The Hudson, Developed on the Voyage.
“We‘ll have a trip up the Hudson,” said a friend of mine, one of the best operators in New York; “we‘ll have a trip up the Hudson, and go and spend a few days with the ‘old folk’ in Vermont, and then you will see us ‘Yankees’—our homes and hospitalities—in a somewhat different light from what you see them in this Gotham.”
So it was arranged, and on the day appointed we walked down Broadway, turned down Courtland Street to the North River, and went on board the splendid river steamer Isaac Newton, named, in graceful compliment, after one of England’s celebrities. Two dollars (eight and fourpence) each secured us a first-class passage in one of those floating palaces, for a trip of 144 miles up one of the most picturesque rivers in America.
Wishing for a thorough change of scene and occupation, and being tired of “posing and arranging lights” and “drawing a focus” on the faces of men, women, and children in a stifling and pent-up city, we left the camera with its “racks and pinions” behind, determined to revel in the beautiful and lovely only of nature, and breathe the fresh and exhilarating air as we steamed up the river, seated at the prow, and fanned by the breeze freshened by the speed of our swift-sailing boat.
Leaving New York, with its hundred piers jutting out into the broad stream, and its thousand masts and church spires on the one side, and Jersey City on the other, we are soon abreast of Hoboken and the “Elysian Fields,” where the Germans assemble to drink “lager beer” and spend their Sundays and holidays. On the right or east side of the river is Spuyten Duyvil Creek, which forms a junction with the waters of the Sound or East River, and separates the tongue of land on which New York stands from the main, making the island of Manhattan. This island is a little over thirteen miles long and two and a half miles wide. The Dutch bought the whole of it for £4 16s., and that contemptible sum was not paid to the poor, ignorant, and confiding Indians in hard cash, but in toys and trumpery articles not worth half the money. Truly it may be said that the “Empire City” of the United States did not cost a cent. an acre not more than two hundred and fifty years ago, and now some parts of it are worth a dollar a square foot. At Spuyten Duyvil Creek Henry Hudson had a skirmish with the Indians, while his ship, the Half Moon, was lying at anchor.
Now we come to the picturesque and the beautiful, subjects fit for the camera of the photographer, the pencil of the artist, and the pen of the historian. On the western side of the Hudson, above Hoboken, we catch the first glimpse of that singular and picturesque natural river wall called the “Palisades,” a series of bold and lofty escarpments, extending for about thirty-five miles up the river, and varying in an almost perpendicular height from four to over six hundred feet, portions of them presenting a very similar appearance to Honister Craig, facing the Vale of Buttermere and Salisbury Craigs, near Edinburgh.
About two and a half miles above Manhattan Island, on the east bank of the Hudson, I noticed a castellated building of considerable pretensions, but somewhat resembling one of those stage scenes of Dunsinane in Macbeth, or the Castle of Ravenswood in the Bride of Lammermoor. On enquiring to whom this fortified-looking residence belonged, I was told it was Fort Hill, the retreat of Edwin Forest, the celebrated American tragedian. It is built of blue granite, and must have been a costly fancy.
Now we come to the pretty village of Yonkers, where there are plenty of subjects for the camera, on Sawmill River, and the hills behind the village. Here, off Yonkers, in 1609, Henry Hudson came to the premature conclusion, from the strong tidal current, that he had discovered the north-west passage, which was the primary object of his voyage, and which led to the discovery of the river which now bears his name.
At Dobb’s Ferry there is not much to our liking; but passing that, and before reaching Tarrytown, we are within the charming atmosphere of Sunnyside, where Washington Irving lived and wrote many of his delightful works. Tarrytown is the next place we make, and here, during the war for independence, the enthusiastic but unfortunate soldier, Major André, was captured; and at Tappan, nearly opposite, he was hung as a spy on the 2nd of October, 1780.
All the world knows the unfortunate connection between Benedict Arnold, the American traitor, and Major André, the frank, gallant, and enterprising British officer; so I shall leave those subjects to the students of history, and pass on as fast as our boat will carry us to the next place of note on the east bank of the river, Sing Sing, which is the New York State prison, where the refractory and not over honest members of State society are sent to be “operated” upon by the salutary treatment of confinement and employment. Some of them are “doing time” in dark rooms, which are very unsuitable for photographic operations, and where a little more light, no matter how yellow or non-actinic, would be gladly received. The “silent cell” system is not practised so much in this State as in some of the others; but the authorities do their best to improve the negative or refractory character of the subjects placed under their care. It is, however, very questionable whether their efforts are not entirely negatived, and the bad character of the subject more fully developed and intensified by contact with the more powerful reducing agents by which they are surrounded. Their prison is, however, very pleasantly situated on the banks of the Hudson, about thirty-three miles above New York City.