THE KEELBOATS AND FLATBOATS OF THE EARLY DAYS — DISCOURAGEMENTS OVERCOME BY FULTON AND HIS ASSOCIATES. - From the New-Orleans Picayune.

Lamothe Cadillac, one of the early Governors of Louisiana, sententiously declared: “No boat could ever be run up the Mississippi into the Wabash, the Missouri, or the Red River for any commercial or profitable purpose. As well,” said he, “try to bite off a slice of the moon.” According to his judgment the rapid currents of these streams and their extreme crookedness formed insurmountable obstacles to their utility.

Very fortunately, all men are not Cadillacs. In every age adventurous spirits had endeavored to solve the problem of the navigation of the Mississippi. They had followed the light-weight birch canoe of the Indian with various craft, more or less sightly, which moved over the bosoms of the grand stream and its tributaries, giving them new life.

From the bayous and interior lakes which beautify Louisiana out into the big river came the hunter with his spoils in a pirogue. This was a narrow canoe, pointed at each end, hollowed out from a single log, partly by burning, partly by hewing with an axe. Its occupant propelled it by paddling with a single paddle first on one side, then on the other. It was uncomfortable for either sitting or standing, but in the hands of an adept could cleave the waters with the swiftness of an arrow sped from the bow. The goélettes or oyster luggers sailed into the river from the bays. When they reached it, their sails were furled and the oystermen cordelled them up stream. These oyster vendors announced their approach in a style befitting Old Neptune himself, by blowing a resonant blast on a huge pink-lipped conch shell, termed by the Spaniards boca del diavolo, i. e., the devil’s mouth.

The radeau was a raft built of logs felled in the Louisiana swamps or on the shores of the Mississippi’s upper tributaries; it was floated down by the current to New-Orleans, and, having served its purpose, was sold as lumber.

The chaland, or flatboat, came from the west, freighted with a cargo of salted and smoked meats, barrels of apples, flour, corn, lard, cider and whisky, dried fruits, and stoneware, such as jars and crocks. As the term “flatboat” would indicate, this craft was flat-bottomed like a box, on one end a tiny cabin, a mere doll-house, was constructed for the use of the boatmen. The chaland was assisted in floating down stream by the use of long ‘‘sweeps,” or flat-bladed oars, generally only one pair. Fiddling, dancing, and singing varied the monotony of the boatman’s mercantile venture adown the Mississippi.

The chaland à bœufs, or cattle boat, was simply a magnified flatboat having a very large cabin pierced by many windows to admit of ventilation for the animals confined within.

The caboteur, also called pirogue à voile, was a species of sailboat of good dimensions, provided with rudder and oars in addition to the sail. At one end stood a cabin occupied by occasional passengers. This style of peddling vessel carried a mixed stock in trade of groceries, wines, cordials, dry goods, and table and kitchen ware. Having made satisfactory sales of these articles they would return to their original point of departure laden with freight from the plantations. These aquatic stores would ground at convenient landing places on plantation fronts or near the villages, and were visited by all the inhabitants of the surrounding country for the purpose of barter. Not coin alone, but poultry, butter, eggs, &c., were accepted in trade.

The keelboat, called by the Louisiana creoles “la barge,” was, however, the most generally accepted and comfortable river conveyance for freight, passengers, and crops of all kinds. Like the flatboats, the keelboats moved slowly, even going down stream, but the return up stream was tedious in the extreme. Flatboats were always sold at New-Orleans as soon as their freight was discharged, but keelboats would return to Pittsburg [sic], consuming from three to six months on the trip home, after having been at least six or seven weeks in going down the river.

Keelboats were “light, long, and narrow, sharp at both ends, and round-bottomed; they were rigged with one or two ‘sweeps’ on each side for propelling purposes, and a sweep at one end for use as a rudder.” These sweeps were rude ones of immense size, formed of young tree bodies, attached to the boat by iron pins, and having at their outer end a blade formed of thick plank or board. There were also one or two masts on the keelboats. Thus the oarsmen, of whom three were always a full complement, could run up sails when the breeze set in the proper direction and rest themselves. Setting poles were employed to free the boats from the sand bars on which they sometimes grounded or to push them along in shallow water, and also to force them away from accumulations of driftwood and snags which interfered with their progress.

In going up stream it was found extremely difficult to overcome the force of the strong, rapid current racing downward to reach the ocean. For this, warping and cordelling were resorted to. In both processes a hawser was attached to the mast. In warping, a tiny yawl was sent ahead of the keelboat carrying with it one end of the rope, this was fastened to a tree on the river bank, and as the boatman pulled hand over hand by the rope to the tree station, a second hawser was tied to another tree further on, to which point the men then pulled the boat, and thus the warping continued, the men in the yawl knotting each rope to a tree alternately, those in the keelboat pulling up to the trees by the hawsers.

Cordelling was frequently resorted to. In this method the heavy ropes were held at one end by men on shore, who walked along laboriously dragging the boat against the current. When admissible, mules were employed instead of oarsmen, thus relieving the latter of an arduous task. This system was employed by the ancient Romans, who propelled their wheelboats by men or oxen.

There was always a contracted apartment near the stern of a keelboat, which served as its cabin. These were not only of use for giving protection to occasional passengers, but were, in many instances, the sole residences of the boat owners. Owing to this fact the latter were factiously termed crocodiles, that is alligators, because, like these reptiles, they were equally at home on land or water.

That early travel on the Mississippi was not always a delight may easily be understood through the following announcement, published in 1797, giving due notice to possible passengers of the advantages possessed by keelboats about to leave port: “No danger need be apprehended, as every passenger will be under cover—proof against rifle and musket balls, with portholes for firing out of. Each of the boats will be armed with six pieces, carrying one-pound balls, also a number of good muskets and an ample supply of ammunition. They will be strongly manned and by masters of knowledge.” These warlike preparations were due to the necessity of providing protection.

Owing to its numerous difficulties and extreme inconvenience, traveling was not very customary with the fair sex of Louisiana in its early days, but the patricians of France and Spain, who had sought new homes on the wild shores of the turbulent Mississippi, knowing well the inestimable blessing of education, determined, in spite of all intervening obstacles, to procure it for their children. Their sons were sent in sailing vessels over the ocean to the time-honored educational institutions of Europe, while their daughters were delegated to the seclusion of the Ursuline Convent in New-Orleans. “Mademoiselle Marie,” (for eleven times out of a dozen she was so baptized,) with the addition of an aristocratic surname, made the trip adown the river, under the care of her father, in the rude craft of the period, feeling quite as grand as did Cleopatra when borne in her royal barge to meet Antony.

Occasionally families would make a river trip in their own boats, manned by their own slaves. They carried ample supplies of provisions, cooking utensils, bedding, awnings, &c. Tying up to the bank at night, they would build fires on the shores to frighten away the alligators coming from the river and swamp, and the wild animals from the forest, then pitch their tents, like wandering Arabs, under the trees, and rest peacefully until dawn appeared.

There are many souvenirs of a romantic nature connected with travel on the Mississippi previous to its awakening by the whistle of the steamboat. The traditions of one creole family point to an ancestor who wooed his bride on a keelboat. She was a blooming, dark-eyed maiden, on her homeward trip from “Le Convent,” who, to while away the tedium of the journey, chanted sweet French hymns acquired in the cloister to the notes of a guitar. The music touched the impulsive heart of the handsome fellow-traveler and “Mademoiselle Marie” never returned to the convent to assume the veil, as she had been more than half inclined to.
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On another occasion a wealthy widower, a planter on the river coast, desired a governess for his charming daughters; a keelboat landed at his plantation gates; he visited it and discovered on board a family moving from the East to Louisiana; one of its members was a grown daughter, well educated and attractive. Among the household goods of the family was a piano. The planter secured the services of the young lady and the instrument for the education of his children. It is not strange, under the circumstances, that in a short while the planter was seeking another governess, while his home owned a new mistress. 

"The hour was approaching, however, when there would be an end to romance on keelboats; the era of steam was about to revolutionize the world. The lad Fulton had attained manhood; he had been inspired by inventive genius to perfect that steam navigation which had occupied so many minds for so long a while, and he was successful. In 1803 this young Pennsylvanian launched a small steamboat on the Seine, in 1807 he placed a second on the Hudson; gratified with his success, his ambition pointed to a still greater possible triumph on the Mississippi, although it was declared by all but a very few that it would be impossible for him to build any steamboat that could stem the strong and rapid current of the great river. Fulton turned a deaf ear to all adverse prophecies and worked toward the end he had in view until his efforts culminated in success.

Of the various persons who have disputed Fulton’s laurels as the inventor of the first perfect steamboat, Edward West’s claims are the strongest. West, father of the noted painter William West, was a Virginian of Welsh extraction, who settled in Lexington, Ky., 1785, as a watchmaker, he being the first workman of that nature ever in the town. He was a serious investigator of steam and its possibilities, and constructed all the machinery for his experiments himself; among these machines was a tiny steam engine made in 1799, and which is even yet in the museum of the lunatic asylum at Cincinnati. In August of 1801 he exhibited to the Lexingtonians a boat wherein he had applied steam to the oars; he obtained a patent for this. Its model was unfortunately destroyed at the burning of Washington City by the British in 1814, along with the model of his patented nail-cutting machine, the first one ever invented; it cut 5,320 pounds of nails in twelve hours. West sold this patent for $10,000. It was on the Elkorn, at Lexington, that West first exhibited his boat. Disappointed at having to yield the palm of successful steamboat navigation to Fulton, he died at Lexington Aug. 23, 1827, aged seventy. It may be that West’s claim was just, but Fulton certainly was the first one to bring steam navigation prominently before the public, the first one to make it useful for commercial and traveling purposes; in consequence of this, greatest credit will always attach to him.

While Fulton was busy working out practically his dream of steam power, many changes had occurred on the Mississippi. Louisiana had passed from the dominion of France to that of Spain, and again from the latter to that of the United States. Its name was no longer “Province of Louisiana,” but “Territory of Orleans.” New-Orleans, its seat of Government, had become an incorporated city, and the Territory itself was knocking loudly at the door of the Union demanding admission as its eighteenth State.

The Territorial Legislature of 1811, which previous to its adjournment received official information of the passage of the act to enable the citizens of the Territory to frame a Constitution and State government preparatory to the admission of the new State into the Union, was the identical one which also passed an act granting to Fulton and his associate, Livingston, “the sole and exclusive privilege to build, construct, make, use, employ, and navigate boats, vessels, and water craft urged or propelled through water by fire or steam, in all the creeks, rivers, bays, and waters whatever within the jurisdiction of the Territory during eighteen years from the 1st of January, 1812.

In the "Clermont", which Fulton tested on the Hudson in 1809, Fulton made use of a vertical wheel invented by Nicholas J. Roosevelt, who was deeply interested in the evolution of Fulton’s invention. After the acknowledged success on the Hudson, it was decided that this Roosevelt should go down the Ohio from Pittsburg, out into the Mississippi, and on down to New-Orleans, studying all the way its topography, and above all its currents.

With this end in view, Roosevelt, accompanied by his wife and the necessary men to handle it, made the trip on a flatboat. It was in May of 1809 that Roosevelt started on his journey, making stops at Cincinnati, Louisville, and Natchez, (the only towns of any note whatsoever between Pittsburg and New-Orleans,) and reaching New-Orleans in November; at each town he had been told it would be utter madness to attempt such a feat as to overcome by steam the wild current of the Mississippi; all to whom he spoke of the joint intention of Fulton and himself to inaugurate steam travel on its turbid waters wished him well, but would depict in strong terms the impossibility of so bold a venture.

On reaching Pittsburg in January of 1810, after having consumed six months with his journey of investigation, Roosevelt made such a report that Fulton and Livingston were encouraged to start the immediate building of the pioneer steamer which was to pit its strength against the velocity of the rushing waters of the mighty river. At that period sawmills were not existent, the lumber for the boat was got out by hand and rafted down to Pittsburg, where the steamer was constructed according to the plan furnished by Fulton. It was given a 100-ton capacity; a wheel at the stern, and two masts; its length was 116 feet, its width 20 feet; its engine was manufactured at a Pittsburg foundry under the immediate superintendence of Roosevelt and Latrobe, and possessed a 34-inch cylinder. The boat was made comfortable by two separate cabins for passengers, that for ladies containing four berths.

Latrobe was a noted architect of his day, and in 1816 came to New-Orleans to build the city water works, but failed to do so, as the city could not furnish the necessary funds.

The new boat was baptized the "New-Orleans", as it was intended to ply between that city and the hill town of Natchez. In the early days of September this graceful, well-proportioned steam craft left Pittsburg on its experimental journey, its only passengers being Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt and their Newfoundland dog; its crew consisted of six deck hands, a Captain, a pilot, Andrew Jack by name, and Baker, the engineer, in addition to whom there were the cook, a waiter, and two maids.

The mouth of the Ohio was reached without any extraordinary event, but on entering the Mississippi it was discovered in a state of overflow. On each side the land was under water, and the pilot, who had so bravely faced the dangers of the falls at Louisville and brought the boat safely over them, was now terror-stricken, for he had lost all his bearings. Everything was changed, the entire river seemed to have altered its course, whole islands marked on his chart had vanished completely, and the waters had eaten new cut-offs through the forests; but there were brave spirits aboard the "New-Orleans", and with trust and hope in Providence they continued cautiously on their way. Owing to the danger of attack from Indians, instead of tying up at night, the boat was compelled to anchor in the stream. Even under these circumstances the Indians one night endeavored to board it, and it was only by the superiority of the velocity of steam power over that of the Indian canoe paddles that the "New-Orleans" crew escaped their wild pursuers, who were ready to attack them, even while frightened at a new craft, whose motive power, being invisible to them, filled them with awe.

One evening, in spite of their knowledge that the move was a dangerous one, the crew of the "New-Orleans" tied her up to some trees growing on an island. During the night they were awakened by a crashing noise, and the fact that the boat was being knocked about by some mysterious agency. Imagine their surprise and fright when they discovered the island had been entirely destroyed by the flood, and the motion of the boat was caused by the timber from it being washed up against the sides of the craft and bumping it about. Gathering their scattered wits into some kind of order, the officers of the "New-Orleans" once more started her down the river, moving with care, at a speed rate, it is said, of three miles an hour, although she is declared to have made eight miles on the Ohio. Finally the yellow, sun-baked bluffs of Natchez were sighted, and as the graceful little steamer came toward them, breasting the Mississippi current with the ease of a swan swimming over a smooth pond, all the inhabitants of the town gathered on the bluffs to view her, and wild, loud, and prolonged were the shouts which welcomed her advent. At Natchez the "New-Orleans" received the first cotton ever carried on the waters of the Mississippi, or anywhere else, by steam, the shipper being Mr. Samuel Davis.

When the "New-Orleans", speeding on its way, reached that portion of the river bank above the City of New-Orleans called “the coast,” along which lay the plantations, all animals—domesticated and wild—rushed away from the extraordinary spectacle in amazed affright; masters and slaves quit alike their pleasure and toll to gaze in open-eyed surprise on this great wonder, this steam-breathing Queen of the Waters.

Steadily the well-proportioned boat speeds down stream until the 10th of January finds the population of New-Orleans flocking en masse to the levee to welcome this name-child of their prosperous city, the steamboat "New-Orleans".

After her warm welcome at the Crescent City, the "New-Orleans" made one trip on the Ohio, and then ran from New-Orleans to Natchez until she was destroyed by fire at Baton Rouge in the Winter of 1813-14. Her life was short, but she had fulfilled her destiny. New boats followed in her wake, having as commanders and pilots the flatboatmen and bargemen of former times. Cotton, which had formerly been limited in cultivation owing to the great expense of handling such heavy freight when it was compulsory to transport it on barges, now became the staple crop. In 1820 it amounted to 600,000 bales, by 1835 it had reached 1,500,000, one-half of which was sent to the New-Orleans market. The population, too, increased marvelously, for men were not slow to flock to the rich lands bordering the Mississippi after the transportation of crops became facile and rapid.

The second boat sent down the Mississippi was the "Vesuvius", built at Pittsburg in 1814, and enrolled at New-Orleans the same year, that city being the only port where boats could be enrolled at that time, as there was no Custom House at Pittsburg nor at Cincinnati. The "Vesuvius" was commanded by Capt. De Hart, and just prior to the fight at Chalmette, Gen. Jackson took possession of her to transport arms and ammunition. She, however, was so unfortunate as to get aground, and reached New-Orleans too late for the battle. Like her predecessor, she was short lived, having burned at New-Orleans in 1816.

As the demands of commerce increased, new boats were supplied, until by 1820 there were fifty plying on the Mississippi, and a regular packet line was the same year established between Vicksburg and New-Orleans, the first one being the Mississippi, built in New-York, and placed originally on the Alabama River.

Under the steamboat system, travel became a luxurious pleasure, much indulged in by the river planters especially. When a journey was undertaken, a slave was stationed on the river bank to watch for the approach of a steamer; during the day he waved a white flag to signal it, during the night he burned a beacon fire on the levee and rapidly circled a blazing pine torch in the air, while in stentorian tones he cried out, “Steamboat ahoy! ahoy! ahoy! ahoy!” as the boat hove into sight; a few shrill shrieks from the whistle acknowledged the signal, a bell clanged, the steamer rounded to, a gangplank was extended from the lower deck to the shore, and the traveler had begun his journey.

From 1812 until the present time, there has been but one variation in the adopted method of steamboat signaling—a change which had its birth in a new era, a greater era than that of steam navigation, the era of freedom. The man still waves the white flag and circles the blazing torch, but since 1864 the hand with which he grasps them is that of a freedman!
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Of late years the steamboat trade of New-Orleans is only a fraction of what it was previous to the laying of so many railroads through Louisiana and its sister States. Yet the levees and piers which extend back from the river some two hundred feet along the whole length of the city, and which in their days of infancy were mostly prized as yielding space for a pleasant promenade, are still a Babel of confusion, an anthill of industry.

​Very few persons who journey up and down the Hudson River either upon the palatial steamers or upon the railway trains that run along both banks of this great waterway know how great an amount of wealth is daily floated to this city on the canalboats and barges that compose the immense tows that daily leave West Troy, Lansingburg, Albany, Kingston, and other points along the river bound for this city. Twice each day-—early in the morning and in the evening—a large number of tows made up of boats that have come through the Erie Canal from Buffalo, the Northern Canal from points along Lake Champlain as far north as Rouse's Point, and through the Delaware and Hudson Canal from the anthracite coal regions of Lackawanna and Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, leave the above places in tow of huge side-wheel towboats and of puffing little screw propeller tugs, all moving toward one objective point, which is New-York City.

​Frequently these tows will be bunched together, so that, within a distance of three or four miles on the river, there can be seen several hundred barges and canalboats afloat carrying in their holds hundreds of thousands of dollars in merchandise, produce, lumber, grain, and ore. Many of these single tows contain as much as 100 boats, and sometimes a larger number, marshaled six and eight abreast, and reaching back at least a quarter of a mile from the stern of the leaders to the sterns of the last boats. Few persons would believe it, if told that enough freight was carried in a single tow of this kind to load a couple of dozen large trains of freight cars; yet such in the case.

During the past week several such tows have arrived from Albany in tow of the powerful tugs of the Schuyler Steam Towboat Line of 15 South-street. Their largest steamer, the huge side-wheeler Vanderbilt, only a few days ago brought down from Albany 120 grain barges, each barge carrying from 8,000 to 10,000 bushels of grain, weighing 240 tons, with a gross tonnage for the entire tow of nearly 40,000 tons. On Tuesday last one of their smaller boats, the Belle, Capt. John Oliver, assisted by the propeller James T. Easton, brought seventy-four boats from Albany and Troy, many of them laden with iron ore from Lake Champlain, while the others were loaded with grain and lumber and lying so low in the water that much of the time they were partially submerged. The gross tonnage of this tow was over 25,000 tons.
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In taking a trip from this city to Albany, frequently as many as fifty of these tows are passed, it taking about thirty-six or forty hours for them to reach port at this city after leaving Albany. From Kingston, which is the tide-water outlet of the Delaware and Hudson Canal, another class of merchandise is shipped in the same manner. From the mouth of the Rondout Creek, which forms the harbor of the thriving and busy city of Kingston, can be seen emerging every evening huge rafts of canalboats, tall-masted down-Easters, and barges of various sorts, laden with coal, ice, hay, lumber, lime, cement, bluestone, brick, and country produce. Many of these craft have received their cargoes at the wharves of Kingston, while others have come from the coal regions about Honesdale and Scranton, in Pennsylvania, all bound for this port and consigned to, perhaps, as many different persons as there are boats in the tow.

Of the heaviest part of the traffic of the entire river at least two-thirds is monopolized by the two great towing companies, the Cornell Transportation Company of Kingston and the Schuyler Steam Towboat Line of Albany. The Schuyler Company practically has a monopoly of the trade coming from the Erie and Champlain Canals at Albany and Troy, as well as the towing for the Pennsylvania Coal Company from Newburg, while the Cornells hold in a tight grasp the business of the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company from Kingston, both north and south, on the river. The business of the Knickerbocker and other ice companies, which is something immense in volume, is scattered about among individual towboat owners, the two companies spoken of above, and several smaller towing lines.
On the arrival of the tows that come from various points up the river at this port a complete transformation takes place from the sleepy quiet that has reigned on the boats while slowly, but steadily, on their way creeping down the river. As soon as a large tow is sighted far up the river, a number of tugs belonging to the various towing lines in the harbor start with a full head of steam and race with each other to reach the tow. Each tug carries orders from the consignee of some particular boat to take it from the tow and place it in some selected berth. The boats to be dropped first from the tow are always placed on the outside or on the tail end, and as soon as the tugs reach them they begin to cast off and the tow begins to break up. They are then picked up by the tugs sent for them and taken to their several destinations.

The boats from the Albany tows, laden with flour and grain, are mostly taken to the piers along the East River from Pier 3 to Coenties-slip, the Erie and Atlantic Basins, and the elevator docks at Dow’s stores in Brooklyn. The boats laden with lumber, brick, cement, lime, building material, and bluestone from Kingston and other points are docked at the brick, stone, and lumber yards along the North and East Rivers, the coal barges go to Weehawken and Perth Amboy, and the ice barges to various stations along the North and East Rivers.
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Among the famous towboats plying between this city and up-river points are the America, Anna, Belle, Cayuga, Connecticut, Niagara, Ontario, Syracuse, Vanderbilt, Oswego, Mount Washington, Austin, Sammy Cornell, James T. Easton, the famous old ice king the Norwich, and many others. Many of these boats have labored upon this great waterway for at least thirty years, and some of them for a longer period. They have earned fortunes for their owners, and have also furnished employment for a huge army of men whose lives have been spent on the river and whose occupation promises to descend to their children in turn. The wealth that has been transported to this city in tow of this fleet of steam vessels is incalculable, and probably far exceeds if not doubles that of any other waterway in the world.

Fortune Telling – A system of fraud has been lately followed in this city, to a considerable extent, which is important the public should have a knowledge of, that they may guard against impositions. A man named Pierce has been in the practice of enticing people from the country to houses on pretence of getting their fortunes told, and he would then fleece them out of their money. His practice was to leave the city until he ascertained that the cheated person had gone off, and he would then return and practice his villanies on others. Complaints had sometimes been made to the police officers, but they could never get Pierce, until the complainant had left the city, and there was then no evidence to convict him. But last week the biter got bit.

One or two weeks ago, a man from Vermont, named Carey, who had engaged a passage to the west, in a canal boat, was accosted by Pierce, who told him he was going in the same boat, and by his attentions to him become ingratiated in his favor. He proposed to C. to go and get their fortunes told.

In going across one of the pier bridges, they met a man named Brown; P. pretended to be a stranger to him, and asked him where there was a fortune teller. B. said he was one. They then went into a store on the pier, where B. commenced telling P's fortune, and the latter expressed his great astonishment that he could tell him so correctly, how old he was and where he was born, & c. He then urged Carey to have his fortune told, but C. declined. P. and B. then began to bet on the turning up of cards.

Finally B. offered to bet $50 that he would turn up a particular card after the pack had been shuffled by his adversary. Pierce said he had but $210 with him, and after much urging, he persuaded Carey to lend him forty dollars. The particular card was not turned up, when P. seized the money and immediately left the room. Carey could not find him afterwards. He made complaint to the police, but Pierce could not be found, having gone off as usual. The police advised Carey to leave the ciy in the boat in which he had engaged to go to the western part of the state, but to stop a few miles out for town for a short time, and advise where he could be found, in case they secured Pierce. The plan succeeded; Pierce, having ascertained that Carey had gone, and supposing him far away from the city, returned, intending no doubt to renew his schemes on others. But the officers of Justice laid their hands on him, and having obtained the attendance of Carey, the cunning Mr. Pierce was committed to prison, and will be tried next week. He has been taught the lesson that simple honest is better than the deepest craft.
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Brown left the city at the same time with Pierce. He also has since been arrested. Albany Gazette

"Crazy Uncle Gail's" Idea and What Came of lt. - Northern Star (Lismore, New South Wales, Australia), June 10, 1893. 
           
About forty years ago Gail Borden, a civil engineer of New England ancestry, conceived the idea that milk could be boiled down in a vacuum till from the liquid condition it became substantially solid, and in that state, preserved by means of another Yankee invention -- the sealed tin can -- it could be kept for any length of time.  Mr. Borden had lived much in the south, particularly in Texas, and he had seen the great need of such an article as his invention would produce if his idea was practicable.  He began experimenting on this and other ideas that teemed in his overflowing brain.
           
Eighteen years he experimented with the milk condensing.  He made a success of the condensation, but he could not make it a financial success.  He spent all the money he got on his new ideas, for there were so many of them.  People who knew him, especially the neighbors, made merry over the milk condensing notion.  They would have believed a.man conld take wings and fly to heaven bodily as easily as he could condense milk and ship it all over the world.  The man who would think of such a thing was nothing less than off his head. So they called him "crazy Uncle Gail," these kind neighbors.
           
But Uncle Gail had a son, John G.  No man except perhaps Edison is at once inventor and financier.  Gail Borden had to wait till his son John was grown before the milk condensing became a financial success.  Gail was an inventor, and Providence kindly sent him a son who was a financier, the only trouble being that Uncle Gail had to wait eighteen years till the son was old enough to take hold of the financial end of the business. Then it became one of the greatest successes on record.
           
The elder Borden waited patiently and hopefully. At last, when it began to look as if the enterprise would be a go, Uncle Gail said one day, "If I thought the condensery would ever consume as much as 5,000 quarts of milk a day, I should be satisfied and happy."
           
Well, there are now six great Borden milk condensing plants in various parts
of the country.  Two of them are in Illinois.  Not long since 1 visited one of the New York factories.  It was not one of the largest, yet it alone consumes 33,000 quarts of milk a day, manufacturing daily 10,000 pounds of the finished product. What the whole six factories consume may be calculated from this.  The condensed milk goes all over the earth.  Peary took it to the north pole with him.  Explorers flavor their coffee with it under the equator in Africa.  Best of all, "Crazy Uncle Gail" lived to see the enterprise he had set his heart on assume almost its present colossal proportions: then he rested from his labors with the sweet consciousness that he had helped mankind.
           
Visitors are allowed in every part of the Borden condenseries.  The tall and good looking superintendent of the one I visited in Wallkill valley, Mr. Smith, himself conducted me through the departments of the factory and gave me every facility for obtaining information.  The milk, with granulated sugar stirred into it, is boiled down in vacuum in great shining copper tanks.  I am proud that the invention belongs to America.
           
The first thought of one visiting the condensery is that no one need ever be afraid to use condensed milk.  The factory is absolutely the cleanest place I ever saw. The floor of the machine shop where the cans are made is scrubbed every Saturday; ditto the engine room.  Gail Bordon, of blessed memory, had a sort of craze for cleanliness, a beneficent craze which his son held after him.  The firm make their own tin cans at the factory, and you will be surprised to know that girl machinists do the work.  They are cleaner and more deft with their fingers than boys would be, and making the little cans requires neatness and precision. They make excellent wages, I was told.
           
At various conspicuous places this sign in big letters meets your eye: "No Smoking. Spitting on Floor Is Prohibited.  Read the Other Side."  When you turn
it over the other side says exactly the same thing. lt requires nearly five pounds of milk in the natural state to make one pound of the condensed product.
           
The condensery has its own set of milk farmers, who deliver the year round.  They must obey strictly certain rules laid down by the firm.  One of these is that no ensilage shall be used.  They say they cannot use ensilage milk for making the condensed product.  They declare further that feeding cows on ensilage through the season is much the same as feeding people on sauerkraut all the year.  The superintendent of the factory said he had put his hand into some of what was called prime ensilage.  He found it hot and fermenting.  If his statement will add any new fury to the ensilage war 1 shall be glad.  I have no cows and no opinion, and am not in the fight.
           
The farmers furnish their own cans.  The exquisite cleanliness that pervades the factory must extend also to the farms that supply milk to it.  The farmers are expected to keep the outside of the cans clean, but the inside is cleansed at the factory itself.  That is a task the condensers require to be performed under their own eyes.  The milk is strained a second time after it comes to the factory, and is likewise passed through an aerating machine.  

Every can of milk that comes in is inspected separately.  The inspector from the condensery visits constantly the cow stables on the farms to see that they are kept free from filth and odors.  The farmers average about twenty-five cows apiece.  No stagnant water, no dead animals must be allowed on the place.  The barnyards must be kept clean.
Written by Eliza Archard Conner, June 10, 1893

From the Queanbeyan Observer (New South Wales, Australia) December 1, 1896.
           
Not less than 100,000 gallons of milk daily are consumed in New York city, Brooklyn and the smaller cities that all together come under the head of what we call greater New York.  From Newburg, sixty miles up the Hudson, a milk boat carries 10,000 gallons daily to the city. Much of New York's milk supply comes from Orange, Sullivan, Ulster and Dutchess counties.

TERRIBLE EXPLOSION.
(From the Special Correspondent of the "New York Tribune.")
Newburgh, June 3, 1868.

Dwellers along the Hudson River for a distance of 30 miles north and south of
this city were startled at six o'clock this morning by the shaking of their houses, the
rattling of windows, and two distinct, heavy, rumbling reports. Many supposed that two
shocks of an earthquake had taken place, and rushed from their houses in excitement.
The cause of the excitement was the explosion of 10,000 pounds of powder, and the
blowing up of two powder mills, owned by Messrs. Smith and Rand, about four miles
west of this city, on the South Plank Road, leading to Walden, Orange County. A visit to
the spot revealed the following facts: The graining mill, where the first explosion
occurred, was a sort of double building, 20 by 16 feet, built of stone, with wooden sides
and one story high. It stood about one hundred feet from the main road, separated from
the latter by a clump of trees. In it at the time of the explosion was five tons of powder,
the most of it being in the grain. The glazing mill was situated across a dam, about one
hundred feet from the graining mill, and was about fifteen feet in diameter, octagonal in
form, and was in no way connected with the graining mill. In it at the time of the
explosion was about a ton of powder.

At exactly six o'clock this morning the graining mill blew up, the fire shooting with
great violence across the dam to the glazing mill, and in five seconds thereafter that
was also blown to fragments. The scene is described as being fearfully grand. The
foundation of the graining mill was scooped out as though with a shovel. Huge sticks of
timber were thrown through the air for a quarter of a mile, small trees were uprooted,
and hurled a long distance; while larger and older trees were entirely stripped of leaves
and branches; and their trunks blackened and charred. At the foot of trees numbers of
dead birds were found, having been instantly killed by the powerful shock. A large iron
shaft four inches in diameter, led from the graining mill to another building on the south
side of the road. It was seventy-five feet long. The end nearest to the building which
exploded was bent almost double; while a portion of the shaft fifteen feet long was
broken off and hurled over 400 yards from the scene. For more than a quarter of mile
the ground is strewn with the debris. Huge timbers, blackened and splintered with
powder, heavy and long limbs of trees, and in many instances whole trees, ragged and
torn, block the paths and roads leading to spot. A storage building on the south side of
the road, distant all of 150 yards from the graining mill, was badly shattered. It
contained three tons of powder in kegs. The large door at the main entrance was blown
off, the sides of the building crushed in, and the roof greatly damaged. Fortunately, the
powder in the building did not ignite.

Of course, as soon as the danger consequent upon the terrific explosion had
passed away, there was a rush to ascertain if anyone was killed. At the time of the
occurrence there, there was only one man in the graining-mill and none in the others.
His name was Adam Schosser [?], a German. He was employed as Messrs. Smith and 
Rand's service for several years, and was considered perfectly trust-worthy. He had
often asserted that he knew his business too well to be blown up. He was undoubtedly
blown high in air, some suppose 1000 feet. His head and shoulders were found at a
distance of 500-yards from the spot where the explosion occurred, mangled and torn
beyond recognition. An arm was found, lodged in the crutch of a tree, while for a
distance of a quarter of a mile pieces of flesh and parts of his limbs were found strewn
along the ground and hanging to limbs of trees. All the parts found were collected and
placed in a barrel. Coroner Thomas Bingham of Newburgh, who arrived soon after the
occurrence, empannelled a jury, and an inquest was held over about two-thirds of the
body, the jury returning a verdict in accordance with the facts.

The shock in this city was terrific. Houses were shaken to their foundation and in
many places windows were shattered. Standing in one of the streets and looking
toward the spot where the explosion occurred a huge column of smoke and dust was
seen to shoot upward fully 1000 feet into the heavens, presenting a scene grand
beyond description. A vast ring of smoke whirled far up and gradually widening in area,
was a sight never witnessed before in this vicinity. The concussion started persons who
were thus slumbering, in many cases arose trembling and anxious to know the cause.
For a distance of ten miles back, on the opposite side of the river, the explosion was
distinctly heard, while West Point, Peekskill, Sing Sing and Poughkeepsie the report
was also noticed. Three years ago a similar explosion took place at the same spot;
when one man was killed. Had the explosion of this morning occurred one hour later,
the loss of life would have been fearful, as at 7 a.m. the twenty men employed at the
works commence labor, when, in all probability, every one of them would have been
blown to pieces.-"Maryborough Chronicle, Wide Bay and Burnett Advertiser" (Queensland, Australia.), September 22, 1868

​The New York Times, Sunday, January 28, 1973, By Woody N. Klose
It is because of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's abiding love for the river and its winter ice that a slice of Hudson Valley history could be reconstructed last year in an 80‐foot‐long basement in a house high on a bill overlooking Newburgh.
​
There, in the house of contractor, Robert R. Lawrence, a band of devoted valley men reconstructed the legendary gaff‐rigged ice yacht "Jack Frost".  Had it not been for Roosevelt, the "Jack Frost" would long ago have become just another part of the rich valley earth.

Commodore Archibald Rogers of Hyde Park owned the original Jack Frost, an iceboat of staggering dimensions. Built in 1883, the original "Jack Frost" carried 760 square feet of sail and measured 49½ feet from bow to stern along the backbone.

In 1938 when the boathouse in which the "Jack Frost" was stored was destroyed by a hurricane, Roosevelt, concerned about the future of iceboating, gave the huge boat to Richard Aldrich of Barrytown. Aldrich had done much to keep alive the spirit of iceboating and, in the process, had amassed a sizable collection of antique ice yachts of Hudson River design, with the steering runner in the stern.
​
Unfortunately, the original backbone, cockpit and runnerplank of the "Jack Frost" had been left in the open, near the remains of the boathouse, where they disintegrated and disappeared. But the hollow spars and much of the hardware were saved, and using dimensions on file in the archives of the Roosevelt Library, the "Jack Frost" was born again.

Under the supervision of Ray Ruge, a foremost ice yacht expert, and Lawrence, the "Jack. Frost" was reconstructed, incorporating the pieces of the original boat. However, the craftsmen did not reconstruct the original "Jack Frost", designed and built in 1883 but refashioned the one of 1900, a slightly different model.
​
As was the custom then, during all the modifications she never lost her name. While the owner might have a new backbone constructed or alter the size of sails or runners, he would not change the name of his prize boat. So the name, "Jack Frost", was transferred from boat to boat over two decades and down through half a century as the ice‐yacht was created, modified, almost destroyed and eventually reconstructed.

It was a problem, locating and buying timbers large enough to reconstruct her. The Hudson River Ice Yacht Club procured 10 pieces of Sitka spruce from the West Coast. Sitka spruce grows only in Alaska and British Columbia and is especially prized for its uniform character and long, straight grain. The club paid $1,000 for this valuable wood.

The racing history of the "Jack Frost" is as unusual as the craft itself. Sailing for the Poughkeepsie Ice Yacht Club in 1883, her maiden year, she won the Ice Yacht Challenge Pennant of America, beating sailors and boats from North Shrewsbury, N.J. She won again in 1887, under the colors of the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club.

In 1893, she took on the Orange Lake Ice Yacht Club for the pennant, and the result was the same. There were two races for the pennant in 1902 and "Jack Frost" sailed home with the trophy both times.

Since then, the race for the challenge pennant and even the "Jack Frost" have almost become forgotten. They began to be “things that can wait till next year.” By World War I, ice yachting on the Hudson had all but vanished.

Thanks to the leadership of Ruge, Lawrence, Aldrich's son, Ricky, and many others, iceboating on the Hudson River is coming back strong.

Hudson Register Star, January 17, 1976    
Historic Ice Yacht Glides Down Hudson River Again
“Jack Frost”, four-time winner of the ice yacht Challenge Pennant …  was taken off the ice for many years. It was launched on Orange Lake in 1973 after the Hudson River Ice Sailing Club spent three years restoring it. In was put back on the Hudson (River) in January 1976 off Croton. In February it was trucked to Barrytown when the ice off Croton began to break up.  It needs at least six inches of ice to support its 2,500 pound weight.
 
Robert Bard of Red Hook, a Hudson River Ice Sailing Club member, said the restoration was completed by the combined effort of many persons who often met Tuesday evening after work to lavish attention on the boat.
 
Reid Bielenberg of Red Hook assisted with the rigging, and Bard helped mix adhesive. Other local men who helped in different stages were Dick Suggat of Rhinebeck, Earl A’Brial of Red Hook, Bob Fennel of Barrytown and Rick Aldrich of Barrytown.
 
Bard said the craft was launched at Barrytown with some difficulty, because of its weight and size. Its mast is more than 30 feet tall and seven inches in diameter. The boom is 33 feet long, and its main runners are 28 feet long.

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.

Editor's Note: This article was originally written by Anthony P. Musso and published in the November 1, 2017 issue of the Poughkeepsie (NY) Journal. For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to White Wings and Black Ice here.  ​

HYDE PARK - On the east bank of the Hudson River along River Point Road in Hyde Park is a long, wood-frame structure that once served as a boathouse for John Aspinwall Roosevelt, uncle of former U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt. The parcel of land the building sits on was once part of an estate named Rosedale, which was owned by the late president's grandfather, Isaac.
     
Beginning in the mid- to late-18th century, wealthy families from New York City started to acquire large tracts of land to establish estates, many in Hyde Park. Names such as Bard, Roosevelt, Rogers, Langdon, Astor, Vanderbilt and Mills were among the most prominent.
     
A popular pastime for many of them became ice-yacht racing along the Hudson River. While it proved to be an exciting spectator sport for residents in the area, the activity was quickly dubbed a “rich man’s hobby.”
     
​Following the death of Isaac Roosevelt in 1863, his son John inherited Rosedale and had the boathouse erected to house his vessel, named Icicle. A champion ice yacht racer, Roosevelt's boat — at 68 feet, 10 inches long and boasting a sail spread of 1,070 square feet — was the largest ice boat in the world at the time. 

“Icicle is now owned by the New York State Museum {Editor Note: "Icicle is on loan from the National Park Service Home of Franklin Delano Roosevelt] and is currently on loan to the [Hudson River] Maritime Museum in Kingston,” said Jeffrey Urbin, education specialist at the FDR Presidential Library and Museum. The boathouse featured six casement windows, a paneled wooden door and a board and batten-hinged door. The lower portion of its northern end was constructed of stone. The design of the boathouse was crafted specifically to store Roosevelt's ice yacht fleet while the space available above was occupied by sails.
 
The building’s double-pitched roof provided additional space in the loft, in his younger years, FDR stored his 28-foot ice yacht, named Hawk, in the structure; the boat was a Christmas gift from his mother, Sara, in 1901.

In 1861, at 21 years old, John Roosevelt founded and became the commodore of the Poughkeepsie Ice Yacht Club and, in 1885, he founded and held the same position with the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club. Both organizations still exist today.

The area the boathouse occupies became known as Roosevelt Point and, during the latter part of the 19th and early 20th centuries, was used as the starting point for many world-class races held along the river. With a smaller version of the original Icicle — this one spanning 50 feet with a 750-square-foot sail area — John Roosevelt won the Ice Yacht Challenge Pennant of America in 1888, '89, ‘92 and ‘99. 

An additional structure that no longer exists at the site but once sat just south of the boathouse was known as the Roosevelt Point Cottage. Built in the 1850s as a tenant dwelling on the estate, records indicate that, from 1877 through 1886, it was occupied by Rosedale's gardener, Robert Gibson,
     
The cottage maintained a front room that featured a stove, in which ice yacht enthusiasts could find warmth while waiting for a favorable wind to take their vessels on the river.
     
“Ice yachting went into decline after 1912 as other pursuits, such as the automobile and airplane, captured the fascination of the public,” said John Sperr, of the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club. “World events were also a factor in the demise of ice yachting on the Hudson, as the onset of World War II found it necessary to keep the river open in winter so the large munitions and war material produced in Troy, Watervliet and Schenectady could be readily put into service.”
     
​The land the boathouse occupies was separated from Rosedale during the 1950s, when single-family homes were built on the former estate. Today, along with Isaac Roosevelt's house (located closer to Route 9), the boathouse remains vacant but an original remnant of the thriving 19th-century estate. 

I was awfully glad when a friend proposed a trip to Saratoga.  I had been awfully jolly in New York, but New York had gone out of town, leaving nothing but its streets and its tram-cars behind it.  In London we have such a perpetual flow of visitors — over one hundred thousand daily — that a fellow doesn't so much miss the "big crowd" as here, consequently when Saratoga was decided upon I felt extremely pleased indeed.  I had heard much of the palatial river steamers, and expected much.  I was down at Pier 41 at an early hour, and found the whole place occupied by one boat.  Such a boat! white as the driven snow, and larger than many an English village.  The people kept going into her until I imagined some game was up, and that they were stepping out at the other side.  No such thing; there was room for all ay, and more.  It was something immense to see the men getting into line for the ticket-office, with as much precision as if they were on parade.  No hurry, no crush, the regular "first come, first served" business, not as with us, when the biggest man comes to the front, and muscular Christianity tops over everything.  And the luggage! mountains of it, from enormous nickel-bound boxes, fit to carry Cleopatra's Needle, to dainty hand-bags, such as Queen Victoria's take with them when rushing at sixty miles an hour "Upon Her Majesty's Service.'

Near the gangway stood a handsome, gentlemanlike man, whose semi-naval uniform looked as though cut by Smallpage, of Regent Street.  This, I was informed, was Captain Roe, one of the most courteous and best-respected captains of the sea-like rivers of America.  I was instructed by my friend to take a state-room — at home I would have asked for a berth — and, paving paid my money, became intrusted with the key of a charming little bedroom, better fitted up than that of my club, and boasting an electric bell.  ...

A gong sounded for dinner, and, following a strong lead, as we do at whist, I found myself in a large, brilliantly-lighted apartment, set with several tables.  The menu was extensive enough to meet the requirements of the most exacting appetite, while the viands bore witness to skillful cookery.  After dinner I went for a stroll, yea, a veritable stroll — always striking against the bride and bridegroom — in a saloon picked out in white and gold, the chandeliers burning gas, and the motion being so imperceptible that the glass drops did not even waggle — on a carpet fit for Buckingham Palace, and in a grove of sumptuous furniture; then for'ard, where many gentlemen in straw hats were engaged in discussing the chances of General Grant for something or other, I know not what; then aft, where many ladies sat in picturesque traveling attitudes, gazing at the soft outlines of the shore on either hand, some alone and some doing the next best thing to flirting.
           
​What a sleep I had!  No more motion than if I was at the club.  No noise, no confounded fume of train-oil and its rancid confrères.  I slept like a humming-bird, and next morning found myself at Albany.  This place is on a hill, surmounted by a white marble building, and Capitol, which, when competed, will be an awfully imposing affair.  I took the train for Saratoga —  a drawing-room car — and such a boudoirette on wheels! —  I felt as if I was in a club-window all the time.

Saratoga is awfully jolly.  It is the best thing I have seen, with its main street as wide as the Boulevard Malesherbe or Haussman, and lined for a mile and a half with magnificent elms, which shade hotels as big as some European towns.  It is always thronged with carriages just like Rotten Row in the season, and lots of people on horseback.  The piazzas of the hotels are crowded with stunningly pretty girls, dressed, all over the place.  Overhead is an Italian sky, blue as sapphire, and a golden tropical light falls around, picking out the shadows in dazzling contrast.  "I guess," as the Americans say, I'll drive my stakes pretty deep here.

​            p. 50                                                                 July 7, 1801
Very suddenly conceived the design of voyaging up the Hudson river, as far as Albany.  Had heard much of the grandeur of its shores, but never had gone above ten miles from New York.  My friend C. having some leisure was willing to adventure for ten days or a fortnight, and I having still more, and being greatly in want of air and exercise, agreed to accompany him.  We found a most spacious and well furnished vessel, captain R.----- in which we embarked at sunset this day.  The wind propitious and the air wonderfully bland. 
p. 51     We bade adieu to our friends B.----- J.----- and D.----.  I took my post at the stern, and found much employment for my feelings, in marking through the dusk, the receding city and the glimmering lights; first of quays and avenues, and afterwards of farms and village.  It is just three years since my visit to New York in 1798.  an interval replete with events, various and momentous.  Some of them humiliating and disastrous, but, on the whole leading me to my present situation in which I have reason for congratulation. 
                                                                    
July 8, 1801
I write this seated in the cabin, from the windows of which, we have a view of wooded slopes, rocky promontories and waving summits.  Our attention has been, for some time, fixed upon Stony Point, a memorable post in the late war, a spot familiar to my ears since my infancy, but which I have now seen for the first time.  It is a rocky and rugged mass advancing into the river, the sides of which are covered with dwarf cedars, and the summit conspicuous still with some remains of fortification, a general solitude and vacancy around it, and a white cow grazing within the ruinous walls, produce a pleasing effect on my imagination.  A craggy eminence, crowned with the ruins of a fortress, is an interesting spectacle every where, but a very rare one in America.  I much wished to go ashore and ascend this hill, but it was not convenient.
           
What are called the highlands of the North river, are a mountainous district, through which the river flows for some miles.  I had heard much of the stupendous and alpine magnificence of the scenery.  We entered it this morning, with a mild breeze and serene sky, and the prospect hitherto has been soft and beautiful.  Nothing abrupt, rugged or gigantic.  Farms and cultivated fields seldom appear.  Six or eight vessels like our own, have been constantly in sight, and greatly enliven the scene.
           
We are now at anchor, have just dined.  My companions have gone to sleep.  The utmost stillness prevails.  Nothing to be heard but the buzzing of flies near at hand, and the (p. 52) cawing of distant crows.  We lay surrounded on all hands by loftier ridges, than I ever before saw bordered by water.
           
We have formed various conjectures as to the heights of these summits.  The captain's statements of five and six hundred feet are extravagant.  Three hundred would be nearer the truth.  Few or none of them are absolute precipices, but most of them are steep, and not to be scaled without difficulty.
           
​I have gazed at the passing scene from Stony Point to West Point, with great eagerness, and till my eye was weary and pained.  how shall I describe them.  I cannot particularize the substance of the rock, or the kind of tree, save oaks and cedars.  I am as little versed in the picturesque.  I can only describe their influence on me.

​My friend is a very diligent observer, and frequently betakes himself to the pen.  Heavy brows and languid blood has made me indolent, and I have done nothing but look about me, or muse for the last two days. 
           
On Thursday afternoon with a brisk southward gale and a serene sky, we left the highlands.  At the spot where the mountains recede from the river, the river expands into a kind of lake, about two miles wide and ten miles long.  The entrance is formed by cliffs, lofty, steep and gloomy with woods, which the borders of the lake itself are easy slopes, checkered with cultivated fields, farms and villages.
           
The highlands from the heights and boldness of the promontories and ruggedness of the rocks, and the fantastic shape the assume, fully answer the expectations which my friends had excited.  But the voyage over the lake, exceeded whatever my fancy had pictured of delightful.  Three populous villages, Peekskill, New Windsor and Newburg, and innumerable farms decorate its borders.
           
Yesterday we moved but slowly, the wind becoming adverse.  At noon we drew into a wharf at Red-hook, and remained there till evening.  My friend and I seized the opportunity of wandering.  The river bank is lofty, and wooded as usual, but no wise remarkable.

p. 53     Some hours before, a waving and bluish line in the horizon reminded us of the Kaats-kill mountains.  These are seen very advantageously from Red-hook, distant about twenty miles, and appear of stupendous height.  Their elevation has been ascertained, but I do not recollect what it is.
           
We roamed along the shore and among the bushes, highly pleased with the exercise, and concluded our rambles with a bathing in the river.  In leaving the sloop, I left most of my sluggish feelings behind me, and walked enough to make the night's repose acceptable and sound.
           
With the tide to favour us we left Red-hook at eight o'clock, but were obliged to anchor again before morning.  At six o'clock my friend and I accompanied the captain ashore, in search of milk and blackberries.  I have since seated myself on deck, watching the shore, as the breeze carried us along.  My friend is busy with his spy glass, reconnoitering the rocks and ay stacks, and surveying the wharves and store houses of Lunenburg and Hudson, villages we have just passed.  I have observed but little besides a steep bank, roughened by rocks and bushes, occasionally yielding to slopes of a parched and yellowish soil, with poor cottages sparingly scattered, and now and then a small garden or field of corn.  A fellow passenger left us at Hudson.  One only remaining, a Mr. H.---- of Albany, a well behaved man, whose attention is swallowed up by Mrs. Bennet's "Beggar Girl." [Editor's Note: A 7 volume work by Anna Maria Bennett in 1797 "The Beggar Girl and Her Benefactors"]
           
The sloop's crew consists of captain, mate, a man and a boy as cook; all orderly, peaceful obliging persons. The cabin being perfectly clean and comfortable, and provisions plentiful and good, we have no reason to regret the delays occasioned by adverse winds, and by calms.  I have some vacant moments when a book might amuse. The captain's whole stock consists of a book on navigation, Dillworth's Arithmetic, and Goldsmith's Citizen of the World.  I have looked into the last, but it does not please me.  The fiction is ill supported, the style smooth and elegant, but the sentiments and observations far from judicious or profound.
           
The mate has been telling me his adventures.  A very crude and brief tale it was, but acceptable and pleasing to me.  (p. 54)  A voyage round the globe is a very trivial adventure, now-a-days.  This man has been twice to Nootka, thence to Canton, and thence to Europe and home.  He performed one whaling voyage to Greenland, and was fifteen months a seaman in a British seventy-four.  His South Sea voyage occupied eighteen months, during which there was neither sickness nor death among the crew.