In 1903 the steamboat Mary Powell was making her way south to New York City when an incident occurred of such importance, it made the news in two separate newspapers. On July 10, 1903 the New York Tribune reported the incident, as did the Kingston Daily Freeman.

MARY POWELL RUNS DOWN SNAKE. Twelve Foot Python Was Headed for Albany – The Mate Justified.
 
The mate of the Hudson River steamer Mary Powell had hard work convincing Captain A. E. Anderson that he was sane when we reported at 11 a.m. yesterday that he had sighted a twelve foot snake off the port bow and apparently heading for Albany. Later the body of a large snake drifted into the slip alongside the boat, and the mate was able to point it out to the captain with the remark: “I told you so.”

The Mary Powell was just finishing her morning trip from Kingston with a goodly number of passengers when the mate, William B. Maines, ran up to Captain Anderson in the Pilot House.

“Snake off the port bow,” he reported.

“What’s the matter, mate?” said the captain, “I hope you see no pink monkeys.”

“It’s a snake, and a big one, too,” replied the mate.

Captain Anderson looked, and, sure enough, bobbing up and down in the water, was a snake, evidently a python. A moment later the boat ran the snake down and passed into her berth. Later, when the snake drifted in, it was an object of much interest, and during the day everybody having business near the Debrosses St. pier who heard about it went down to see the snake.
 
- New-York Tribune, July 10, 1903

SNAKE ON THE PORT BOW. "DON'T YOU MEAN AN ICEBERG?" SAID CAPT. ANDERSON.

The Hudson river steamboat, Mary Powell, from Kingston-on-the-Hudson, was making port at the foot of Desbrosses street yesterday morning, says the New York Sun, when the first mate, William B. Maines, approached Captain Anderson in the pilot house, and, after saluting, said:

 "Sir, I have to report that there is a large snake on our port bow."  

The captain gave the wheel a half turn and there was silence for nearly a minute. Then the mate repeated his report.  

Again a half turn of the wheel and a deep silence.  The mate then said it louder.  

"You mean an iceberg, don't you, Mr. Maines," said the captain politely.  "It is hot, isn't it?"  

The mate assured the captain that the hot weather had nothing to do with it and that his brain was working all right.  A moment later the Mary Powell ran her nose into the bobbing corpse of a twelve-foot python and shoved it toward the pier.  

Quite a crowd gathered to see the snake's body during the afternoon.

​- Kingston Daily Freeman, July 10, 1903

Pythons are not native to the Hudson River Valley, so Captain Anderson was right to be skeptical, but it sounds like Maines was, indeed, justified. Hard to argue with physical proof. In all likelihood, the snake was either an escaped or abandoned pet. 

Have you seen any odd creatures in the Hudson River? Comment with your sighting stories!

​​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!

"On the River" was a public television project of WTZA-TV, Hudson Valley Television, Kingston, New York. Running from 1986/87-1993, all episodes of this series are now held in the Marist College Archives as part of their Environmental History collection. This episode is shared with permission by the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

"Logbook 36" follows Port Ewen shad fisherman Frank Parslow as he discusses Hudson River fishing, goes out on the river and actually does some shad fishing with his nephew George Mick, who comes up from South Carolina just to go shad fishing. After the come back to shore, Frank discusses how he cleans, brines, and smokes the shad.

We'll be sharing many of the river-related "Logbooks" from "On the River" over the next several Saturdays, so stay tuned!

Frank Parslow was a member of the Hudson River Fisherman's Association and had a hand in the prosecution of Exxon Mobile for stealing Hudson River Water. If you want the whole story, you can visit our online exhibit, Rescuing the River. 

Frank was also one of many Hudson River commercial fishermen who were interviewed over the years and his oral history is one of dozens that reside at the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

You can listen to more of Frank's wonderful stories online at New York Heritage, where many interviews from HRMM's oral history collection are housed. 

If you'd like to see more videos from the Hudson River Maritime Museum, visit our YouTube Channel. For more "On the River" episodes, check out our YouTube playlist just for this show.

​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!​

​The tide began to recede at 3:00 AM and is way out at, leaving several hundred feet of mud flats between us and the river. We were hoping to start early, but it was looking unlikely that we could launch the canoe before the tide began coming in. The skies were overcast.
 
Steve, our ad hoc spiritual leader, slept peacefully under the sky, untroubled by the logistics of launching the Bear or the difficulties of wind and tide that lay ahead. Steve had a distinguished and principled career as a judicial watchdog until his organization became politicized. He began a second career as a social justice attorney representing the disadvantaged. He met his wife in the Peace Corps and his children have followed his lifelong example of selflessness. Years earlier, Steve introduced long canoe trips to a local youth organization as a volunteer and got to know the Hudson River better than many river pilots. He was always supremely confident that the Lord would look after those traveling on the river for adventure and renewal. He was so relaxed and confident this morning that we had to wake him up.

​I prepared a sketch of the Manhattan skyline in my journal with drunken pilings and crooked dock supports in the foreground. At 7:00, we fixed instant coffee and apple-cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast. We broke camp and created a protective launch ramp for the Bear by arranging logs and old tires between dry ground and the water. Once afloat, we packed the Bear with our gear and finally the crew. The last member to come aboard (that would be me) would need to wade through the ooze some distance so that the stern would float free.  No one wanted to dwell on what was in that ooze. The smell said it all.
 
We covered a mile north in our first half hour before the northwest wind came up again.  We paddled in the lee of several piers in order to escape the brunt of the wind. We met a crab fisherman near the Crab House Restaurant and he was incredulous that we were paddling to Albany. We passed alongside the abandoned 1905 double-ended DL&W steam ferry Binghamton, the tugboats Kerry K. and Brooklyn and we made rest stops at two Edgewater marinas. The water at the second marina stunk but we were desperate at that point and drank it holding our noses.
 
We rallied for a final push toward the George Washington Bridge. As we approached the bridge, the wind and waves intensified, making it difficult to keep the bow from falling off course. Dan worked his heart out up in front, clawing his paddle left and right as needed while the rest of us powered forward. As we passed the tall Gothic tower of Riverside Chapel, Steve told us that his grandfather served as its pastor for some years. We passed Grant’s Tomb and as we approached the bridge, the wind and waves seemed to be funneled into a threatening maelstrom. We had no choice but to continue; turning would have resulted in broaching and capsizing at this point. We passed beneath the bridge at 10:30 against terrible waves. The wind was now 25 mph. The west shore here is reinforced by a continuous stone bulkhead with no place to land. Steve again reminded us that the Lord would provide. Immediately after affirming this, a break in the bulkhead appeared, revealing a sandy beach just long enough to contain our canoe. We dove in, grateful to get off the river with all of our gear intact. It was 11:00 AM. We found a clearing here and made the decision to stay off the river until conditions improved. We named this place “Beneficent Beach.”

​The wind never stopped and the skies threatened well into the afternoon. The tide rose and we had to move some logs and adjust our lines to keep the canoe safe. We met a few people who were interested in our journey and happy to tell us about the Palisades and local history. We were told that the bad weather and erratic tides were part of the circulation associated with hurricane Dennis. Joe set up a fly to protect our gear in the event of rain and it gradually dawned on all of us that we were not going to be able to go anywhere for the remainder of the day. We discreetly set up our tents in a cluster next to the fly and spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring. Steve and Dan hiked to the top of the massive cliffs. I prepared a sketch of the George Washington Bridge.

​We began dinner at 6:00 by using our most perishable foods first. We served an appetizer of tomatoes and cheddar cheese and a main course of macaroni and cheese mixed with hot dogs and what remained of our cream cheese. We garnished our plates with dill pickles. After cleaning up, we replenished our fresh water at a nearby park pavilion and returned to tell campfire stories about extreme adventures, spiritual mysteries and cheating death. All of our stories were sprinkled with complaints about our sore arms and rear ends. The tide was going out and the Bear was safe for the time being. The wind remained wild, but the rain didn’t materialize.
 
At 9:30, we put extra lines on our tents and the camp fly, established an anchor watch and turned-in for the evening. The wind moderated somewhat and a few skunks visited. High tide came at 1:00 AM. Steve and I took turns keeping an eye on the canoe which was jostled around a little bit but safe. After an hour or so, she settled on the sand and we went back to sleep. The moderating wind gave us a little hope for smoother progress in the upcoming day.

The trip will continue next Friday!

​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 text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteers. For more of Captain Benson’s articles, see the “Captain Benson Articles” category.​
This article was originally published in Tempo on June 25, 1972.

During the early 1920's, when I was a boy growing up in Sleightsburgh, church services used to be held every Sunday afternoon at the little Sleightsburgh chapel on First Street.
​
The Rev. Mr. Anthony of Rondout would conduct the service and be assisted by Mr. Arthur S. Flemming, who later became the president of Ohio Wesleyan University and Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare in President Dwight Eisenhower’s cabinet.  Mr. Flemming at that time had graduated from Kingston High School, but he had graduated so young that his father, Judge Harry Flemming, thought he should wait a year before going on to college.  During that period, he used to assist Rev. Anthony almost every Sunday, being very active in church work.  

On a quiet Sunday afternoon, the bell in the belfry of the chapel would toll shortly before the service was to begin at 3 p.m.  My mother would take my sisters and me with her to the service. ​

Three Long Blasts
At 3:25 p.m., the steamer “Poughkeepsie” of the Central Hudson Line would blow three long blasts on her whistle, announcing her impending departure at 3:30 p.m. from Rondout for New York.  Almost always, Rev. Anthony would be giving his sermon at that time.  When the "Poughkeepsie" would blow her whistle, Rev. Anthony's sermon would come to a dead stop. 

How that whistle would echo through the hills surrounding the Creek!  Especially on one of these hot, lazy summer Sunday afternoons when the windows would be open.  The "Poughkeepsie” would blow … and I'm afraid I would lose all interest in the sermon.  At that time, how I wished I were the lookout on the “Poughkeepsie” and could be aboard her as she started out the creek. 

It is my understanding that much the same thing used to take place at Malden during the late 1930's and 1940's.  At that time, Ellsworth Sniffen of Malden was a pilot on the “Alexander Hamilton’’ of the Hudson River Day Line.  As was the custom on steamboats, most captains and pilots would blow a three blast salute on the whistle to their families as their steamer passed their home ... a steamboatman’s way of saying “hello.”

During the 1930's and ‘40’s, the “Alexander Hamilton” almost always was the up boat to Albany on Saturdays.  This, of course, would mean she would be the down boat on Sunday.  The schedule at that time called for the down boat to leave Catskill at 11:40 a.m. and Kingston Point at 1 p.m.  This would put her past Malden at about 12:15 noon. 

A Momentary Halt.
As the “Hamilton” would come down along the west shore of the River off Malden, Pilot Sniffen would blow the customary three blast salute on the whistle.  Services would be in progress in the church of the hill.  As the “Alexander Hamilton" blew lustily, there would be a momentary halt while the pleasant whistle echoed through the valley. 

Now the steamboat whistles are all gone.  So are many of the churches, such as the little chapel at Sleightsburgh. 

Progress is wonderful, but in its fast-paced course forward so many things of yesteryear are lost in the wake — like the sound of a steamboat whistle on a summer Sunday afternoon.

 
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!

In 1976, the year of the Bicentennial, folksinger Pete Seeger and songwriter Ed Reneham released the album Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay. Designed as a fundraiser for the Hudson River Sloop Restoration, Inc. group, which would later becomes Clearwater, the album featured a number of traditional and original songs about the history of the Hudson River and other New York waterways. Recorded in Woodstock that summer and released in October, 1976, the album features Pete Seeger and Ed Reneham. 

This particular song, "Hudson River Steamboat" has a murky history, but appears to be a traditional tune. In the liner notes for Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay, William Gecke, lyricst for five of the original songs, wrote that "Hudson River Steamboat" was performed "as learned from John and Lucy Allison." 

"Hudson River Steamboat" Lyrics

Hudson River steamboat, Steamin’ up and down.
New York to Albany Or any river town.
Choo-choo to go ahead, Choo-choo to back ‘er.
Captain and the first mate, They both chew tobacker.

Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.
Choo-choo to Tarrytown, Spuyten Duyvil all around.
Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er

Shad boat, pickle boat, lyin’ side by side.
Fisherfolk and sailormen waitin’ for the tide.
Raincloud, stormcloud over yonder hill.
Thunder on the Dunderberg the rumble’s in the kill.

Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.
Choo-choo to Tarrytown, Spuyten Duyvil all around.
Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er.

The Sedgwick was racin’, and she lost all hope.
Used up her steam on the big calliope.
She was hoppin’ right along, she was hoppin’ quick,
All the way from Stony Point to Popalopen Creek.

Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.
New York to Albany, Rondout and Tivoli.
Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er.

​Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker.
Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.

The General Sedgwick was a steamboat built in Jersey City in 1862 and was one of the last to be equipped with a steam calliope. If you have heard the organ-like music on an old-fashioned steam-powered carousel, you have an idea of what a steam calliope sounds like, but you can also listen to one here. 

Few calliopes were installed on Hudson River steamboats for one primary reason - sometimes they took all the steam! So the lyric, "The Sedgwick was racin’, and she lost all hope. Used up her steam on the big calliope," is a reference to using too much steam to make music, leaving too little to propel the engines. Calliope music could be heard for miles and although it must have been quite loud aboard, the sound was nonetheless much-beloved by New Yorkers. 

In the 1880s, the Sedgwick was renamed the "Bay Queen" and by the early 1900s was lying in wreck at Ward's Point, Staten Island.

If you'd like to hear a steamboat with a steam calliope in person, you can visit Lake George and take a ride aboard the Minnehaha, or listen to this great video of the Minne playing her calliope in a duet with its echo!

​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!

​Time to get back to the river.

We gathered on my screened porch on a sultry evening to talk about our previous river adventures and soon we convinced ourselves to paddle the river once again.  Instead of a major youth trip with all of the attendant planning, food, gear and boys of all ages and parents, we imagined a simpler, self-contained trip with one boat and no pre-planned overnight campsites.

Of all of the available boats, we chose to use a 26-foot strip planked canoe named Bear.  Built about 10 years earlier in a church basement, the Bear was large enough to take four or five adults and enough gear and food for a week.  It had a simple mast and square sail for use when winds were favorable, that is running or sailing on a broad reach.  The canoe had a relatively flat but slightly misshapen bottom, high freeboard, flat gunwales and an amber wood color inside and out.  The deformation of the hull resulted from the collapse of the sides as the builders struggled to remove the boat from the dust laden church fellowship hall.  Hydraulic jacks were required to once again give form to the canoe.  Once thwarts were installed, she held her form for the most part.  Remarkably, this canoe was an excellent rough water boat and a good sailor although her bottom would flex in an unsettling way over deep troughs.

We decided to approach the journey differently this time.  We chose to begin in Jersey City and use flood tides and expected southerly winds to carry us up the river.  That way, when tired at the end of the journey, we would be home instead of trying to arrange to get the boat and gear home from some difficult site in metropolitan New York, most likely during a rush hour or some typical urban calamity.  

One month later on a humid and overcast fall day, we met at the old barn to get the Bear out of storage with help from the barn owner and several others.  The canoe was in good shape after resting for three years.  However, when we unfurled the canvas sail, two of us got facefuls of raccoon and mouse crap.  After brushing it out, holes appeared.  There was no time for sewing, so the sail was expertly mended with generous applications of duct tape.  We inverted and hoisted the Bear onto the steel rack on Steve’s small rusted-out pick-up truck and fastened red rags to the awkwardly overhanging bow and stern.  The weather forecast was unsettling.  A cold front followed by northwest winds was expected to sweep through on day one, and three tropical storms are lined up in the Atlantic.  We returned to our homes to pack our individual gear in bright yellow dry bags.

We gathered on the river at Steve’s House in Cedar Hill for bagels and coffee before driving to Jersey City in the truck and Dan’s father’s car.  We arrived at Liberty State Park in approximately two hours and after driving around the perimeter of the park we found the boat launch.  It was sunny and humid.  We carried the Bear into the slip and stepped the mast, lashing it securely to the forward thwart.  We loaded the boat with dry bags containing personal gear, tents, food and water.  By now, curious onlookers had gathered and we took a few moments to tell them we were headed for Albany.  They shook their heads in disbelief.

New York Harbor and Manhattan
At 12:45, we said goodbye to our drivers, Roger and Dave, and began paddling directly toward Bedloe’s Island and the Statue of Liberty. A light west breeze could be felt, so we raised our newly mended sail and threaded a course between the Statue and Ellis Island. Did you know that the Statue of Liberty once served as an official lighthouse? We passed several ferries carrying tourists to the monuments before rounding Ellis Island and turning north into the mouth of the Hudson River. The wind began strengthening and shifting to the northwest setting up choppy waves as we sailed up the river. We were able to cant our sail and sail on a reach as the wind rose to 10-20 mph. Power cruisers began churning up big wakes and each time we had to turn the canoe to meet them head on, losing momentum. One wave soaked Dan in the bow and me in the stern, carrying away my water bottle. The leading edge of the spar carrying our square sail proved hazardous to Joe and Dan in the bow. Steve’s Giants hat blew off and smacked me in the chest. We lost a paddle and had to backtrack. 

A small keel sloop from a nearby sail training outfit joined us briefly and we were actually able to pull ahead of her. A very handsome French ketch sailed by on her way to the basin at 79th Street. We began to drift leeward toward the Manhattan waterfront and the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Wind and tide turned against us in the vicinity of West 30th Street and after struggling against them and making little progress, we pulled for the marina at Chelsea Piers at 3:30 for a much needed break. Here, we washed the salt spray off our faces, bailed out the bottom of the canoe and replenished our fresh water.

​At 4:00 PM we tried once again to make some progress. We tried to sail off of the northwest wind but without leeboards it was futile. We took down the sail and doggedly paddled north. We came upon up to a long rusty car float with spuds that was being used as a makeshift pier. The old lightship Frying Pan, recently raised from the bottom of Chesapeake Bay was tied up to it and at its outboard end was a rusty 1931 fireboat named John J. Harvey. There was a group of dirty but determined guys making repairs at the fantail (they later succeeded in making the fireboat operational; a year or so later, these same guys and their fireboat helped to evacuate lower Manhattan and pump water to the burning wreckage of the World Trade Center). We said hello and continued inching our way north. At 5:00 PM, exhausted and discouraged, we pulled out of the open river and into the lee of the aircraft carrier Intrepid, near 42nd Street, just to get out of the wind. It should have been slack tide but the current was still strong and southerly. We figured that we still had five miles to go to reach the George Washington Bridge and six more after that to reach a good campsite. This goal was becoming increasingly unlikely. Not to mention that we needed a rest.
 
During our interlude below the Intrepid, we watched three cruise ships back into the river, turn with the assistance of tugs and head for sea. We drank lots of water and told a few stories, including a few of Steve’s Peace Corps tales. His description of the parasitic guinea worm and the way it eats its way through human flesh to release eggs did not improve morale.
 
At 5:30 PM we covered our dry bags with the dirty canvas sail and decided to paddle for New Jersey in hopes of getting under the lee of the headlands leading to Fort Lee. It was fortuitous timing. Moments after departing on our westward heading, NYPD arrived in force at the Intrepid, apparently in search of a small boat load of refugees or terrorists. With blue lights flashing, they were everywhere; in squad cars on the pier, in patrol boats in the slip and individually climbing down beneath pilings. In fact the only place they failed to look was west toward the open river. We finally realized that the only place they couldn’t look was toward the setting sun and so we were able to escape by staying exactly between the setting sun and the Intrepid as we made our way to somewhere in New Jersey.

​We pulled into the Port Imperial Marina for a rest since the wind and tide remained adverse. After drinking lots of water and realizing that the flood tide was not going to arrive in time to help, we began paddling north again in search for a place to spend the night. The New Jersey shoreline here was bleak and industrial and our progress was excruciatingly slow. We began losing daylight. Ever the optimist, Steve tells us that “the Lord always provides” and that “He loves canoeists.” He suggested that we consider the 79th Street basin in Manhattan, but I expressed concern about security. As night descended, we discovered an abandoned and undeveloped railroad pier with brush and grass, roughly west of 79th Street. The shoreline was littered with junk and the outer end of the pier was separated from a construction site and high-rise residential towers by a big earthen berm. We landed, investigated the site and agreed with Steve that the Lord had indeed provided for us. Hence we named this place “Providence Pier.” We drew the Bear well above the wrack line and set up camp in a clearing. Joe began dinner. Dan and I climbed up the berm to see what was in the immediate vicinity and noted an auto lube shop and a nearby hospital. It did not seem likely that we would be seen or disturbed.  Meanwhile, we enjoyed the spectacular lights of Manhattan.
 
Dinner was served at 9:30 PM and consisted of an appetizer of cheese and tomatoes and a main course of macaroni, spaghetti sauce and hot dog chunks. A full moon came up and the wind rose to 30 mph. We had a magnificent view of the brightly lit Manhattan skyline. Steve chose to sleep under the stars but the rest of us climbed into pup tents. A family of skunks visited, but was content to sniff Steve and turn in for the night. The rising wind was an ominous sign for the next leg of the trip.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 2 of the trip!

​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 text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteers. For more of Captain Benson’s articles, see the “Captain Benson Articles” category.
This article was originally published October 31, 1971.

                                 A Riverman’s Log’ New Tempo Feature

TEMPO begins Sunday publication with several new features.  And, proud as we are of all of them, the one that promises to become our own personal favorite is a regular column by Captain William O. Benson.
 
You’ll find the first offering by Capt. Benson taking up a full page spread in this week's issue, complete with nostalgic photos of the tugboat Lion and the steamboat M. Martin, and appearing under the banner headline “Whistles Salute Two Presidents.”
 
Captain William Odell Benson is a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson.  As captain of the tugboat Peter Callanan, he retains memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River; has long known the waterway’s steamboats and the men who manned them.  The perfect choice then to author about steamboating on the Hudson in years past.
 
40 Years on River
Bill Benson's reminiscences on Hudson River life and lore now join this magazine as a regular feature; will be culled from his 40 years of working, will appear weekly for a long time to come.
 
A river boatman his entire working life, he was closely associated with the Hudson and its steamboats long before he took to the tides himself.  His father was ship's carpenter of the famous in-legend Mary Powell; held the same position for the Central Hudson Steamboat Company and the Cornell Steamboat Company. His older brother, Algot J. Benson, before his death in 1923, served as chief mate and pilot of the steamboat Onteora, had been a deckhand and quartermaster on the Mary Powell, and a quartermaster of the Long Island Sound steamers Plymouth, Concord and Naugatuck.
 
TEMPO’s new contributor can lay claim, as well, to having been named after a Hudson River steamboat.  His middle name, “Odell,” derives from the steamboat Benjamin B. Odell, the largest steamer of the old Central Hudson Line, which entered service on the river the year Capt. Benson was born.
 
The wealth of anecdotes at your columnist’s recall date back to his school days at the old District No. 13 School, Port Ewen.  Education completed, he left school in 1927 to work for the Hudson River Day Line at Kingston Point.  The years of 1928 and 1929 saw him serving as a deckhand on the old Day Line steamer Albany.  Then came a long period (1930 to 1946) as a deckhand, pilot and captain on the tugboats of the Cornell Steamboat Company.
 
Served on Many Tugs
Those Depression to post-World War II years saw him serving on the Cornell tugs S. L. Crosby, Lion, Jumbo, Bear, Pocahontas, Perseverance, George W. Washburn, R. G. Townsend, Edwin Terry, J. G. Rose, Cornell, Cornell No. 20, Cornell No. 21, Cornell No. 41, John D. Schoonmaker, Rob, and William S. Earl.
 
During 1946 he captained the tugboat maintained at Poughkeepsie to assist tows to pass safely through that city’s bridges.  Since 1947 he’s been pilot and captain on the Callanan Road Improvement Company's tugboats Callanan No. 1 and Peter Callanan, and other tugs that from time to time have been chartered by the Callanan Company.
 
The steamboat columns we've received in advance read like a riverman’s log of humor and heritage.  Suffice it to say that we're looking forward to each new Benson column with as much enthusiasm as any other TEMPO reader.  We welcome the captain aboard with a salute of three whistles; look forward to pleasurable hours of reading about the men and the boats of the Hudson's past in the months ahead.

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!​

Although you may never have heard of him, Buster the brindle bulldog was once one of the most famous dogs on the Hudson River. The pet of Capt. and Mrs. A. Eltinge Anderson, Buster accompanied his master at his work aboard the steamboat Mary Powell. Much beloved by both passengers and crew, Buster was so good at a number of tricks, he ended up in the newspaper

On August 23, 1903, the New York Times, published a biographical account of Buster and his exploits. The Kingston Daily Freeman, eager to pay tribute to the local hero, published the same account a few days later on August 25th: 

Of all the mascots which are supposed to bring good luck to the ships and boats which ply in the harbor of New York there is none more accomplished than “Buster,” the mascot of the Mary Powell, the Albany Day Line boat which runs between New York and Kingston on the Hudson. “Buster” is a dog owned by Capt. Anderson and is held in affectionate regard not only by all the members of the crew of the Mary Powell, but by all of the residents of Hudson River towns who are frequent passengers on that steamer.

“Buster” is six years of age, having first seen the light of day on March 4, 1897, the date of President McKinley’s first inauguration. His tutors have been Capt. Anderson and the members of the Mary Powell’s crew, and he has progressed so well under their instruction that Capt. Anderson now declares him to be the best swimmer and sailor connected with the boat.

“Buster” takes to water like a duck. An invitation from his master to disport himself in the Hudson River fills him with delight. With one leap he is over the railing of the boat and he can frolic around in the water for an hour without getting tired. As it is impossible for him to make a landing once he is in the water owing to the docks and the sea wall around the Albany Day Line’s wharf, he is brought back into the boat by a peculiar and ludicrous manner. Capt. Anderson sends one of the members of the crew out onto a float and the sailor lures “Buster” to the float by throwing him a stick. “Buster” goes after the stick and brings it back to the float in his mouth. The sailor then catches hold of the stick and hauls “Buster” up onto the float, the dog retaining a firm grip on the piece of wood. Once “Buster” is on the float, another sailor throws out a line to the man on the float. This is fastened around “Buster’s” body. The dog is then told to take another dive. When is he again in the water, the sailor on the boat pulls him in just as he would a fish.

On Thursday, March 12, 1908, at the ripe old age of 11, Buster passed away. On that date, the Kingston Daily Freeman reported "BUSTER IS DEAD. Mrs. A. E. Anderson's dog, Buster, the best known dog along the Hudson, died this morning of old age."

The following day, on Friday, March 13, 1908, they reprinted the above biography, but with an addendum on the end:

Since the above was first published "Buster" had added to his accomplishments.  He was the owner of a pass on the local trolley line, and often used the privilege when alone, boarding and leaving the cars the same as any other passenger.

Perhaps Buster took a trolley like the one above! 
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​The staff and volunteers of the Hudson River Maritime Museum had a delightful time researching Buster and his history. We hope you enjoyed this story as much as we did. 

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 text is a verbatim transcription of an article written by George W. Murdock, for the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman newspaper in the 1930s. Murdock, a veteran marine engineer, wrote a regular column. Articles transcribed by HRMM volunteer Adam Kaplan. For more of Murdock's articles, see the "Steamboat Biographies" category at right.

                                                Transport 1881
 Hull built of iron by Cramp at Philadelphia, PA. Length of 115 ft., breadth of hull 20 ft., 5 in. depth 9 ft. 5 in, gross tonnage 318, net tons 226. Engine constructed by Harlan and Hollingsworth at Wilmington, Del., Vertical beam engine. Diameter of cylinder 32 inches by 9 feet stroke.
 
The Transport was launched in December 1874 built for the Windmill Island Ferry Company to operate between Philadelphia and Reading wharves and Windmill Island carrying freight cars for a time was laid up. In the early part of the year 1881, the Transport was purchased by Thomas Cornell of Rondout; after making several alterations, was put on the route between Rondout and Rhinecliff on September first 1881. With Captain Benjamin Wells of Port Ewen in charge, William Van Steenburgh Pilot, William Barber engineer, and Isaac Schultz fireman. The Transport was the third ferryboat to operate on the Rondout and Rhinecliff route taking the place of the Ferryboat Lark that had been on the route since the spring of 1860, with Captain B.F. Schultz, John Landers, Pilot; William Morrow, engineer, and Isaac Schultz, fireman. The Lark took the place of the Ferryboat Rhine which was the first steam Ferryboat to operate across the Hudson River at this point of the river in the 1840s. When the Rhine was first put on the Hudson she took the place of a horse boat that was propelled by horses, ran from what was called the Sleight Dock across the river to Kingston Point. That was before the Hudson River Railroad was built. After the railroad was completed in 1852, there was a station built at Rhinecliff, the Rhine ran from Rhinecliff to Kingston Point until the late 1850s, then changed her route to Rondout, where it has run to the present time excepting one year 1876 when it ran from Ponckhockie. When the Transport was put on the route the Lark was sold to the Port Richmond and Bergen Point Ferry Company to ply across the Kill von Kull, Staten Island. The Lark was renamed the Arthur Kills where she ran for several years. Last trip crew: Capt. Nelson Sleight, Pilot Ross Saulpaugh, Silas Wells, chief engineer.

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Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in the Hudson River Maritime Museum's 2018 issue of the Pilot Log.

A remarkable family of African American river men participated in the transition from working sail to steam during America’s Industrial Revolution. Sometimes referred to as the Black Schuylers, the family began with one or more sloops early in the nineteenth century and seized the opportunity to acquire steamboats early in the 1840s. The Schuyler Steam Tow Boat Line figured prominently in the operation of steam tows on the Hudson River and by 1888 reportedly employed eighteen boats in Albany in the towing of canal boats on the river. The family acquired real estate in Albany’s south end between Pearl Street and the river, traded grain and coal, issued stock, and invested in railroading. Their wealth placed them in Albany’s elite business and charitable circles and their esteemed status led to their burial in Albany’s prestigious Albany Rural Cemetery alongside Albany’s other business and political leaders. That so little is known of this family and its accomplishments may be more a reflection of their race than of their accomplishments. The family’s identity as Black, while not a barrier to their early success in business, may have played a discriminatory role in their lack of prominence in the historical record. Ironically, the lighter skin of later generations may also have played a role in their lack of visibility in more recent Black History scholarship. While incomplete, it is hoped that this account may spur further research into the life and contributions of this Hudson River family.  
 
​Until the second half of the nineteenth century, Albany’s commerce and financial opportunities were almost entirely dependent upon the city’s position at the head of ship navigation on the Hudson River. The river served as New York’s “Main Street” well into the nineteenth century and Albany was strategically situated near the confluence of the upper Hudson River and the Mohawk River. Although Albany received larger ships, much of the freight and passengers coming in or out of Albany before the 1807 advent of steamboats was carried by single and double-masted sloops and schooners of 100 tons capacity or less. These sailing vessels continued to carry freight into the fourth quarter of the nineteenth century, even as steamboats soon attracted much of the passenger business. Captain Samuel Schuyler, the progenitor of the Black Schuylers, began and sustained his career with these boats and raised his sons Thomas and Samuel on them.
 
Albany grew rapidly in the 1820s and 1830s as a direct result of the surge in freight handling brought about by the much heralded completion of the Champlain and Erie canals in 1823 and 1825 respectively. Both canals terminated in Albany. Freight moving east and south from Canada, Vermont, the Great Lakes region and the interior of New York was shipped on narrow, animal-towed canalboats with limited capacity. 15,000 such boats were unloaded at Albany in 1831. These cargoes needed to be stockpiled and transferred to larger sloops and schooners for trip to New York City and other Hudson River towns. Over time, steamboats became more efficient and reliable, especially after Livingston-Fulton monopoly on steamboats in New York was struck down by the Supreme Court in 1824. 

One innovation with implications for canal freight was steam towing which presented an economical alternative to “breaking-bulk,” the laborious process of unloading and transferring cargoes at canal terminals. Steam-powered sidewheel towboats appear to have been introduced on the Hudson River in the 1840s and could tow long strings of loaded canalboats directly to their destinations without unloading. Captain Schuyler’s sons capitalized on this concept and transitioned from carrying freight on sloops to towing rafts of canalboats and other craft behind powerful steamboats. They were at the right place at the right time and had the experience and extensive business connections to make the most of this innovation. 

Captain Samuel Schuyler (1781-1841 or 1842) was one of Albany’s first African American businessmen.  His origins in Albany are obscure but his surname suggests that he was enslaved by the Dutch-American Schuylers who were among Albany’s wealthiest and politically most prominent families. Philip Schuyler (1733-1804), known for his role in the American Revolution and early advocacy for canals, held slaves in Albany and at his other properties. Slavery was practiced extensively in Albany County until gradually abandoned in the early nineteenth century.

Albany County manumission records report that a slave named Sam purchased his freedom in 1804 for $200 from Derek Schuyler. It is possible, but by no means certain, that Sam is the same man later referred to as Captain Samuel Schuyler.  The fact that Samuel married in 1805 so soon after this date lends further credence to this possibility.  
          
Samuel Schuyler is described as a “Blackman” in the Albany tax roll of 1809 and a “skipper” and free person of color in the Albany directory of 1813. He was involved in the Hudson River sloop trade and owned property in the area of the waterfront which appears to have included docks and warehouses at the river and a home on South Pearl Street. He married “a mulatto woman” named Mary Martin or Morton (1780-1847 or 1848) and had eight or more children with her including Richard (1806-1835), Thomas (1811-1866) and Samuel (1813-1894). Richard was baptized in Albany’s Dutch church on North Pearl Street. Captain Schuyler came to own a flour and feed store as well as a coal yard at or near the waterfront. His sons joined the business which was known as Samuel Schuyler & Company in the 1830s.
 
The elder Captain Schuyler died in 1841 or 1842. After his burial, or perhaps after their mother’s burial in 1848, the younger Schuylers erected an imposing monument in the new Albany Rural Cemetery in Menands, established in 1844. The monument is a tapered, four-sided column resting on a plinth. It is significant that the column is engraved with a realistic bas relief anchor commemorating his sailing career and the three chain links denoting the fraternal organization Odd Fellows to which he apparently belonged. An inscription notes that the monument is dedicated to “OUR PARENTS.” That Schuyler and his family were accepted in a prominent location in the cemetery in spite of their African-American heritage is noteworthy because at the time the Albany Rural Cemetery had a separate section designated for African-American burials. 

The younger Samuel Schuyler (1813-1894) and his brother Thomas (1811-1866) both began their careers in the sloop trade. Thomas began his career as a cabin boy in his father’s sloop and progressed in skill and responsibility. Samuel attended the old Beverwyck School in Albany and began his apprenticeship aboard the sloop Sarah Jane at age 12. He became the master of the sloop Favorite and later the Rip Van Winkle. He then purchased the Rip Van Winkle and together with his brother Thomas bought the sloops Anna Marie and Favorite. Samuel Schuyler married Margaret M. Bradford (1816-1881) and Thomas Schuyler married Ellen Bradford (1820-1900). The brothers appear to have bought their first steamboats, including the Belle, in 1845. The towboat enterprise was operating in the 1840s as the Schuyler Towboat Line and may have been incorporated in 1852. In that year the Schuylers financed and built the America, the powerful and iconic flagship of their fleet. Samuel became the company’s president and Thomas became the firm’s treasurer. Both men were active in Albany business and charitable circles serving as officers of bank, stock and insurance companies, trade organizations and charitable endeavors. Their business interests extended beyond towing as evidenced by a $10,000 investment in the West Shore Railroad built along the Hudson’s west shore through Newburgh, Kingston, Catskill and Albany. 

Schuyler’s towboat business clearly prospered. In 1848, Samuel bought a relatively new but modest brick house at the corner of Trinity Place and Ashgrove Place in Albany’s South End and greatly enlarged it. Among other changes, he added an imposing round and bracketed cupola at the roof, making the house one of the largest and most stylish in the neighborhood. The house still stands. Thomas appears to have been a driving force in financing and building a new Methodist-Episcopal church nearby at Trinity Place and Westerlo St. in 1863. The Albany Hospital and the Groesbeckville Mission also benefitted from his philanthropy. Thomas died in 1866 and was buried alongside his father beneath a Gothic-style tombstone. His brother Samuel published a tribute to his brother which memorialized his many contributions to the Albany community.

An 1873 stock certificate indicates that the Schuyler’s company was at that time doing business as Schuyler’s Steam Tow Boat Line. The certificate proudly includes an engraving of the America and indicates that D.L. Babcock served as 
​president, Thomas W. Olcott as secretary and Samuel Schuyler as treasurer. Thomas W. Olcott, a wealthy White banker prominent in Albany society was known to be sympathetic to African Americans, most notably having an elderly Black servant buried in the Olcott family plot in the Albany Rural Cemetery. 

By 1886, Howell & Tenney’s encyclopedic History of the County of Albany has little to say about Schuyler other than a perfunctory sentence that he “now employs eighteen boats, used exclusively for towing canal-boats.” Other Albany businessmen and industrialists are profiled at considerable length, but aside from a brief sentence about Schuyler and his very large business, nothing further is mentioned. Is it possible that his African American heritage, despite being half “mullato” from his mother, had now become a negative consideration in his social standing in the community?

Samuel Schuyler sold his large 1857 towboat Syracuse to the Cornell Steamboat Company in Kingston in 1893. He died in 1894 and was buried in Albany Rural Cemetery some distance away from his parents in a new but equally popular area of the cemetery. His burial plot is located near the “Cypress Fountain” where other prominent New Yorkers including the Cornings and U.S. President Chester Arthur are buried. Close at hand is the imposing monument dedicated to Revolutionary War Major General Philip Schuyler. Samuel’s ponderous granite monument is designed in the popular Victorian style of the day and is a proportional expression of the family’s wealth. Samuel and Margaret’s children and possibly his grandchildren are buried alongside of him.

There are many unanswered questions about the Schuylers and their careers on the Hudson River and conflicting accounts that need resolution. It is hoped that this brief account may lead to new research that could shed light on this family, its social and business contributions and the ever evolving issues surrounding race in eighteenth and early nineteenth century New York.

Sources:
Stefan Bielinski, The Colonial Albany Social History Project; The People of Colonial Albany, website hosted by the New York State Museum, exhibitions.nysm.nysed.gov
Howell & Tenney, History of the County of Albany, W.W. Munsell & Co., New York 1886.
Abbott, Reverend W. Penn, Life and Character of Capt. Thomas Schuyler, Charles Van Benthuysen & Sons, Albany, 1867.
Albany County Hall of Records, Manumission Register.