The assassination of Abraham Lincoln on April 15, 1865 shocked the nation. Six days after his death, an ornate, nine-car funeral train left Washington, D.C. for Lincoln’s home in Springfield, Illinois. The train carried Lincoln’s body as well as the remains of his son William Wallace Lincoln, also known as Willie, who had died of typhoid in 1862 at the age of 11. Pulled by a steam locomotive carrying Lincoln’s framed portrait and a wreath on the front, the nine cars were draped in black bunting and included a car for the hearse and horses, the President’s car, which was retrofitted as a hearse for the two caskets, as well as accommodations for family, an honor guard consisting of Union generals and other military brass, and funeral procession personnel, including an embalmer, who had the somewhat gruesome task of re-embalming Lincoln’s body between stops. Mary Todd Lincoln, distraught by her husband’s violent death, did not accompany the train home.

Traveling an extensive route designed to pass through most major cities in the Northeast, the train arrived in New York City on April 24, 1865. Lincoln’s casket was removed from the train and processed through the city for the thousands of mourners who gathered to see his body. 

​After the procession, the train departed New York City at 4:15 PM on April 25 and traveled through the evening and overnight, reaching Albany at 1:55 AM on April 26. Traveling up the east shore of the Hudson River, the train passed through many stations, watched by mournful New Yorkers as it made its way to Illinois.
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Perhaps because the train’s journey through the Hudson Valley took place largely at night, in the years after experienced railroad men began to report strange sightings. In the days before automation, trackmen and line workers often worked at night, caring for the rails, operating switches, and manning signal and water stations.

On September 13, 1879, the Rockland County Journal published "A Railroad Ghost Story," reprinted from the Fishkill Standard, which is excerpted below in its entirety. 

A RAILROAD GHOST STORY.
"An exchange tells the following tale. — We do not remember having seen it before. It was related among a number of other railroad stories. The writer says: "Then was narrated a weird story about an apparition of a train on the Hudson River Railroad. It was told with an effort at sincerity that did not deceive the listener, but I am told that there are many trackmen and laborers along the line of the Hudson River Railroad who pretend to have seen the spectacle. The tale was about a mystic counterpart of the funeral train that bore Abraham Lincoln's remains from New York City to the West. The actual and substantial train passed over the road on a certain day in April, 1865. The car that contained the President's remains was heavily draped, I believe. It is said that on that night, every year, all the train men that are on the road at a certain hour (that varies in various subdivisions of the road), hear and see and feel the spectre train rush by them. It sounds hollow and awful. Its lights are yellow, pale and funeral. Its train hands and passengers are sepulchral figures. It looks like the outline of a train, yet every detail is perfect. Those who have seen it say, though they felt that it was only a vision, that a man could walk through it if he dared, or throw a stone through it; yet it seems perfect in everything but substantialness. It even carries with it a whirl of wind as fast as trains do, but it is a cold, clammy, grave-like atmosphere, all its own. As it passes another train the shriek of its whistle and clang of its bell strike terror to the hearts of those that hear them." 

​Have you ever seen Lincoln's ghost train? If you haven't you'll have to wait until April 25th of next year to see if you can catch a glimpse. Happy Halloween!

2021 is the 100th anniversary of the Jeffrey's Hook Lighthouse installation, but a pair of lanterns on a tall pole (often called post lights) were the first aid to navigation at Jeffrey's Hook, which is a rocky outcropping at the base of Washington Heights and dangerously close to the shipping channel. Installed in 1889, the lanterns shone red to warn mariners away from the hook.

Very few records of the keepers of the post light, and even the lighthouse itself, remain. However, when doing research for the upcoming lighthouse film, we ran across this intriguing pair of newspaper articles from 1891 featuring keeper Patrick Roach and his family. The articles below were published in the New York Herald on November 26 and 27, 1891 and are reproduced here in their entirety, transcribed by Sarah Wassberg Johnson.

“A Woman’s Leap From Fire: Husband and Daughter Dragged From Windows of the Burning Shanty”
New York Herald, November 26, 1891
The family of Patrick Roach had a narrow escape last night from burning to death. Their home in 175th street, near Kingsbridge avenue, was set on fire, it is supposed, by young ruffians of the neighborhood who bore them a grudge.

The house, a two story frame shanty, stood on a rock twenty feet high, just back from the street. Roach is keeper in Jeffrey’s Hook Lighthouse and he lived in the shanty with his wife, Bridget, and Mary, his nineteen-year-old daughter.

The family spent last evening preparing for their Thanksgiving dinner. Roach left the kitchen early, and went to a room adjoining to lie down. A little later Mrs. Roach went upstairs to go to bed, and Mary was left alone.

FLAMES ALL AROUND THE GIRL
She sat in the corner of the kitchen reading by the light of a lamp on the table. Presently she heard a low rumbling sound in the opposite corner of the room and saw a flame shoot up from the floor. Other flames shot up all around her, and the terrified girl ran to the door leading up stairs and shouted to her mother that the house was afire.

Then Mary, in an effort to get out, began to dodge the flames that were fast filling the room, Suddenly the window was thrown open and a man put in his arm and lifted Mary out.

By this time Roach had awakened and skipped into the glazing kitchen. The smoke and flames were nearly suffocating him when a man came to his rescue and dragged him out of the window.

Mrs. Roach tried to go down stairs, but the smoke drove her back. She went to the window. “Jump!” shouted the crowd that had gathered in the street.

DO NOT KNOW THEIR RESCUER
Out the window sprang Mrs. Roach and landed on the street thirty-five feet below, bruised and shocked, but with no bones broken.

The fire burned up everything in the house and left very little of the house standing. Mary’s hands were badly burned and her father was burned on the hands, arms and legs. They refused to go to a hospital and sought shelter at a neighbor’s house.

Neither knew the man who had rescued them, and he did not make his presence known after he got them safely out of the house. There may have been two rescuers for all Roach and his daughter knew.

The Roaches told me that they had strong suspicions that the fire was started by a gang of young teamsters, known as the McDowell gang, who hang about the neighborhood, do mischief at night and play ball on Sunday. Sometimes their ball would be thrown into Roache’s [sic] house, and one day Mary kept it. The next day Mary was hit with a baseball thrown at her and she complained to the Washington Heights police, who stopped the ball playing.

Since then the rowdies have talked of being recognized and the other night Mrs. Roach’s sister, while passing the gang, heard them say that they were going to “get even” with “Paddy” Roach.

No arrests were made last night.

“This Fire Still a Mystery”
New York Herald, November 27, 1891
The Roach family, whose two story shanty on the rocks in 175th street, near Kingsbridge road, was burned Thanksgiving eve, insist that the house was set on fire. The police of the Washington Heights police station pooh-pooh the idea and are making no investigation.

Roach and his daughter believe that members of the McDonald gang set the shanty afire. The family have had trouble with the gang and Miss Roach says the young fellows have threatened several times to force them to leave the neighborhood.

How the person or persons who dragged the members of the family out of the burning building happened to be on hand so soon after the fire broke out is a mystery if the rescuers were not the incendiaries. The Roaches were too much excited to recognize the rescuers.
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Roach is keeper of the Jeffrey’s Hook lighthouse at Fort Washington. Some government papers were destroyed in the fire. Roach and his daughter were painfully but not seriously burned. They are being cared for by relatives. 

Today's Media Monday post is a fun one! In 1962, "News of the Day" with Peter Roberts issued this short newsreel about Theresa Scozzafava of Jones Point, NY, who was suing the federal government for rent for the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, also known as the "mothball fleet." Check out the newsreel below, then keep reading for the whole story!

Theresa Scozzafava did, indeed sue the federal government and her court case was featured in the New York Times and the Kingston Daily Freeman. Here's what the Times had to say on March 14, 1962:

“U.S. Is Sued Over a Fleet in ‘Front Yard’ – Grandmother Seeks $10,000 Rent for Mothball Ships”

A 77-year-old grandmother will have her day in court soon in an effort to collection $10,000 from the Federal Government. She contends the Government has been parking a fleet of ships in her front yard on the Hudson River.

Mrs. Theresa Scozzafava, who lives in a gray, wood-shingled house in Jones Point, a hamlet in Rockland County, N.Y., says the Government owes the money for anchoring its mothball fleet in the Hudson in front of her property.

In her suit, filed in the Federal court for the Southern District of New York, Mrs. Scozzafava claims underwater rights extending 250 feet into the Hudson along 365 feet of the shoreline.

The suit, filed in February, 1960, contends that Mrs. Scozzafava, who is the mother of ten children, all of whom are living, acquired the underwater rights by becoming the successor of grants made by the State of New York dating back to 1814.

In May, 1960, the Government entered a challenge against the suit, arguing that the court had no jurisdiction in the matter and that the ships, known formally as the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, were in a navigable river. The Government’s challenge was denied by Judge William B. Herlands, who said the issue would have to be settled in court.

The reserve fleet numbers about 190 ships, of which about fifty are used for the storage of grain. The number of ships varies because periodically tugboats pull the grain ships down to New York Harbor, where the grain is transferred to elevators or blown into barges for eventual export. When the grain ships are emptied, they are tugged back to the reserve fleet.

The spry, white-haired grandmother has been collecting $25 a month rent from the Government since March 20, 1946. The rent was for the use of a dock and for parking privileges for Government workers’ automobiles.

Rent Increase Sought
When the Government’s lease expired in 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava, who had by then acquired additional property when her husband, Bernardo, died in 1950, sought to increase the rent.

“They offered me $25 a month and told me to ‘take it or leave it,’” she said yesterday. “I told them to take their ships away.”

In late June of 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava said, several tugboats were used to pull the ships away from her underwater property. “That proves,” she said, “they knew I was right.”

However, she contends, the ships are still infringing on her property.

Mrs. Scozzafava was joined in the suit by her daughter, Mary Springstead, and her daughter’s husband, Wesley, who also owns property along the Hudson River.

Mrs. Springstead, 53, describes her mother as a “very active woman.”

“She did the Twist last New Year’s Eve and she has a few scotches every once in a while,” the daughter said.

Sadly, Mrs. Scozzafava and her daughter did not get their day in court. According to a New York Times article published April 14, 1962, the case was dismissed by mutual consent. Mrs. Scozzafava and Mary Springstead did not want to engage in a long, drawn out court case, and so dropped the suit due to health reasons.

The Hudson River Reserve Fleet was removed from Jones Point less than a decade later. Most of the fleet was moved to the James River Reserve Fleet in Virginia, in close proximity to the Naval base at Norfolk, VA. The last of the ships left in the Hudson River were towed away for scrap on July 8, 1971. 

​​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Editor's note: the following engraving and text were originally published in Gleason's Pictorial Drawing Room Companion, December 25, 1852. Thanks to volunteer researcher George A. Thompson for finding and cataloging this article. The article was transcribed by Sarah Wassberg Johnson, and includes paragraph breaks and bullets not present in the original, to make it easier to read for modern audiences.

Next to the immense foreign export and import trade, comes the inland trade. The whole of the western country from Lake Superior finds a depot at New York. The larger quantity of produce finds its way to the Erie Canal, from thence to the Hudson River to New York.

The canal boats run from New York to Buffalo, and vice versa. These boats are made very strong, being bound round by extra guards, to protect them from the many thumps they are subject to. They are towed from Albany to New York - from ten to twenty - by a steamboat, loaded with all the luxuries of the West.

The view represented above is taken from Pier No. 1, East River, giving a slight idea of the immense trade which, next to foreign trade, sets New York alive with action. We subjoin from a late census a schedule of the trade; the depot of which, and the modus operandi, Mr. Wade, our artist, has represented in the engraving above, is so truthful and lifelike a manner.

​In 1840, there were

• 474,543 horses and mules,
  
• 1,911,244 neat cattle,
  
• 5,118,777 sheep,
  
• 1,900,065 swine,
  
• poultry valued at $1,153413,
  
• 12,286,418 bushels of wheat,
  
• 2,520,060 do. [the same] of buckwheat,
  
• 10,972,286 do. of Indian corn,
  
• 9,845,295 lbs. of wool,
  
• 447,250 do. of hops,
  
• 30,133,614 bushels of potatoes,
  
• 3,127,047 tons of hay,
  
• 10,048,109 pounds of sugar,
  
• 1,735 lbs. of silk cocoons;
  
• the products of the dairy, $10,496,021;
  
• the orchard, $1,701,935;
  
• lumber, $3,891,302;
  
• 6,799 gallons of wine.
  

​In this connection we may say, the Hudson and Erie Canal is a noble work of enterprise. It passes from Albany along the western bank of the Hudson River, until it meets the Mohawk; then runs, in a northwesterly direction, up the southwestern bank of the river, to the town of Rome, where it turns more westerly, on a summit level of about sixty miles, without a lock, and, passing in a line corresponding, in some measure, to the direction of the southern shore of Lake Ontario, and crossing the Seneca and Genesee Rivers in its course, communicates with Lake Erie at Buffalo, 363 miles from Albany. But canals are fast giving place to railroads, speed in business being the order of the day.

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Editor's note: The following newspaper article, "Local Attractions on the Fourth" was originally published in the Kingston Daily Freeman on July 3, 1907. It was found and transcribed by Sarah Wassberg Johnson. Note the sarcasm of the introduction and the repetition of events at the end. Perhaps the newspaper editor needed to take up more space in the column?

​WHERE KINGSTON FOLKS MAY GO TO CELEBRATE THE HOLIDAY IF THEY DO NOT WANT TO SHOOT FIRECRACKERS UNDER THEIR OWN VINE AND FIG TREE

How to spend the Fourth of July is a problem that need not cause much worry to Kingstonians.

First of all they should stay at home and shoot off firecrackers. They should begin early in the morning, fire the crackers at regular and frequent intervals all day long, and continue the noise-making process until far into the evening. In case they are compelled to leave home for a few minutes or an hour or so, someone else should be kept on the job, so that noise may shoot forth continuously.

Noise, and plenty of it, will please the neighbors, and put them in a pleasant frame of mind. A good plan is to have a few accidents around the neighborhood, because this will make the day remembered, make business for the doctors, and furnish news for the newspapers. Cannon crackers, cannon and loose powder are best adapted for accident purposes, although Roman candles and sky rockets are also good. Everyone who wants to have an accident should be sure to lay in a supply of fire-stuffs. But above every other consideration should be a determination to make noise, for noise is a symbol of patriotism – on Fourth of July.

For people who wish to get up early in the morning, and that will be easy for the beginning of the day’s celebration will undoubtedly keep them awake, the Mary Powell excursion is recommended. The boat will make an excursion to New York city at a low rate and the boat will leave Rondout at 6 o’clock in the morning. Returning, the Mary Powell will leave Desbrosses street at 1:45 p.m.; Forty-second street at 2 p.m., reaching Kingston in time for the fireworks display at Kingston Point Park. After the fireworks display the Powell will make a special trip to Poughkeepsie and return, reaching Rondout at about 11:30 o’clock in the evening.

​Several baseball games will be played, and fans will have an opportunity of witnessing some good playing. The Mystics and the Wilburs will play two games at the Athletic Field, each game being for $50 a side. The first game will be called at ten o’clock in the morning and the second game at 3:30 o’clock in the afternoon. At ten o’clock in the morning the employes [sic] of the B. Loughran Company will play the employes [sic] of the Henry E. Wieber Company at Kingston Driving Park and a fast and snappy game is expected.

Saugerties will attract hundreds of visitors from all parts of Ulster county, for Saugerties is to have an old fashioned celebration. A parade of the firemen and patriotic and other societies will be held at 9:30 o’clock in the morning, to be followed at 11:15 o’clock by patriotic exercises on the lawn of the Reformed Church. The Declaration of Independence will be delivered by the Hon. Joseph A. Lawson of Albany, after which patriotic songs will be sung by the Saugerties Male Quartet. Gartland’s famous band of Albany has been engaged for the occasion and will also give concerts during the morning, afternoon, and evening. In the afternoon a baseball game will be played by Kingston and Saugerties teams and in the evening $1,000 worth of fireworks will be burned.

For those whose inclinations are for sports, races will be held at the New Paltz driving park, which scores from this city will attend.

The villages of Griffin’s Corners and Fleischmanns will have a celebration similar to that of Saugerties, but not on so large a scale. The trip up the Ulster & Delaware railroad to these villages will make a delightful day’s outing, which will be taken advantage of by many.

Newburgh and Poughkeepsie will probably draw some Kingstonians, although those cities have no attractions to offer aside from the fact that the Hudson river flows past them after it has passed Kingston.

Morphy will sing to beat the band at Kingston Point during the afternoon and evening, although the band will be augmented by three additional musicians, all of whom are soloists. The Point, by the way, will be the Mecca of thousands of people from Kingston city, Ulster county, and from all points along the river. Kingston Point Park is too well known to need any eulogy.

Editor's note: "Passages From The Diary Of A Transatlantic Traveller" was originally published as part of a series in The Leicester Chronicle (Leicester, England) on February 9, 1839. In this installment, our visiting Englishman is not particularly happy to be traveling aboard a packet boat on the Erie Canal. Read on for the full account. Many thanks to volunteer researcher George M. Thompson for finding and transcribing this historic newspaper article.

​April 24th. -- Sailed up the North River to Albany, passed West Point and the Highlands -- the day was raw and wet, and the mountain heights were wrapt in clouds, so that I viewed the scenery to a very great disadvantage.  Took the railroad to Utica, and the canal-boat from thence to Buffalo; this was a long and tedious sail, but though I feared it would be disagreeable, I preferred it to riding in coaches, over bad roads, to the grievous prejudice of my bones.  These packet boats go five miles and hour, and carry thirty, forty, or fifty passengers at a time.  The ladies have a part of the cabin appropriated to themselves, which they can separate by merely drawing a curtain across if they choose.  They have a further forward cabin for the night.  I was struck with the singularity and ingenuity of our arrangements.  About nine o'clock the steward rings a bell, when all the men turn out on deck; the sailors then sling up thirty or forty berths, to small hooks in the sides and roofs, and in an incredibly short time the whole cabin is converted into a sleeping apartment, and you are at liberty to turn in.  Your berths are numbered, and you take one which corresponds to the number on your ticket.  I was almost afraid to trust myself in one of them, but there being no alternative I laid myself on the shelf, with a Yankee lying in a berth above, and another in a berth below me.  If the slight ropes which held up the Yankee above me had given way, I must infallibly have been crushed, and perhaps our accumulated weight would have crushed the poor fellow below, and subsequently some poor wight on the floor. 

​I had sundry misgivings on this scene, which rather disinclined me to sleep, and the hot, nauseating, suffocating, stifling air, caused by the breathing of fifty human beings (for there were a dozen lying on the floor) in the small compass of a canal-boat, made me quite ready to turn out at an early hour, to go on deck and breathe.  At five o'clock we were called up by sound of bell, "to scent the morning air." -- It, however, was miserably cold; so that between the close cabin, and the cold damp air of the deck, it was utterly impossible for any Christian man to avoid "cold and rheum, pthisic and catarrh."  We were summoned at eight o'clock to breakfast, dined at one, supped at six, and were slung up in our hammock again at nine.  This I endured for three days: it was not very pleasant, but I doubt whether it is possible to make canal-boats agreeable under any circumstances; travelling in this way must necessarily be tedious at the best.  The last morning on coming on deck, the opposite shore of a rapid river along which we were sailing was pointed out, with a remark, that that was a part of her Majesty's dominions.  As it was the first time I had ever seen her transatlantic colonies, I necessarily regarded them with considerable interest: there was nothing, however, different in point of appearance from the general features of the country I had seen for the last few days: I intend to see Canada more in detail in the course of another week.  

Poor Englishman! That Canada looked just like New York! How disappointing. He just doesn't seem to have the right attitude for travel, does he?

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!​

Last week we learned about the steamboat Rip Van Winkle and learned a wonderful story about Samuel Schuyler. But what really happened to the Rip? This newspaper article, originally published on August 23, 1872 in the Hudson Daily Star​ gives us some insights. 

Marine Notes.
On Tuesday afternoon the old steamer Rip Van Winkle was towed from Port Ewen, where she had been moored since her collision with the bridge at Albany last spring, and by which she sustained such serious injuries it was not considered desirable to repair her, to the dock in front of Major Cornell’s repairing shops, where her state-rooms and other upper works are being removed preparatory to removing the engine and boilers, purchased a few days since by Mr. Isaac Hirsch of this city, and the conversion of the hull into a barge.

The Rip Van Winkle was built in New York in 1845 for the Schuylers of Albany, and was a steamer of 640 tons burthen, with an engine of 54 inches diameter of cylinder and 10 feet stroke of piston. She was furnished with forty-three state-rooms a great number in those days, and one hundred and ninety-two berths. She ran on the through night line between New York, Albany and Troy, until 1852, when she was purchased by Anderson, Romer & Co., then engaged in the freighting business in the place where Romer & Tremper now are.
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The “Rip” ran between this place and New York one season, commanded by Captain A. L. Anderson, now of the Mary Powell. The Andersons, father and son, disposed of their interest in the concern to Messrs. Tremper & Gillette in 1853, when the firm became Romer, Tremper & Gillette, and the Rip Van Winkle was by them again placed on the route between New York and Troy, where they continued to run her for two years, when she was sold to the Troy Company, then being managed by a man named Haywood, we believe. In 1862, we think it was, the boat was purchased by the Simmonses of Saugerties, and plied for some years between that place and New York. She was rebuilt in 1864, and finally taken off the Saugerties route and used as an excursion boat, principally to the Fishing Banks until 1870, when Major Cornell purchased her. In the spring of ’71, she ran in place of the Thomas Cornell for a time, and during the summer was chartered by Ovid Simmons to run to the Fishing Banks. This spring she was chartered to run to troy in place of the Thomas Powell until that vessel was ready, and it was while on that route she received her death blow by coming in contact with the Albany Bridge during a freshet. – Rondout Freeman.

Editor's Notes: This article, "Mr. Fillmore and His Friends" was originally published on August 18, 1856 in the Albany Evening Journal. It is a stinging critique of Millard Fillmore and his support for the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850. Fillmore was born in 1800 in Moravia, New York and served in state politics before entering Congress as the Representative for NY's 32nd District.  Winning the Vice-Presidency in 1848 on the Whig ticket, Fillmore became president in 1850 upon the death of President Zachary Taylor. Although he was not chosen as a candidate by any party during the election of 1852, he ran as a third party candidate in the election of 1856 under the Know Nothing party. This article was almost certainly in response to his candidacy. He ultimately lost to Democrat James Buchanan, a staunch proponent of state's rights who exacerbated tensions around slavery and made way for the four-way-split Presidential election of 1860, resulting in the victory of Abraham Lincoln.

The article also sharply critiques the Fugitive Slave Act. Passed by Congress in 1850 and signed into law by President Fillmore, the Act was a concession to Southern states in an effort to preserve the Union as part of the Compromise of 1850. Many Northern states had passed state or local ordinances requiring jury trials for fugitive slaves, denying use of jails or state officials in their retrieval, and otherwise attempting to protect fugitive slaves, or at least keep from getting involved. Tens of thousands of enslaved people made their way to freedom on the Underground Railroad in the 1830s and '40s, joining free Black communities in Northern states and building lives and families.

But Southern states were angry about the lack of cooperation from their Northern counterparts and the attrition of enslaved people to the North, especially in slaveholding states that bordered free states. The Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 was designed to force compliance of state officials, overrule state and local laws, fine state officials who did not arrest fugitive slaves, and fine and imprison anyone who aided or abetted a fugitive slave - a clause specifically designed to target abolitionists. Because habeus corpus was suspended in fugitive slave cases, Black Americans had little recourse to dispute accusations, no matter how much evidence proved them false. Several cases found in lower courts for the accused were overturned by the Supreme Court as a violation of federal law. Disturbingly, the Act also provided rewards for officers who captured fugitive slaves, regardless of whether or not they were actually fugitives.

​These clauses not only led to some of the unjust events outlined in the article below, but angered many Northerners and turned more to the abolitionist cause. Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin in 1852 in response to the law. The novel went on to become one of the best-selling books of the century (surpassed only by the Bible). Although the Compromise of 1850 did temporarily hold the United States together, the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 was a concession to slaveholding states that only exacerbated the divisions over slavery, and helped inflame the tensions that would lead to the Civil War. 

Editor's Note: This account, "Wheeling on a Towpath," was originally published in the New-York Tribune on August 20, 1899. Many thanks to HRMM volunteer researcher George A. Thompson for finding and transcribing this article.

THE SCENERY UNCHANGED.
History does not say whether Washington Irving ever rode a wheels. If he did it must have been of the ancient velocipede variety, which had more novelty than pleasure in it. But the scenery which called forth his admiration from the deck of the directors' special boat has changed but little to-day, and the wheelman an see and do in two days what probably took Irving five or six. The ride along the canal path is an ideal one for the wheelman, and it is rather strange that it is not more known to the touring wheelman. The riders of the immediate neighborhood use the towpath constantly to get from place to place along its banks, but the wheel with baggage roll or baggage carrier strapped upon its frame, showing the rider to be a tourist from a distance, is a rarity.  It is an ideal route for touring, as it takes the rider by rolling farmlands and quiet meadows through mountain passes and rugged forests, along babbling brooks, placid ponds and tumultuous dashing rivers, and yet there is not a hill to push up, for it is all on the level. It has all the advantages that can be obtained in wheeling through a beautiful mountainous country, without any of the disadvantages of hill climbing and rough roads.

Probably the principal reason why the path has not been more popular and better known to the touring wheelman is that the canal company was supposed to have prohibited wheeling, and at many of the lockhouses are signs warning wheelmen that a $5 fine will be the penalty for riding on the path. But the law has been practically a dead letter, and the writer, who has ridden the path for three years, never heard of its being enforced. Now that the canal has practically been abandoned, and the patient mule, which his melodious voice and his playful habit of kicking at a wheel, is a thing of the past, there is no longer any reason for riders not to visit this wild and romantic region.

The canal is something less than 120 miles long. While, of course, it can be easily done in a couple of days, or even in a day, if the rider rides à la Murphy or Taylor, still, a congenial party of three or four can make a most delightful holiday of it by taking a week or ten days to it, that is, if the entire trip from the city and back is made awheel, going up the Hudson to Rondout and doubling back from the coal fields to Port Jervis (better make that stretch by rail), and then south by the Milford [illegible] to the Water Gap and toward the city again, down and through the mountains of Northern New-Jersey. Such a holiday party should not neglect to strap a rod or two to wheels, as the numerous rivers which are feeders to the canal are noted for their bass, trout and perch. As a generous appetite generally waits on the wheelman, a mess of fish fresh from the stream will add much to the bill of fare if the wheelman has to tarry overnight with some obliging farmer.

​THE BEST ROUTE TO RONDOUT
 As most riders are familiar with the roads on both sides of the Hudson to Rondout this part of the trip need not be dwelt upon. Suffice it to say that the easiest and best way north is up the Saddle River Valley from Hackensack, to Suffern, thence up the Ramapo Valley to Newburg, crossing the Hudson to Fishkill, and continuing on the east bank to Rhinebeck. Then go by ferry over the river again. After all that is said about bicycling along the shores of the Hudson, the roads are poor and the hills hard north of Tarrytown, and only in a few places are the river views within sight to repay for the labor and discomfort of poor "going." The Hackensack-Suffern-Newburg route is trustworthy, and the roads are uniformly excellent.

At Kingston, a quiet spin may be made around the ancient capital of the State. The State House is still in existence, also several other old buildings whose history might be interesting to look up. In the cemetery of the old church are buried several heroes of the Revolutionary War. Rondout, the eastern terminus of the canal, is now politically part of the city of Kingston. While it is not a particularly attractive town in any way, it is a busy one, being the river shipping point of several  important industries. A dusty and not very attractive road leads out of Rondout, following the river of the same name under the shadow of Fly Mountain to the canal basin at Eddyville, where the enormous tows or collections of canal boats were formerly gathered for the trip to the city. The towpath proper begins here, passing several small groups of houses at the locks. Rosendale of cement fame, is the first and the only important town for fifty miles. Out in the open country, beyond Rosendale, the fascination of the canal path riding begins. As there are no hills or grades to be overcome, the rider can reserve his strength for the distance he has planned to do. The surface is always fair, and at times excellent; even when fresh gravel has been placed on the path there is generally a footpath worn by the motor power of the canal. The drawbacks for wheeling are the numerous locks, there being more than fifty between tidewater and the Delaware River. Sometimes they are frequent, nine of them in one section of two miles; at others they are miles apart: as at Summit there is a seventeen-mile level, and further on a ten-mile level. The approaches to the locks are comparatively easy, and the ten or fifteen feet rises can usually be "rushed." It is seldom the rider is forced to dismount, but when they come half a dozen to the mile they get monotonous, and the rider is apt to discover something interesting in connection with the lock, which will give him an excuse to dismount and inspect it.

A WIND THROUGH THE HILLS.
The canal is seldom straight for more than half a mile. It constantly follows the twists and turns at the foot of the Shawangunk range of hills. The vistas which are constantly opening before the wheelman are delightful. On one side of the narrow towpath is the placid canal, and on the other the Rondout Creek, sometimes a rushing mountain stream, and at others widened out into a small lake. On the south the Shawangunk (pronounced Shongum) Mountains follow the canal to Port Jervis, with the hotels at Mohawk, Minnewaska, Mount Meenahga and other places perched high above. To the north are the Catskill Mountains, with their summer hotels and sky-perched villages. Bold Slide and other prominent mountains are land marks until the day's trip is nearly over.

The flora is particularly varied and abundant. Wild roses, daisies, black-eyed Susans, loose-strife, convolvulus and other make patches of color, which are reflected many times in the canal and river. The canal seems to be specially attractive to may forms of animal and bird life. Rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks are constantly dashing across the path and flitting among the bushes and trees, or flying overhead are innumerable flocks of spike-tailed swallows, brilliant orioles, indigo birds, robins, yellow birds, jays, cuckoos, red winged blackbirds and pugnacious king birds, chasing their hereditary enemies, the crows. Off the mountains sometimes an enormous hawk or eagle may be seen. The sharp, shrill cry of the catbird and the cheerful bobwhite, and toward dusk the call of the whip-poor-will may be heard. 

In the sixty miles between Rondout and Port Jervis there are only a few small towns.  Rosendale, Napanock, Ellenville, Wortzboro and Cuddabackville are the principal places. They all have fairly comfortable hotels and bicycles shops, where repairs can be attended to. 

At Ellenville the activity on the canal ceases as the Delaware and Hudson company no longer ships coal by boat. The eastern end is at present kept open to accommodate the stone industries, but at no distant date the entire waterway will be abandoned, and a railroad will probably take its place. In the mean time the League of American Wheelmen and others are taking steps to make the towpath a permanent bicycle path.

​The following text is a verbatim transcription of "Rivals of the Hudson" published in the New York Herald on August 5, 1881. Many thanks to volunteer George Thompson for finding and transcribing this article.

Rivals of the Hudson. The Mary Powell and Albany as Speedy Travellers.
It is not a new thing for steamboats on the Hudson, in their eager competition for popular favor, to try to outrival each other in speed. This keen rivalry has been a source of endless entertainment to the denizens of the romantic banks of the American Rhine, and it has been useful at least in this, that it has given to the wayfarers in search of the beauties of the noble river the advantage of travelling on what are undoubtedly the fastest steamers in the world. No one who has travelled on the Kaiser Wilhelm or any of the others of the so-called palace steamers of the Rhine will for a moment compare them in point of speed to the Albany, the Vibbard or the Mary Powell.  But still they are not happy — the people along the Hudson River. Fast steamers they know they possess, but they want to know which is the fastest. They want a steamboat race. Though many are supposed to be of Dutch extraction, and therefore presumed to be of that staid and sober temperament opposed to the pleasure of excitement, there is no doubt that a genuine steamboat race would be one of the greatest delights of their placid lives. Life in the Hudson River towns and villages is rather dull and news is scarce. There are a number of weekly papers in the Hudson River settlements which, whenever the news budget becomes slim, immediately reopen the favorite popular topic — i.e. the steamboat race. Anything on that subject is as sure to be read with the greatest avidity as the British government is sure to pay the interest on its consols. It stirs up a ripple of excitement in the whole region, is copied from one paper into another, and soon the banks of the Hudson, from Tarrytown to Albany, reverberates with the eager question, "When will it take place?" There is something very homelike and affectionate in the staunch adherence of the people to their favorite boat. As one of the captains expressed it the other day, travel on the Hudson boats seems like a "family affair." People get into the habit of riding on a certain boat, and go by it year after year unless, indeed, their boat allows itself to be "beaten" in too transparent a fashion. There is a great deal of room for "fine figuring" on the question of comparative speed, as no formal contest has yet taken place, and it is wonderful to hear with what accuracy and precision the friends of each boat will figure out by how many revolutions of the wheels and quarter lengths the one boat has the best of the other.

The Two Rivals.
The two great rivals just at present are the Albany, of the Albany day line, and the Mary Powell, running to Kingston, both guaranteed by their owners to "whip the universe" for velocity. Each boat has a host of friends who back the opinions of respective owners and captains with the most enthusiastic positiveness as to the vastly superior swiftness of the one against the other. That there has been no formal race  — for, of course, every day that the boats are running they are trying to outdo each other  — is a source of infinite disgust to those sanguine friends of the Mary Powell and the Albany. A number of times has the contest been projected, and immense excitement along the river has been the result from the moment the race has been on the tapis. Everyone, more or less, has been wanting to bet on the result from $10,000 down to a white hat. And after a ripple of excitement the fever of anticipation has subsided into keen disappointment when it has been ascertained that there would be no race after all, and that all bets were "off.” A few people have been found, to be sure, who have been old fashioned enough to declare that it was a very good thing that no race was to take place and that no one was to be blown up, but these were outvoted by a large majority and declared to be "old fogies." The man whose heart is bent on seeing a race, and particularly such a unique contest as a race between two great palace steamers, each noted for very remarkable speed, wouldn't mind a little playful diversion like that.

Is It to Take Place?
More recently, however, reports that a race was projected and was definitely to take place as soon as the busy season was over have assumed such a tangible shape that it was thought worth while to sift these rumors, and with this view, the captains of the two boats have been sounded, and the results of the interviews are here given. It will be soon seen that though both sides think there is no comparison to be made as to the speed of each other's steamers the matter of the race is still left somewhat dubious. The engineer of the Mary Powell remarks that should a race take place, a man who could charter all the available New York Central trains to follow the boats and charge $25 a seat (or $5 more than even the extortionate Patti is reported to expect in this American El Dorado) would make his fortune. But it requires no very lively imagination to picture to one's self the scene which such a race would call forth. The two steamers, followed by a perfect cloud of craft, from the biggest ferryboats to the smallest rowboat and trains and carriages  and buggies and vehicles of every description lining the two shores and trying to keep up with the two gigantic racers for as long a time as possible. It was the universal opinion of all those whose views were sought on the question that more money would changes hands than probably at any horse race that has ever taken place in this country. It is certain that if the latest project again falls through there will be manifest disappointment, not only in betting quarters, but among many who are usually not interested either in racing or betting, but who would like to witness a trial of speed between the two steamers claiming to be the fastest in existence. And now the readers of the Herald will probably be interested to learn what the leaders of the rival hosts of steam boatmen may have to say on the subject.

Captain Anderson, of the Mary Powell.
Captain Anderson, of the Mary Powell, is a fine specimen of an old captain. He is a veteran in the service to which he has devoted over thirty years of his life. The Captain has a kindly shrewd face, but the most marked feature is an expression of predominant caution. There is a wary look out of his eyes, and his venerable gray mustache adds to this expression. One could very soon gather, even after a scant observation of the man, that however much the reputation of the Mary Powell might be dear to him, and though he would, no doubt, like to establish her superior speed as against that of the hated rival, he would still think more of the solid popular belief in her safety, which, he fears, might be endangered by such a devil-may-care proceeding as a race. When he spoke of the Mary Powell as being too much of a "family boat" for such a reckless procedure one could see that the proud glistening of his eyes, as he pronounced the words, spoke well for the safety of the lovely mothers and darling infants which are so numerously placed under his care on every trip. Of course, as will be seen later on in an interview with the Captain of the Albany, the latter sneers at this noble regard for the "family boat" feeling and pooh-poohs it, declaring that the Albany is just as much of a "family boat," and that he, nevertheless, would be perfectly willing to consent to a race. But, for all that, the "family" feeling will probably be on the side of Captain Anderson, and future generations will be grateful to him for not having exposed them in their present tender state of babyhood to the ignominy of having been conveyed up or down the river in what Captain Anderson gravely fears might be forever after dubbed a "racing boat."

How the Albany's Model Was Spoiled.
"What about the proposed race between your boat and the Albany?" the captain was asked.

"Well, I have heard a great deal about it," the good Captain replied with a smile.

​"The weekly papers along the river have made a great outcry about it of late, but then they always do it when news gets scarce."

"Do I understand you, Captain, that it is only talk then, and that no race will be arranged?"

"Oh, I really can't tell you anything definite," the Captain replied.  "All I can say is that the Mary Powell is not afraid."

"You think she is really the faster boat of the two, Captain?"

That word "really" seemed to be a little too much for the Mary Powell's commander.

"Why, I know she is," he replied in energetic tone; "the Mary Powell is the fastest boat in the world.  She hasn't her equal anywhere."

"How about the Albany?"

"Well, the Albany is a good boat, too; but unfortunately she's ben spoiled. You see, her model is all wrong. She'd be a very fast boat and might catch up with the Mary Powell if she had not been built six feet too wide across. They ought to have modelled her after the Mary (this word the old Captain pronounced in a very affectionate tone) and then she would have been all right."

"What is the outlook for a race between the two boats, Captain?"

"Well, I have been pressed by a number of friends who travel by this boat to consent to a race, because they think they can make a pile of money out of it, and then they would like to see Captain Hitchcock's pretensions — you know, he's the captain of the Albany — silenced once for all."

Vast Sums to Be Bet.
"How much are they willing to bet?"

“Well, there is a certain party of capitalists who always travel by this boat who talk of putting up $50,000. Then there's another party wanting to bet $10,000. Oh, there's no lack of money," the Captain added with quite an exhilarated manner, being evidently warmed up by the subject.

"If the race comes off when is it likely to take place?"

"Oh, of course, it could only take place after the season, and then we'd take no passengers at all — that would be against the law."

"Would you consent to it, Captain?"

This was a "poser," but the Captain, after a little hesitation, said: — "Well, if my friends insist upon it perhaps I might, but then I'm opposed to it myself, and I'll tell you why. Not that there would be any doubt about our beating the Albany, there's another reason why I am opposed to it, and don't think I'd like to consent to it."

"And why is that's Captain?"

"Well, the Mary Powell, you know, is a family boat, and has always been a family boat. We carry in her all the time a great number of ladies and children, who go with us unattended. Why, they feel here as they would in their own homes. Every woman and child between New York and Kingston knows the Mary. Now, I would not like her to get the reputation of a racing boat. That is why I do not like to accommodate my friends who want me to race her against the Albany after the season."

The Albany's Faults Pronounced Hopeless.
“You have never had any actual contest, Captain?"

"No, except this. Everybody knows what time we make and that the Albany does not come anywhere near it. You ask anybody who has been travelling by the two boats and is not particularly friendly to either and they will tell you that. Well, last fall, after the season, the Albany, just to show what she could do, after all that had been said about the Mary Powell being such a superb boat, made a race against time up the river, and in the first nine miles up to Fort Washington she was five minutes behind the Mary's time."

"Hasn't she been doing better this season, Captain?"

"Why, no; she can't do any better unless they change her model and make her more like the Mary. Why, during that race against time her wheel made twenty-six and one-half revolutions to the minute to our twenty-five, and yet we go faster. That shows that there's something radically wrong with her."

"How fast are we going now, Captain?" was the final question asked, as the boat seemed to be under full headway and favored by tide and wind.

"About twenty-five miles an hour," the Captain proudly answered; “and that only with thirty pounds of steam, while we can carry fifty if we like. So you see what the result would be if we'd race with a boat like the Albany. Mind you, in whatever you say in the Herald, remember I have nothing to say against Captain Hitchcock or his boat; all I say is, that if he thinks he has as fast a boat as the Mary he is very much deceived; that's all."

What One of the Engineers Says.
One of the engineers of the Mary Powell was gently accosted; but he drew himself up, and in a serio-comic style, which would have done credit to an actor, said, "Well, now, we engineers have so often been misrepresented on this subject that, like other public men, we now decline to be interviewed." Presently, however, he became more communicative, and did not hesitate to give his views.

"Why," said he, "there can be no doubt as to which is the faster boat of the two. It takes the Albany three hours and twenty-five minutes to go to Newburg, and we make one landing more — Cornwall — and do it in three hours and twenty five minutes, beating her by five minutes.  What do you think of that?"

An expression of high approval greeted this complacent query and drew out further interesting statements bearing on the question.

"Last fall, when she made her race against time, from Twenty-second street to Poughkeepsie, making the trip in 3h. 13m., she ran behind time fully 2 minutes.  I'll show you how: — The Mary Powell left Twenty-second street at 3:34 and arrived in Poughkeepsie at 7:09, making the trip in 3h. 35m. Now, they only allowed us 2 minutes for every stop, but, as a matter of fact, it takes us 5, and counting only 4 minutes for each of the six stops, or 24 minutes in all, we did it in 3h 11m. and beat her by 2 minutes, didn't we? And then she carried forty-five pounds of steam and we carried only thirty-four, and they had her all cocked and primed for it, while we were not prepared in the least."

Why a Race Will Not Take Place.
"Do you think a race will take place?"

"Well, I don't know; I think it doubtful."

"Why."

“For several reasons," and here the engineer smiled and his eye gave a merry twinkle.

"Just name one."

"Well, you see one of the boats would have to be behind, and that would be quite a damper on he business for the future.  That's the principal reason."

"Do people, then, care so much whether the one boat reaches her destination a couple of minutes sooner than the other?"

"I should think they did! Why, this is our fast week, when we have the tide in or favor.  Next week, when it is against us and we'll be five minutes later, a great many of the people riding with us this week will go up to their homes by the Central. This is a fast age.," the engineer added sententiously.

"Do you think that a race would create much excitement?"

"There never was anything like the excitement you'd see. The man who would charter all the trains in the New York Central to follow the boats and charge $25 a seat would still make his fortune. More money would change hands than at any race that has ever been held in this country. Why, it would be the greatest thing known!"

"By how much would you beat the Albany, do you think?"

"Oh, it's hard to say."

"Take a race to Poughkeepsie; would you beat her by fifteen minutes?"

“Oh, no; we'd do well to beat her by a few lengths. But, then, as I said before, I don't think you'll see a race. I know that if I had the two boats I wouldn’t consent to it. Now, each boat has her friends and is considered the fastest by them, while the race would put a damper on one of the two. And then you can't always tell what might be happening on a certain day. The water might not work well in the boiler or a journal might become hot; some mishap might happen and the reputation of the boat might be jeopardized, while she might really be the faster of the two."

Captain Hitchcock "Ready for ‘Em.”
"We're ready for 'em!" Captain Hitchcock, of the Albany, stoutly exclaimed when approached on the subject yesterday. The Captain is also a weather-beaten veteran, like his rival of the Mary Powell.

"I'm told your model has been tried and failed?" was the next query.

"Why, I know they told you that on the Mary Powell, and of course they did.  They  think there never was a model like hers."

"I'm also told you ought to have fashioned the Albany more after the model of the Mary Powell to have made a really fast boat of her."

"I'll never make the Albany like the Mary Powell, because then she'd be completely spoiled. Why, the man who made the Mary Powell's model told me that Captain Tallman, of the Daniel Drew, came to him and told him to spoil her, and that he cut her away so as really to have spoiled her; and Captain Anderson tells you that the Mary Powell is the better model? Well, that's rich, I must say."

“Captain, I am very much perplexed," the interviewer appealed, "by the conflicting statements I have heard about the two boats. Now tell me, please, which is which?"

“Why, there's no comparison. We had the Mary Powell some years ago, and if she had been such a superior boat don't you think we'd have kept her?"

"But since then it is claimed she has been remodelled."

"Remodelled?  A few old rotten timbers taken put and a few new ones put in their places," the Captain responded, with an expression of unmistakable disgust stealing over his face. "I tell you just all there is about the Mary Powell. The Mary Powell is a wonderfully good boat when she's got a tide like a millrun and a regular gale of wind blowing in the right direction — then she'll make first rate time. But the Albany is the only boat in the world I ever saw that could make time against tide, wind or anything else, and always does make time!"

"But isn't your boat six feet too wide?"

"Oh, Captain Anderson told you that too, did ne? Why, if she was twelve feet wider than his boat she'd still be faster. I really wish the Albany were five or six feet wider than she is!"

The Money Behind the "Albany."
"The Mary Powell has a fifty thousand dollar pool behind her in case of a race, I'm told, Captain?"

"Fifty thousand dollars?  We can go that better and triple it," was the contemptuous reply. "Does Captain Anderson tell you he's got a party willing to bet $50,000 that the Mary Powell beats us?"

"That's just it, Captain."

"Well, I don't believe it — unless these are men who travel with him and he's filled them up with good things and deceived them. Now, mind you, I have nothing against Captain Anderson or his boat — all I say is that if he thinks he has a faster boat he is a very much mistaken man."

"We won't stickle at a few thousands, Captain, but do you really think that considerable money would be bet on the Albany in case of a race with the Mary Powell?"

"Do I?  Why, Joe Cornell, of the Citizens' Line, wants to take $20,000 right off, and John Chase, of the Hoboken Ferry, says to put him down for $10,000. Those are only two men. They'll get all the money they want — no trouble about that, my friend!"

"Would you consent to a race?"

"I'd like to see it.  It's really the only way to settle the question," the Captain added, in a firm decided — almost bitter — tone. "If Captain Anderson thinks he has the faster boat, why the only way to settle it is to put the two boats together.  It's the only way, and I'd like to see it done."

"What do you think the result would be?"

The Captain's answer was sharp and quick. "I don't think they'd go very far before they would go back," he replied, and he added vigorously. "I think they'd feel sick at their stomachs before they were out any long distance."

The Mary Powell Misproportioned.
"Why do you think so, Captain?"

"Why, the Mary Powell is all out of proportion. She wasn't made right. She was cut away too much, to begin with, and they she has a 72 cylinder, while her air pump, bed plate and condenser are made for only a 62 cylinder. Now, the Albany has a 73 cylinder and is proportioned for it throughout."

"What time are we making now, Captain?"

"About twenty miles an hour."          

"Five miles less than the Mary Powell?"

"Did they tell you she was making twenty-five miles and hour?  (In a tone of immense astonishment.)  Well, well!"

"How much pressure do you use?"

Here the engineer, who had heard part of the conversation, broke in, saying, "Don't tell him how little we use, or we'll have to bet even, and they won't give us any odds!" At which hilarious sally both captain and engineer gave a gleeful chuckle."

"Captain Anderson says he would not like to let the Mary Powell race because she is a 'family boat?'"

"Well, and ain't we a family boat?" the Captain spoke up, warmly. "Ain't we as much of a family boat as they are? Why, just go down to the cabin and you won't be able to step over all the babies that are about. Haven't we as many women and babies on board as they have?  Just look and see for yourself."

"Conceding that point, Captain, he also seems to be afraid that it might give the Mary Powell the reputation of a 'racing boat?'"

"That's all poppycock! Isn't she racing now every day as it is? She's got the reputation of a racing boat now, for they want to beat everybody else, and they say she can whip creation. I'll tell you what I'll do. If they don't want to bet I'll go for fun. Why, if she wins, it'll be the greatest feather in her cap, and I'll acknowledge the corn. (With a mock rueful air.) I'll tell you up and down than that I was a sadly, sadly deceived man."

"And in that case, Captain, would you model her after the Mary Powell?"

"Model the Albany after the Mary Powell? Do you think that's what I have been forty-nine years steamboating for? Not much!"

"But supposing you two were to come in bow and bow?"

"I'll guarantee against that. I'm not much of a betting man, but I'll bet $5,000 on that — myself!"

End of article, published August 5, 1881 in the ​New York Herald.

The Albany and the Mary Powell did eventually get their race. It was a short one, but considered a race nonetheless! On Wednesday, July 19, 1916, the Powell and the Albany were both headed south on the Hudson at approximately the same time. As the Mary Powell left the dock at Milton, the Albany was just a few minutes behind, and put on a burst of speed in an effort to past. The two boats went full steam ahead for Poughkeepsie, but the Mary Powell was the victor.  ​

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