Smith
and Windmill Islands
in the Delaware River
Three
Newspaper Articles from the
Free Library of Philadelphia Print & Picture Collection
Castner Scrapbooks
Thanks to PWD Intern Annie Cheng for her transcriptions of these articles.
Ridgway
Park
The Magnificent Pleasure Grounds Into Which
Smith's Island Has Been
Changed
[Unnamed newspaper]
April 30, 1880
The old-time habitues of Smith's Island would hardly recognize it under its new name, Ridgway Park; much less would the old-time habitues recognize their former resort in the magnificent pleasure ground into which it has been transformed since the new management took possession. In place of
The History of Philadelphia's Watersheds and Sewers
Historical Consultant
Philadelphia Water Department
the
old, dilapidated beer saloon, which formerly stood in the
center of the island, has arisen a splendid hotel, surrounded by broad galleries.
The little mud-hole, in which newsboys and bootblacks were wont to wash the dirt
from their faces and bodies, has given place to two large commodious baths--one
for ladies and the other for gentlemen--capable of accommodating hundreds of swimmers
at the same time.
The old dancing pavilion has been transformed into
a roller-skating rink and in place of the old saloon canal boat a handsome two-story
confectionery and ice cream saloon, the broad, cool verandahs of which, overhanging
the water and commanding a splendid view of the river, will be reserved exclusively
for women and children. A music stand, built in the shape of a mammoth alcove
and which acts as a sound-board, has been built in the southern extremity of the
park and renders the minutest notes of the orchestra audible in every part of
the island. The grounds have been leveled and sodded and provided with thousands
of easy seats in the shade of the spreading willows, lindens and maples.
The new park was yesterday thrown open to the inspection of about one hundred
invited guests, who were delighted with its perfect appointments. Carl Sentz and
his band were present to test the properties of the music stand and Mr. Sentz
pronounced it a perfect success. A lunch was served in the main dining hall, at
which Mr. Ridgway, in response to a toast offered by Mr. Perry, of the North
American, made a brief speech, in which he said that his intention was to
provide a cheap, pleasant and healthful place of resort to the respectable masses
of Philadelphia. The rough element, which had given Smith's Island a bad name
in former seasons, would be stopped at the wharf on the city front if they attempted
to come there, and if by chance any of them reached the island they would be promptly
expelled. He proposed to provide a pleasant place of reserve for the wives and
children of the men of the city and to protect them in their enjoyment while in
the park. The new pleasure ground will be thrown open to the public on and after
tomorrow.
Free Fighting at Ridgway Park
A Large Crowd, With the Usual Accompaniments of Beer and Blackjacks – The Boats Refuse to Carry Any More Passengers to the New Summer Resort
Philadelphia Times
May 10, 1880
Ridgway Park, on Smith's Island, yesterday was the scene of a disturbance caused probably by a considerable flow of beer and other liquids of a more fiery nature. From early yesterday morning until late at night the grotesque little tubs which are caricatures of steamboats, termed the “Tom Smith” and “John Smith,” conveyed as many passengers as could cling to them from the first wharf below Chestnut street. The greater part of the time the gunwales of the boats were nearly level with the water, and the frail conveyances appeared every moment ready to tip passengers and all to the bottom of the Delaware. The unusual heat caused many persons to seek the island in the hope of enjoying a cool breeze in peace and quietness, but in the latter respect they were woefully disappointed. The crowd gathered in immense numbers at the wharf, which soon became filled with a solid mass of perspiring humanity. Men, women and children were jammed together in a sweltering crowd, many of the men being composed of the order of “roughs,” who filled the air with shouts and curses as they struggled to get to the boats. Children were trampled upon and women had their hats knocked off and clothing torn by the struggling crowd.
At the lower end of the wharf was a slight picket fence, which served as a barrier, compelling passengers to enter through the gate in single file. This proved too slow for the crowd, which was waiting impatiently, and about half past 1 o'clock in the afternoon a grand charge was made, throwing down the fence and allowing free access to the end of the wharf where the boats stopped to land and take up passengers. The crowd by this time numbered nearly five hundred people, while several thousand had already been conveyed to the island. Word was sent to the park of the state of affairs, and it was decided unwise to attempt to carry any more passengers from this side, as the boats might be swamped by the rush of the crowd, which was increasing in numbers every minute, and besides it would be impossible to collect their fares. Accordingly the announcement was made that no more persons would be taken over, but the crowd refused to leave and only answered with hoots and yells. The Tom Smith came over with a large crowd from the island, but the captain was afraid to disembark them at the wharf where the crowd was, and steamed up to Chestnut street, where the passengers were quickly put ashore. About half of the crowd immediately made a rush from the other wharf, but the captain was too quick for them, and, casting off his line, put out for the middle of the stream, while the crowd shouted defiance. Then they divided the forces, and while half stayed below the rest remained at Chestnut street, waiting for the boats. The other boat soon came over, but instead of landing at the wharves where the crowd was went to the dock of the Philadelphia and Atlantic Railroad, some distance below, and put her passengers ashore successfully.
In the meantime the police force of the island, consisting of six men, aided by some of the city police, was sent to the wharf to clear the crowd off, which they signally failed to accomplish. They had hardly arrived on this side before a fight sprang up on the island and black-jacks were freely flourished in the air. The fight soon spread and the police at once returned to the park to quell the disturbance, and the harbor police tug “Stokley” was sent to their assistance. A charge was made upon the fighters and about a dozen of the ringleaders were arrested and placed in the cells upon the tug. After being allowed to perspire for a while in the cells, they were brought to this side and allowed to go free. Most of them left quietly, but one of them became very abusive and threatened to beat the officers. He was taken to the Central Station, where he gave the name of Michael O'Mealey, and his residence at 1227 Fitzgerald street. He was held for a hearing on the charge of being drunk and disorderly.
It was estimated at the park last night that fully seven thousand persons had been carried to the island during the day by the Tom and John Smith and the tug Argonauta, which ran from Schackamaxon street wharf. After the arrests there was no further disturbance, and the crowd quietly dispersed.
From the “Men and Things”
column by “Penn,” in the
Philadelphia Evening Bulletin.
Ca. 1895
Crossing the Delaware to Camden on the Market Street ferry and
looking up and down the unobstructed stretch of water, it occurred to me how long
it would be before the recollection of the picturesque old island that the Federal
Government has wiped out would become a vague memory. It is curious how soon our
memories lose their hold on places that have been within the daily range of our
goings and comings. It is not long ago, for example, that the big Drexel Building
supplanted the various stores and structures at Fifth and Chestnut Streets on
this side of the Custom House and down to Library Street, and yet not one in twenty
of those who were in the habit of passing that corner every day could now give
an approximately exact description of it in detail as it was only twenty years
ago. How many are there who can recall without clash of recollections the lot
now covered by the John Wanamaker concern as it was, say, twenty-two years ago
yesterday, when Moody and Sankey began in the Pennsylvania Railroad's old freight
barn their winter of tumultuous evangelism! The other day, the building of the
old “Cornucopia” disappeared from Broad and Chestnut Streets; “Finelli's”
went some time ago near the other corner; “Steele's” will soon vanish
for another skyscraper. I mention these places as familiar resorts of men about
town in many years, and yet I have not any doubt that ten or twenty years hence,
there will be many a warm “argument,” as well as many a query to the
“correspondences' column” of the newspapers, as to exactly where or
on what corners these places were, their size and their appearance, and on the
part, too, of those who have visited them time and again. The famous Presbyterian
Church of John Chambers, the war horse of his faith, is next to come down; but
how many are there who, with all the changes round-about, which another decade
or two will bring will not have in mind the misty outlines of Dr. McCook's Presbyterian
Church when they try to recall Chamber's or vice versa?
And so it was
that I wondered how many there are who have perhaps not already begun to forget
the curious little island in the Delaware, which so long was one of the features
of the life of the town--the thick weeping willows that overhung the waters, the
broad graveled walks, the great sign of “Baths” visible from our wharves,
the Camden and Amboy canal, the ne plus ultra of Windmill Island or Point Airy
beyond on the other side, and those queer flat and half-circular boats which puffed
and grunted and wheezed their way across the river under the fluttering flag of
John Smith or of Tom Smith. I know that some of you will say, when they recollect
how it finally became what a clergyman called “The Devils' Isle,” and
the dumping place of the gregarious vice of the town, that it is quite better
that it should be forgotten and sunk beneath the waves. And yet there are many
to whom the name of “Smith's Island” will bring up the jolliest of the
innocent memories of a Philadelphia boyhood.
Captain John Smith and Captain
Tom Smith, indeed, were looked upon by two generations of the city's youngsters
with as much awe as if the pair had been Prosperos on another magic isle. Around
the house in which Captain Tom lived as the lord of the domain, there clustered
many traditions about pirates, ships that had been wrecked on the bar, a man of
war that had stranded there and whales that had come up the Delaware and had been
captured by the hardy and heroic Smiths. The youthful imagination treasured up
all these years. But nothing was more relished than the tradition as to Windmill
Island. Long before the canal was cut through, and in the days when it was a disputed
question as to whether the soil belonged to Pennsylvania or New Jersey, the entire
island had been known by that name. A family of millers, the Hardings, is known
some time in the last century to have built a wharf and a windmill, and it is
doubtless true that the windmill was blown down in a great storm. But as the tale
came down to later generations the whole structure was carried clean across to
the Jersey side of the river, and there, having fallen in some good man's orchard,
it was long used by the boys of Camden for their sports. I do not vouch for this
narrative: I mention it as only one of the weird and terrible things which Philadelphia
boys used to hear about Smith Island--embellished with great amplitude of detail
concerning the flight of the windmill high up in the heavens, like the ancient
witches on their broomsticks.
As to pirates having been gibbeted on the
island, there was no myth about that, except as to the number of the bloody villains.
Yet it was probably not altogether an uncommon practice to dispatch criminals
there up to the beginning of the present century. For example, the records of
the old Walnut Street Prison show that at least five of its inmates received the
death penalty on the island. One of them was hanged there for running away with
the American privateer, Luzerne, and delivering the vessel into the hands of the
British; another, Thomas Wilkinson, was swung off at Windmill Island as a pirate
and gibbeted at Mud Island, and as late as 1800, under Adam's administration,
three and possibly four men were hanged at one time as pirates. In the fifty years
before the Revolution, when Philadelphia's population ranged from only 15,000
to 40,000 there were more hangings in the city than there have been in the past
fifty years, and it is not improbable that some of them took place on the island,
which was then usually known as “The Bar,” or “The Sand Bar.”
Those who listened to the story of the man-of-war, and who in after years
took the trouble to look into it, found that, like the yarns about the pirates,
it was not without substantial basis. In the winter of 1815, there was great anxiety
to learn the fate of the treaty that the United States and Great Britain were
known to have been negotiating at Ghent. All schoolboys now know how General Jackson
won the battle of New Orleans in the month after the Treaty of Ghent had been
signed, but when the news had yet to be brought to our shores. The schooner Transit
had been assigned to carry the official copy of the treaty with the secretary
of the American Legation; but a British vessel outsailed her and was the first
to bring the glad tidings in February, causing Philadelphia to give up several
days and nights to rejoicings and illuminations. When the Transit arrived, the
news was stale, although I may state, as a curious local fact, that some of the
privateers which Philadelphia and the Northern Liberties sent out were looking
for the enemy's sail after the battle of New Orleans, and that one of them brought
a prize up the Delaware even after the arrival, not only of the British bearer
of peace, but also of the Transit. Some time afterward, or when the first Thomas
Smith had established what he called the “State Island Ferry,” with
the help of his son, John, a hulk of a vessel was set up on the north end of the
island, the rigging and masts dismantled, a roof built over the deck, a doorway
cut into the hull, a dancing floor laid out and a bar opened within. For many
years, thousands of Philadelphians visited the interior of the vessel. It is supposed
to have been the old Transit and it was there known with a sort of patriotic affection
as “The Messenger of Peace,” in which many a toast was drank to the
old navy and the glory of the republic.
And there too, were often heard
ringing political speeches. The island was a favorite place for political reunions
and ex-toasts or barbecues, it was especially a resort for the Whigs, who
would be regaled with good cheer from the “Messenger of Peace” or from
the public house while listening to men like John Swift, Robert T. Conrad and
Morton McMichael pitch into the Democratic party. The floating baths were well
known there sixty to seventy years ago, although it was necessary to be conveyed
to them in rowboats under the vigilant direction of the Smiths. In time, they
opened their famous bath pool, and in the twenty years before the war, the island
was a place where business men, politicians and other public characters were to
be seen and could be seen without the disrepute into which it fell in the last
ten years of its existence. In those days, it sometimes presented a curious scene
when the river was ice-bound and when multitudes of pleasure-seekers came out
to skate upon the frozen surface all the way from Kensington down to Gloucester.
Tents, booths, rude bars and gaming tables were to be found near or on the island;
they were open day and night, and on the day in 1856 when the Albrights, of Kensington,
lost their lives by going into an air hole, horse, sleigh and all, it is said
that one, standing on Smith Island and looking up and down between the two cities,
could see not fewer than 25,000 people skating or sleighing on the snow-covered
ice of the Delaware.
For many years, it looked as if Smith's Island was
destined to be the abutment of a great bridge across the Delaware. There is a
street in Camden--Bridge street--which derives its name from one of the earliest
of these projects. It was first thought that a bridge from Camden to the island
and ferriage from the island to Walnut Street would solve the problem of inter-state
transit which the “bar” made always a difficult one in the early days
of steamboats and which was an extremely serious one in hard winters, with no
powerful ice boats to keep open a channel. Time and again, this proposition was
repeated in various forms. It was one of the features, I think, of Thomas H. Speakman's
numerous attempts to have a bridge built across the river from this city, and
it figured in the agitation which was set up when the Camden and Amboy Railroad
wanted an “entrance” into Philadelphia, and finally secured it by having
Windmill Island bisected for ferryboats to pass through. The railroad company
was sometimes obliged to have its passengers taken across on the ice by way of
the island after they had assembled at Bloodgood's Hotel at the foot of Walnut
Street, and found that no boats could get over.
And now beneath the broad
bosom of the Delaware, every vestige of the island of the Smiths has forever vanished,
and some day, perhaps in the next century, antiquarians in the Historical Society
will be holding learned discussions as to whether there really ever was such a
place.
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