No. 86- Shady Side
                                                                   ———--
Little is known of the steamboat “Shady Side” in this section of the Hudson Valley, as the territory she served on the Hudson river was within short distances of New York city.

The wooden hull “Shady Side” was built at Bulls Ferry, New Jersey, in 1873 and she was powered by-an engine produced by Fletcher, Harrison and Company of New York. Her dimensions were listed as: Length of hull, 168 feet, one inch; breadth of beam, 27 feet, five inches; depth of hull, nine feet, five inches; gross tonnage, 444, net tonnage 329. Her engine was the vertical beam type with a cylinder diameter of 44 inches and an eight foot stroke.

The “Shady Side” was a remarkably swift and handsome steamboat of medium size. She was built for the New York and Fort Lee passenger day line, running in line with the steamboat “Pleasant Valley.” Later she was purchased by the Morrisania Steamboat Company and in 1874 she was running in line with the steamboats “Morrisania” and “Harlem between Morrisania and New York. This line was in competition with the regular Harlem boats, “Sylvan Dell,” “Sylvan Stream,” and “Sylvan Glen,” which were in service until 1879 when the elevated railroad system in New York city began to make inroads into the steamboat passenger business and finally forced the steamboats to cease operation- being sold in 1881 under the foreclosure of mortgage. The “Shady Side” was then used in and around New York harbor until 1902 when she was placed in service on the New York-Stamford, Connecticut route.

The “Harlem” and “Morrisania” were also used in New York harbor, chartered to excursion parties, and saw service on short routes from the metropolis. In the spring of 1895 the “Morrisania” was taken to Hoboken to have some repairs made. While there she caught fire and her joiner works were damaged to such an extent that it was decided not to rebuild the vessel. Her hull was then taken to Harlem and converted into a coal barge. The “Harlem,” the other vessel which ran in line with the “Shady Side” for the Morrisania Company, was sold in 1903 to a Boston concern and placed in service in Boston Harbor where she was destroyed by fire about a year later.

The “Shady Side” ran on the Stamford route until 1921. Later she was sold to Marcus Garvey of the Black Star Steamship Line, who used her for excursions until the fall of 1922 when she was completely worn out. The “Shady Side” was then taken to Fort Lee on the west side of the Hudson River and beached on the mud flats- a short distance from where she had been launched a half-century before. Here she slowly decayed, the last of the great fleet of fast steamboats which ran between Harlem and New York until the elevated railroad forced the steamboats to cease operation.

​On Friday 25th Jan. last, about 3 o’Clock Mr. Brookman of this town, one Thomas Slack, and a Negro of Mr. Remden’s, went off in a boat in order to shoot some water fowl, which during this hard weather have come in great numbers into the open places in the harbour, and having wounded some, pursued them till they got entangled in the ice, so that they were not able to get to land.  

​Their distress being seen from the shore here, a boat with several hands put off to their assistance, but night coming on lost sight of them, and returned. – Mean while the people in the ice drove with the tide as far as Red-Hook, and fired several guns as signals of distress.  The guns were heard on shore, but no assistance could be given them.  And as the weather was extreamly cold, it was thought they would all have perished, -- which they themselves also expected.  

​In this extremity they had recourse to every expedient in their power: There happened to be an iron pot and an ax on board – they cut off a piece of the boat roap and pick’d it to oakum, and putting it in the pan of a gun with some powder, catched it on fire, which with some thin pieces cut from the mast, they kindled in the pot, and then cut up their mast, seats, &c. for fewel, and making a tent of their sail, wrapt themselves as well as they could; when they found themselves nearly overcome with the cold, notwithstanding their fire, they exercised themselves with wresting, which proved a very happy expedient, restored their natural warmth, and no doubt greatly contributed to their preservation.

In this manner they passed the whole night, in which they suffered much cold, but happily escaped with life, and without being frost bitten: Next morning, by firing guns, they were discovered in the ice by Mr. Seabring on Long Island, who, by laying planks on the ice for near a quarter of a mile, which otherwise was not strong enough to bear a man’s weight, they all got safe on shore, without the least hurt, and returned the same day to York.

The Hudson River Maritime Museum recently received a set of black and white photographs documenting the work of the Kingston Shipbuilding Corporation during World War I. Clyde Bloodgood worked at the shipyard located on Island Dock. Shipbuilding has been going on for the last couple of hundred years along Rondout Creek. William duBarry Thomas writes in the 1999 Pilot Log: "During World War I, the Kingston Shipbuilding Corporation constructed ocean-going wooden-hulled cargo steamships (the only vessels of the type ever built along the Creek)"
 
The museum is grateful for the donation of these fine photographs. They are a wonderful addition to the museum's collection and aids in our ability to tell the history of the Hudson River and its tributaries.

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!​

Since the Hudson River was first navigated by steamboats in 1807, there have been hazards- natural and man-made- that have plagued the captains and pilots of these vessels. Fog, low water level, treacherous currents and ice have all taken their toll over the years, as have the occasional cases of inattention to duty, confusing or misunderstood whistle signals between steamers- not to mention fires, boiler explosions or mechanical failure of engine or steering gear.
 
Some of these accidents are well known, such as the loss of the steamer Thomas Cornell when she ran up Danskammer Point, north of Newburgh, in the fog on 27 March 1882 as she was making her regular trip from Rondout to New York.
 
Many years later, the Hudson River Day Line’s flagship Washington Irving was lost as a result of a collision just after she left her pier in New York on 1 June 1926. She was struck on the port side by an oil barge in tow of the tug Thomas E. Moran and sank after she was hurriedly run across the river to shallower water on the New Jersey side.
 
Most of the accidents or incidents have never had the dramatic impact of losses such as that of the Thomas Cornell or Washington Irving. Many of them didn’t result in the loss of the vessel. The Cornell tug G.W. Decker was an example. This small tug was for many years employed as a “helper” tug on Cornell’s tows- picking up or dropping off individual barges at intermediate points on the journey to or from New York. Many years ago, the many brickyards at Haverstraw sent their production to New York on barges, with the helper tug shuttling between the brickyard wharves and the tow. The depth of the river at Haverstraw Bay is not particularly deep, and the fact that the Decker’s bottom plates were eventually found to be very thin was ascribed- in part at least- to the cumulative action of Haverstraw Bay sand on her bottom. We shall never know for sure, but it is a reasonable theory.
 
The river’s depth is very shallow on the wide reaches of Haverstraw Bay outside of the main channel, and on the upper river where dredging had to be accomplished to allow ships to reach the port of Albany. In March 1910, long before the upper river was dredged, the very large and powerful steel-hulled Cornell tug named Cornell- accompanied by her helper Rob- was sent to Albany to break up an enormous ice jam in order that the river might be opened for traffic. It was found that her draft was so great that she grounded from time to time on the northbound trip, but she eventually accomplished her task with no small measure of hazard to Cornell and her crew. It was never attempted again.
 
Over most of the river’s course from New York to the start of the dredged channel north of Hudson the channel is of moderate depth, but in the Highlands- from Peekskill north to Cornwall- there is a lot of water, sometimes extending almost to the shoreline because of the mountainous nature of the area. At Anthony’s Nose, the depth reaches about 90 feet, and under the Bear Mountain Bridge we may find nearly 130 feet of depth.
 
In the region around West Point is where we may find the deepest point on the entire river. Between West Point and Constitution Island, in that part of the river called World’s End, a depth of 202 feet was recorded during one survey many years ago- and that is at mean low water during the lowest river stages.
 
A small steamboat- or “steam yacht” in river parlance- named Carrie A. Ward, built in New Baltimore in 1878, maintained a local service between Newburgh and Peekskill during the 1880s. In late July of 1882, she sank near Cold Spring and was raised. On Saturday, 29 July, she sank for a second time for reasons thus far unknown, again in the vicinity of Cold Spring. By Tuesday, 1 August, she had not been located. The Newburgh Daily Journal reported on that day under the headline “Is She Gone For Good?”:
 
“It is said that the river bed consists of rocks in the locality where she went down, and that the water is of varying depth. It may be fifty [feet] deep in one spot, and nearly twice that a few yards off. Some boatmen have doubts if the Carrie will ever be found. They say she may have settled into a hollow between some of the rocks and her presence may never be discovered.”
 
The situation was not quite as dire as the boatmen predicted. By the next day, she had been located in 60 feet of water. The Journal remarked, “Arrangements are under way to have the yacht raised again.” The Baxter Wrecking Company brought in their divers and equipment on 5 August, and in a short time, the Carrie A. Ward had been raised, repaired and back in service.
 
The Hudson hasn’t always been that kind to its vessels. There have been scores of sail and steamboats, barges and other craft that have sunk in the river never to be raised. We shall unfortunately never know the tales told by their crews.
 

During the early years of the 1900’s, there was a stone quarry at Rockland Lake, a few miles south of Haverstraw.  The Cornell Steamboat Company towed the stone from the quarry on scows to the metropolitan New York market.
 
The winter of 1912 was very severe with heavy ice in the lower river.  Cornell tugs, however, continued their efforts to break the ice so the stone could be towed to New York for use by the construction industry.
 
One one particular day that winter, the Cornell tugboats "S. L. Crosby” and "Hercules" were in the river off the quarry breaking ice — trying to get into the dock to break out the loaded scows that were frozen in.  First, one tug would slam into the ice, which at the time was seven to eight inches thick, until she was stopped cold by the solid ice.  Then that tug would back off and the other tug would slam into the track until she was stopped dead.  Gradually, the two tugs were working their way towards the dock.

Two Good Tries
 On one try the “Crosby” went ahead a short distance and stopped.  On this try, however, she made a good crack in the ice.  Next, the “Hercules" came up astern, hit the crack the “Crosby” had made, and plowed her way right up to the dock.
 
The general manager of the Cornell Steamboat Company was standing on the dock at the time.  And, admiringly, he said, “What a great ice breaker we have in the “Hercules”!”  Quite obviously, he had not noticed the crack in the ice made by the “Crosby.”
 
When spring came, Cornell had the "Hercules" sent to the Cornell repair shops at Rondout and ordered extra stout oak planking and steel straps put all around her bow.  From that point on, the “Hercules" was thought to be the greatest ice breaker of them all.  For years after, whenever ice was to be broken, the “Hercules” was sent out to do the job.
 
At the time of the ice breaking at Rockland Lake, Aaron Relyea of Bloomington was the captain of the "Crosby” and Mel Hamilton of Port Ewen was captain of the "Hercules.”  Nearly 20 years later, I worked for Captain Relyea as a deckhand on the "Crosby" and he was the one who related this incident to me.  Captain Aaron A l w a y s maintained the “Crosby” was the better tug of the two in breaking ice.
 
In later years, I also talked to Captain Hamilton about that day at Rockland Lake.  Captain Mel said, "Aaron was right.  Between the two tugs, the “Crosby” was the best in the ice.  But,” he added with a wink, "never argue with the boss.”

                                                              City of Kingston
The “City of Kingston” was a 246 foot, iron hull, stern-propeller steamboat constructed for the Cornell Steamboat Company of Rondout in 1884 at Wilmington, Delaware. She was constructed to replace the ill-fated “Thomas Cornell,” which was wrecked in the spring of 1882, was the first stern propellered steamer built for hauling freight and passengers on the Rondout line, and was capable of making 19 miles per hour.
               
The “City of Kingston” proved unsatisfactory for service on the Rondout line due to the necessity of many landings, and while she made good time while under way between stops, too much time was consumed in endeavoring to bring her into the dock.
               
Despite this deficiency, she remained in service here for five years and was then sold, in October, 1889, and was taken to the Pacific coast for service on Puget Sound. She left New York on November 22, 1889, for her long journey to the west coast.
               
An April 24, 1899, the Northern Pacific Oriental liner “Glenogle,” outward bound, collided with the City of Kingston” inward bound from Victoria. This accident occurred during a light fog at 4:35 o’clock Sunday morning off Brown’s Point. The “City of Kingston was struck on her starboard side, aft of her boiler room, and was cut in two by the liner’s iron bow. Three minutes later her hull was resting on the bottom of Puget Sound and her upper works, divided in two parts, was floating about the bay.
               
At the time of the accident the “City of Kingston” was the property of the Northern Pacific Railroad and was valued at $150,000. Confusion reigned aboard the stricken vessel but finally the 12 passengers and 60 members of her crew were gotten aboard the “Glenogle” without any loss of life. Thus the career of the namesake of this old Colonial city was brought to a close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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!​