.  This was also the capacity of the cars in the Eiffel Tower. It will be seen, therefore, that each of these new elevators to the top of the Palisades has a capacity more than two and half times greater than those which were popularly heretofore thought to be quite as large as lifts could be safely constructed. The Weehawken structure will be finished and thrown open about the middle of November. It will be interesting to see how easily large numbers of people can be taken up and down in this manner, for in the plans now under advisement for giving rapid transit to New York city by means of deep underground roads, the elevator for raising and lowering passengers is a very important feature of the scheme."

Read about the current status of the elevator here.

Kingston-Rhinecliff ferries “Transport” and “Kingston” in their slips along the Rondout in the 1930s. The steam ferry “Transport” had been running on the route since 1881 while the “Kingston” a more modern diesel ferry began operating locally in 1930. It was unusual for the ferry company to own and operate more than one boat on the route. The historic ferry slip location is along the Rondout Creek Promenade at the eastern edge of the Hudson River Maritime Museum campus.

In 1942, so few automobiles were using the ferry, due to World War II gas rationing, the privately owned ferry company discontinued operation. In 1946 the New York State Bridge Authority (NYSBA) was charged by the New York State Legislature with the operation of the ferry. NYSBA purchased the necessary equipment and the ferry crossings started up again in May 1946. The George Clinton ran for the nine years of planning and construction of the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge. The ferry was discontinued with the 1957 opening of the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge.

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published August 18, 1974.

During the 1920's, every Sunday from late May until early September, the steamer “Homer Ramsdell" of the Central Hudson Line offered an excursion from Kingston to New York.  Leaving Rondout at 6:30 a.m., she would make landings at Poughkeepsie and Newburgh and arrive in New York at her pier at the foot of Franklin Street at 1 p.m.  Returning, she would leave New York at 4:30 p.m. and get back to Kingston at 11 p.m. 

In those days of long ago, the Sunday excursions on the “Homer Ramsdell” were very popular with residents of the mid-Hudson valley and many Kingston families made this day long sail on the Hudson an annual event.  In July of 1924, as a boy of 15, my father took me on one of these excursions. 

To a boy who thought the greatest thing in the world was a steamboat, the excursion was a memorable experience.  I made a note of every steamer we passed and in retrospect it is difficult to believe there were once so many steamboats in operation on the Hudson. 

After leaving Rondout on that sunny Sunday morning a half a century ago, the first steamer we met was the “Poughkeepsie” of the Central Hudson Line, off Staatsburgh.  She was coming up on her way to Kingston, having left New York the night before.  Landing at Poughkeepsie, I saw the ferryboat “Gove Winthrop” going into her Poughkeepsie slip and her running mate “Rinckerhoff" [Brinckerhoff?] landing at Highland. 

After we left Poughkeepsie, we saw very few boats as it was too early in the morning.  At Newburgh, the old ferryboat "City of Newburgh” was just coming over from Beacon and as we passed Cornwall we overtook the "Perseverance” of the Cornell Steamboat Company going down with the down tow of about forty loaded scows and barges.  The Cornell tugs “Victoria” and ‘‘Hercules” were helping on the tow.  When passing West Point, the ferry “Garrison” was going over the river to her namesake landing. 

Down off Grassy Point, the graceful “Hendrick Hudson” of the Day Line went by on her way to Albany and looked as if she were almost loaded to her passenger capacity of 5,500.  Off Croton Point, the brand new “Alexander Hamilton” went past on her way to Kingston Point — and just below Hook Mountain the “DeWitt Clinton” was going up river bound for Poughkeepsie.  Not too far behind her was the “Albany,” probably going to Indian Point.  In slightly over an hour we had passed four Day Liners.  Then came the Bear Mountain steamer “Clermont.”

By that time we were off Tarrytown.  Looking down the river on that clear day, one could see all the way down to New York harbor and could see everywhere all kinds of passenger steamboats and yachts coming up the river.  I was eagerly peering ahead to see if I could find my favorite, the “Benjamin B. Odell.” Sure enough, there she was coming up river with a big bone in her teeth, flags flying and black smoke pouring out of her big black smokestack. 
​
The "Odell" was overtaking the “Rensselaer” of the Albany Night Line — and had just passed the  propellor “Ossining” and the sidewheeler ‘‘Sirius" of the Iron Steamboat Company.  As she sped by the “Ramsdell", she blew one long blast salute on her whistle.  The white steam from her whistle ascending skyward and the big red house flag of the Central Hudson Line with the white letters “C.H.,” briskly flapping in the breeze from the flag staff in back of her pilot house, made a very impressive scene. 

​After we had passed this cluster of steamboats, along came the “Benjamin Franklin” of the Yonkers Line, closely followed by the Day Liner “Robert Fulton" on her way to Newburgh.  We then passed the ‘‘Mandalay" headed up river.  With her ferry boat-like bow, she was a nice looking steamer.  Below Hastings, a tow in charge of the Cornell tugboats “Geo. W. Washburn” and “Senator Rice" was on its way up river.  The “Washburn” blew a long salute to the "Ramsdell."

​Down off Yonkers, the speedy “Monmouth” of the Jersey Central Railroad and the Central Hudson steamer “Newburgh” were coming up, loaded with passengers for a day's outing up the river.  When we landed at 129th Street, I couldn't help but wonder how many people had boarded boats at that pier that morning.  It must have been several thousand.  On the south side of the pier lay the "Cetus" of the Iron Steamboat Company taking on passengers for Coney Island.

Going down through the harbor I saw the "Leviathan” of the U.S. Lines, then called the largest liner in the world, lying at her pier.  With her three big red, white and blue smokestacks, it was the first time I had ever seen her.

Christopher Street, the ‘‘Robert A. Snyder" of the Saugerties Evening Line was lying on the south side.  Going up river was the little sidewheeler ‘‘Sea Bird" with her large hog frame and walking beam.  The ‘‘Sandy Hook" was just leaving her pier at Houston Street on her way to Atlantic Highlands and the “Mary Patten" was on her way to Gansevoort Street, coming back from Long Branch.  By that time it was nearly 1 p.m. and we were landing at the Franklin Street pier. 

We left New York on our return trip promptly at 4:30 p.m.  For the next two and a half hours we passed a steady parade of steamboats, only this time they were all returning to New York.  We passed again all of the steamers we had in the morning except the "Hendrick Hudson" which had gone on to Albany.  In her stead, we passed the big “Washington Irving" which that day was the down Day Liner from Albany.  The down Cornell tow in charge of the "Perserverance" had gotten all the way down to Hook Mountain.  As we passed very close I remember how loud her whistle sounded when she blew a passing salute. 

When we were at Iona Island, I could see the "Onteora,” another favorite of mine, just pulling away from Bear Mountain.  That was the first I had seen her in two years as she had gone up river after we had landed at New York.  My older brother, Algot, had been the mate of the “Onteora" and in March of the year before he died of pneumonia.  When my father saw the “Onteora" ahead, I remember he got up and without saying a word walked to the other side of the "Ramsdell." I suppose he could not bear to see her got [go?] by knowing my brother was no longer aboard.

As the "Onteora" went by she was just straightening out on her course down river with a heavy port list after completing her turn around.  We passed so close I could make out Ben Hoff, her captain, at the wheel in the pilot house.  We again passed the “Geo. W. Washburn” and the "Senator Rice" with the up Cornell tow off Cons Hook.
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After we left Newburgh we passed the steamer ‘‘Ida" of the Saugerties Evening Line on her way to New York and, off Danskammer Point, the freighter "Storm King" of the Catskill Evening Line also bound south.  After that, as far as I know, we didn’t pass anything.  I remember dozing off in an easy chair on the saloon deck and getting off at Rondout about 11 p.m, and going home to bed.  For a boy, it had been a day to remember.