As the steamer lines are cast off at Desbrosses
Street pier, Washington Irving
naturally reverts to the old-time
days, and his great voyage
Along the Hudson
by sloop in 1800
My first voyage up the Hudson was made in early boyhood, before
steamboats and railroads had annihilated time and space. A voyage to
Albany then was equal to a voyage to Europe at present, and took almost
as much time. We enjoyed the beauties of the river in those days; the
features of nature were not all jumbled together, nor the towns and
villages huddled one into the other by railroad speed as they are now.
I was to make the voyage under the protection of a relative of mature
age; one experienced in the river. His first care was to look out for a
favorite sloop and captain, in which there was great choice.
The constant voyaging in the river craft by the best families of New
York and Albany made the merits of captains and sloops matters of
notoriety and discussion in both cities. The captains were mediums of
communication between separated friends and families. On the arrival of
one of them at either place he had messages to deliver and commissions
to execute which took him from house to house. Some of the ladies of
the family had, peradventure, made a voyage on board of his sloop and
experienced from him that protecting care which is always remembered
with gratitude by female passengers. In this way the captains of Albany
sloops were personages of more note in the community than captains
of European packets or steamships at the present day. A sloop was
at length chosen; but she had to complete her freight and secure a
sufficient number of passengers. Days were consumed in “drumming up” a
cargo. This was a tormenting delay to me who was about to make my first
voyage, and who, boy-like had packed up my trunk on the first mention
of the expedition. How often that trunk had to be unpacked and repacked
before we sailed.
What a time of intense delight was that first sail through the
Highlands! I sat on the deck as we slowly tided along at the foot of
those stern mountains, and gazed with wonder and admiration at cliffs
impending far above me, crowned with forests, with eagles sailing and
screaming around them; or listened to the unseen stream dashing down
precipices or beheld rock, and tree, and cloud, and sky reflected in
the glassy stream of the river. And then how solemn and thrilling the
scene as we anchored at night at the foot of these mountains, clothed
with overhanging forests; and everything grew dark and mysterious; and
I heard the plaintive note of the whippoorwill from the mountain-side,
or was startled now and then by the sudden leap and heavy splash of the
sturgeon.
But of all the scenery of the Hudson, the Kaatskill Mountains had the
most witching effect on my boyish imagination. Never shall I forget
the effect upon me of the first view of them predominating over a wide
extent of country, part wild, woody, and rugged part softened away
into all the graces of cultivation. As we slowly floated along, I lay
on the deck and watched them through a long summer’s day; undergoing a
thousand mutations under the magical effects of atmosphere sometimes
seeming to approach; at other times to recede; now almost melting
into hazy distance, now burnished by the setting sun, until, in the
evening, they printed themselves against the glowing sky in the deep
purple of an Italian landscape.
I am here recalling my first voyaging amid Hudson scenery and can say
that it has been my lot, in the course of a somewhat wandering life, to
behold some of the rivers of the old world, most renowned in history
and song, yet none have been able to efface or dim the pictures of my
native stream thus early stamped upon my memory. My heart would ever
revert to them with a filial feeling, and a recurrence of the joyous
associations of boyhood; and such recollections are, in fact, the true
fountains of youth which keep the heart from growing old.
To me the Hudson is full of storied associations, connected as it is
with some of the happiest portions of my life. Each striking feature
brings to mind some early adventure or enjoyment; some favorite
companion who shared it with me; some fair object, perchance, of
youthful admiration, who, like a star, may have beamed her allotted
time and passed away.