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Editor's Note: This article was originally published on December 24, 1946 in The Knickerbocker News, Albany, NY. The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written. “Artist’s Picture Keeps Nation Posted on Hudson’s Glories: Lighthouse at Athens, Painted in July, Makes Magazine Yule Cover” By Katherine A. Van Epps Fame of the historic Upper Hudson reached a new high tide today when one of its picturesque landmarks – the lighthouse in mid-river between Athens and the City of Hudson – stepped from the commonplace to the cover of a national magazine. The little lighthouse, since the 1870’s a silent, unsung beacon of safety for the men who ply the fabled waterway and a subject of conversation for generations of excursionists, makes the cover of the Christmas-week issue of Saturday Evening Post. Sharing the national spotlight with the light are its lean, trim keeper, Boatswain’s Mate (lc) Edward Brunner of the U.S. Coast Guard and his family, who posed for the Christmas picture in July. The lighthouse’s claim to fame was assured when Mead Schaeffer, Arlington, Vt., artist, spotted the landmark from the window of a New York Central train approaching Hudson. Through the haze of July heat, Mr. Schaeffer’s artist’s eye saw the red brick lighthouse with spotless white trim as “something that should be under a Christmas tree” (to quote his own description). The idea of putting it on a holiday magazine cover came as he gathered his paints and easel for this unexpected stopover at Hudson. Mr. Brunner, provided by The Knickerbocker News with a preview of the picture painted by Mead Schaeffer, shows it to two of his five children during his visit to Athens where his family lives. In the picture are Emily Brunner, 21, who has just passed final examinations to become a nurse, and Bob Brunner, 14, who was born at the lighthouse. Mr. Brunner's family moved to Athens so the children could attend school regularly. Hurried Gathering of Family The picture, the result of a hurried gathering of the Brunner family, their dog, a fir tree and Christmas packages, shows Mr. Brunner and his son, Norman, rowing toward the lighthouse while the family waits in various poses of welcome. The snow-covered ice floating in the river was produced by Mr. Schaeffer’s imagination. When The Knickerbocker News rounded up Mr. Brunner on a day much like the one Mr. Shaeffer [sic] conjured up last July, with snow falling and ice floating in the black waters, it was found the artist’s imagination didn’t stop with the weather. Mr. Schaeffer had added three children to the Brunner’s family of five and moved the landing stairway from the east to the north side of the lighthouse “to make a better picture.” Mr. Brunner, slow-spoken with the easy humor of a riverman, said he “didn’t mind a bit about the children” but he wondered what the Coast Guard would say about changing the lighthouse. The keeper, veteran of 21 years “on lights,” has been at the lighthouse which straddles the two main Hudson channels just below “The Flats” since 1930. Since his family moved off the river into Athens so the children can get to school, he has kept his 22-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week vigil alone. As he goes about his work polishing the huge gas beacon or setting the deep-throated fog bell in motion, Mr. Brunner has memories of the days when the lighthouse rang with the laughter of children and the exciting night 14 years ago when his son, Robert, was born and the doctor had to be brought by boat from Hudson. Boatswain's Mate (1c) Edward Brunner of the Coast Guard, keeper of the Hudson City Light since 1930, comes to Athens in his outboard motorboat for which he thinks will be his last visit until the river freezes over so he can walk ashore. Mr. Brunner has a Coast Guard radio on "the light," lhis only contact with the outside world when he is marooned by the floating ice or high water. 13 Years Since . . . It was soon after Robert’s birth that the family moved ashore and now it’s 13 years since Mr. Brunner has been home for Christmas. His home life depends on nature, and by Christmas there’s too much ice in the river for his outboard motor to break through and not enough to support a man’s weight so he can walk home. Older residents of Athens to whom the Hudson is both a source of livelihood and a neighbor tell countless stories about the little lighthouse, known as the Hudson City Light, in the lexicon of the rivermen. To Miss Nellie McKnight, town historian and daughter of a steamboat captain, the lighthouse, rising sheer out of the river, is an old friend. Story of Accident It is Miss McKnight who tells the story of the “Classic Accident of the Hudson,” handed down through her family. The accident occurred during a snowstorm in 1845 when the Hudson City Light was an unattended beacon years before the lighthouse had been built. The sturdy steamer Swallow, headed downstream, was nearing Athens when her captain mistook the lights of the town for the river beacon. He pulled right too soon to enter the channel on the Athens side of The Flats and the Swallow split in two on the rocks and burst into flames. There were 46 persons counted dead when the rescuers arrived – one of the worst tragedies in the history of the Hudson. To Mr. Brunner there’s nothing unusual about the lighthouse achieving nationwide fame. “The Hudson is the most beautiful river in the world,” he will tell you, explaining he saw his share of other lands during foreign service in World War I, “Why shouldn’t it provide inspiration for artists?” he added." 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!
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Looking for holiday gifts? Need to build up your reading list for colder weather? We're listing some of our favorite Hudson River history books plus some new releases to tide you over until spring. All of the following links to go Amazon. Just click on the book image or title to purchase. If you'd like to give the museum some extra support, shop at smile.amazon.com and select the Hudson River Maritime Museum as your charity. We'll get a small percentage of your purchase. Some of these books are also available in our museum store, so stop by to purchase in person! And as always, we have a large selection of rare and out of print maritime books in the store, perfect for browsing. Hudson River ClassicsThe Hudson: America's River by Frances F. Dunwell Fran Dunwell offers up a beautifully illustrated history of the Hudson River with this coffee table book. In particular, Dunwell frames the Hudson River and its importance in New York State and national history. The Hudson: A History by Tom Lewis This somewhat scholarly book nevertheless provides an excellent overview of the Hudson River, from First Contact through the twentieth century. The Hudson: An Illustrated Guide to the Living River by Stephen P. Stanne with Roger G. Panetta, Brian E. Forist, and Maija Liisa Niemisto The third edition of this classic book will be released in January, 2021, but you can pre-order before the holidays. Containing information about the Hudson's wildlife, flora, and environmental history, The Hudson: An Illustrated Guide to the Living River is essential reading for any Hudson River enthusiast. The Hudson River Highlands by Frances F. Dunwell This classic text has kept its relevance. The museum consulted it for our RiverWise journey through the Highlands just this year! With chapters on everything from geology to the American Revolution, Dunwell's book is an engaging and interesting read. New Publications (2018-2020)Embattled River: The Hudson and Modern American Environmentalism by David Schuyler (2018, paperback 2020) Newly out in paperback, Embattled River tells the story of the Hudson River and its role in the formation of the environmental movement in America. The museum consulted this book as part of its Rescuing the River exhibit. Sadly, David Schuyler passed away suddenly in July, 2020. We are grateful for his work and he will be missed. In the Shadow of Genius: The Brooklyn Bridge and Its Creators by Barbara G. Mensch (2018) Part coffee table book, part history, Barbara G. Mensch combines decades of her photography with archival images of the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. Weaving together her personal experience of living in the shadow of the bridge with the lives of John and Emily Roebling, In the Shadow of Genius makes for fascinating reading - and looking. Hudson River Lighthouses by the Hudson River Maritime Museum (2019) Written by the Hudson River Maritime Museum, Hudson River Lighthouses chronicles all of the Hudson River's historic lighthouses, from Troy, NY to New York Harbor. Includes information about lost lighthouses and early manned navigational lights. Also available for purchase in the Hudson River Maritime Museum store. All proceeds benefit HRMM. The Last Pirate of New York: A Ghost Ship, a Killer, and the Birth of a Gangster Nation by Rich Cohen (2019) An engrossing history of the life and times of Albert Hicks, infamously known as the "last pirate of New York," for his prosecution and execution for piracy in 1860. Rich Cohen links Hicks to the rise of gangsterism in New York City in the latter half of the 19th century. The Kidnapping Club: Wall Street, Slavery, and Resistance on the Eve of the Civil War by Jonathan Daniel Wells (2020) Although gradual manumission was implemented in New York starting in 1799, the story of slavery in the state doesn't end there. In this new book, historian Jonathan Daniel Wells chronicles the New York City officials who sought to circumvent antislavery laws from the 1830s to "the eve of the Civil War" and the small group of dedicated abolitionists who fought to stop them. Enterprising Waters: The History and Art of New York's Erie Canal by Brad L. Utter (2020) The companion publication to the New York State Museum exhibition by the same name, Enterprising Waters chronicles the history of the Erie Canal in New York State. The Hudson Valley: The First 250 Million Years: A Mostly Chronological and Occasionally Personal History by David Levine (2020) Journalist David Levine covers all 250 million years of Hudson Valley history (or thereabouts) in a series of short historical (and often humorous) essays, on topics from dinosaurs to the present. The Last Slave Ships: New York and the End of the Middle Passage by John Harris (2020) Published on November 24, 2020, this brand new history chronicles the role of New York City - particularly lower Manhattan - in the illegal slave trade. Harris outlines how the U.S. government turned a blind eye and even aided enslavers in their efforts, despite the illegality of the importation of enslaved Africans at the time. Especially for KidsThe Christmas Tugboat: How the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree Came to New York City by George Matteson. This delightful children's book tells the story of real-life tugboat captain George Matteson and his daughter as they make their way down the Hudson River with the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree in tow. River of Dreams: The Story of the Hudson River by Hudson Talbott. This beautifully illustrated children's book chronicles the history of the Hudson River from pre-contact Indigenous history all the way through the exciting 19th century, as told through the dreams of a boy named Hudson. Picturing America: Thomas Cole and the Birth of American Art by Hudson Talbott In his follow-up to River of Dreams, Talbott chronicles the life of Thomas Cole and his relationship to the Catskills in this beautifully illustrated book about the birth of the Hudson River School of Art. More to come in 2021!There are a number of fascinating new history books being published in 2021, so keep your eyes peeled for another post with that list. In the meantime, Happy Holidays and happy reading! 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: This account is from the December 1, 1878 St. Louis (Missouri) Globe-Democrat. The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written. A PAIR OF HEROINES. The Ladies Who Guard a Hudson River Lighthouse. Deeds That Would Honor Grace Darling or Ida Lewis. [From the New York Mercury.] ‘‘If the world knows little of its heroes, it knows less of its heroines.’’ So declared an old Hudson River pilot, who had for thirty years felt his tortuous way, night after night, along that serpentine stream in the pilot-house of one or another steamboat. And when he looked in that far-off-way, with his eyes turned inward, the writer knew he was thinking of something interesting, and the Mercury reporter said to him: "Come, out with it, Uncle John; tell me what you have reference to.’’ "I mean,’’ said he, with an emphatic knock given with his iron knuckles upon the table, ‘‘that while some chance incident, or the presence of a newspaper reporter at an opportune moment, gave the world the benefit of an adventure of Ida Lewis — which turned out to be merely the escapade of a masculine and hoydenish woman after all — the meritorious efforts of TWO REAL HEROINES, modest, retiring, made without any idea that the reporters were around — and indeed they were not, for a wonder — are never spoken of." "Who are the two heroines?’’ Well, they live in a lighthouse not over 120 miles from New York, on the Hudson River, keep it themselves, and I tell you they’re like the ten wise virgins in Scripture — their lamp is always trimmed and burning, and on a foggy night when the light is not visible you can hear one of them a mile off blowing a fog horn herself; for the Government has been too mercenary to give them one of the automatic new-fangled kind —and as for saving lives I know they’ve done it many a time. But if you want to know more about them, just you go down to the Government Lighthouse Bureau at Tompkinsville, on Staten Island, and they will tell you all about the heroines of Saugerties Light." The writer, with such promise of good things, could not resist the temptation to go to the Lighthouse Department, and when the object of his visit was made known to Maj. Burke, the chief clerk in the Inspector’s office, the latter said he had no doubt that the old pilot’s statements were true. ‘‘In fact,’’ said he, "there is no one connected with the lighthouses of the government whose general characteristics, daring, bravery and invincibility to fear, but withal natural modesty, would be so apt to include heroic action as MISS KATE C. CROWLEY, the mistress and keeper of Saugerties Lighthouse. While we have had no official report of her achievements, I have heard of them through other sources, and can say to you that she is capable of any daring deed involving danger or self-sacrifice; and it is the most natural thing in the world, as she is so modest that we should never receive official reports which could come only through her. As to the manner in which the lighthouse is kept, it is unexcelled by any other man or woman in the department. Accounts are always kept right, the light is always burning, and Miss Crowley is the very best kind of a keeper. Go and see her. She is a model watcher.’’ With such assurances the reporter could no nothing less than follow the advice, and he took the night boat for Catskill, which would reach Saugerties early in the morning. It was a bright, starlight night, and the writer sat in the pilot-house talking to the Steersman, who guided the steamer safely through the shadows of the frowning peak of the Highlands and answered questions or volunteered information between the rotations of the wheel. As we turned a bend in the river a light which looked like a star of the first magnitude twinkled and shown upon us far away in the distance. "That’s fifteen miles away," said the man at the wheel. ‘‘That’s Saugerties light. We'll lose it again a dozen times in the turns of the river. Do I know who keeps it? Well, no; not to speak to ’em, but know its two gals as has got grit enough, for I’ve seen ’em on the river many a time by daylight pulling away a great heavy row boat that no two river men would care to handle in one of them gales that comes sweepin’ down through the mountains like great flues in a big chimney. It ain’t like a tumultuous sea, hey? Well, that just shows how little you know about these North River storms. Why, when we get some of these hurricane blasts, they sweep down through these gaps from the north, and another current comes up from the south, and GOD, HELP ANY VESSEL that gets caught in the maelstrom when they meet. Well, it was on one of those occasions I was comin’ up the river on the old Columbus after she’d got out carryin’ passengers and took to the towin’ business. Let me see — that was about five years ago. We'd got a little north of Rondout, and I was all alone at the wheel; I heard a rumblin’ behind me, and I looked around, and when I saw a big cloud with thunder heads rushing up from the south I knew we were going to catch a ripper. This was nothing, however, to the heavy clouds that came sweeping down from he north, in an opposite direction; and then I saw that the two storms would meet. I hollered down the trumpet to the engineer to slower the engine, and made up my mind to keep headway and stay in the river, as it would be unsafe to try and make a landing or get fastened to a dock. In a few minutes the two storms struck us. The boat cavorted like a frisky horse, and in the foaming water plunged and reared, and shook in every timber, as if it had the ague. We were then pretty nearly abreast of Tivoli, and Saugerties’ Lighthouse was only about two miles ahead. A sloop loaded with blue-stone, which had just emerged from the mouth of Esopus Creek and was standing down the river, went over when the squall struck her as suddenly as if a great machine under the water had upset her; and soon I saw two men struggling in the water. Hardly a minute elapsed before TWO FEMALE FORMS were fluttering around the small boat by the lighthouse. In another minute it was launched and it bobbed up and down in the seething, foaming waters. The two girls, bareheaded, with a pair of oars apiece, began pulling towards the men in the water. The waves ran so high, the gale blew so madly, the thunder roared so incessantly and the lightning flashed in such blinding sheets, that it seemed impossible for the women ever to reach the men, to keep headway, or to keep from being swamped. But they never missed the opportunity of a rising billow to give them leverage, and they managed by steady pulling to get ahead until they reached the men in the water. The great danger was that the tossing boat would strike the sailors and end their career, but one of the gals leaned forward over the bow of the boat, braced her feet beneath the seat on which she had been sitting, stiffened herself out for a great effort, and as her sister kept the bow of the craft crosswise to the waves, caught one of the men beneath the arm as he struck out on top of a billow, lifted and threw him by main force into the middle of the boat, and then PREPARED FOR THE OTHER MAN. He had got hold of the sloop’s rudder, which had got unshipped and was floating on the water. He let go and swam toward the rowboat, and was hauled in also by the woman and his half-drowned comrade. I tell you,’’ said the pilot, ‘‘those gals are bricks, and no mistake. You couldn’t have got any river boatmen to do what they did.’’ It was just 4 o’ clock when the steamboat landed at the little insular dock which is called Saugerties, but which ought to be called Gideonstown, for there is only one house in it, and that is inhabited by a most estimable family by that name. The sight from the lighthouse, however, full a mile away, shone down upon it like the eye of a great ogre, illuminating the surrounding country, and enabling the writer to take observations. These, however, were more certain in the light of dawn which soon followed. From Mr. Gideon it was learned that the village of Saugerties was two miles away, and that there were many old residents in that place, where the parents of Miss Crowley formerly resided, and along the river front, who were familiar with the exploits of the young ladies. "Do I know them?’’ was his interrogative answer to the reporter’s question. "I should like to know who doesn’t know them hereabouts. They are always in their boat, and the people hereabouts have come to think that they REALLY BELONG TO THE WATER more than they do to the land, for the only time they are visible is when they are rowing to Saugerties or other places to get provisions for their household. They do that every day, rain or shine.’’ "Do they mind rain?’’ "Not at all, they make visits every day Saugerties or thereabouts. As for rowing, no boatman on the river can equal them. They feather their oars and make regular strokes independent of wind or tide." A trip to the village of Saugerties after much inquiry, led the reporter to a person who had been familiar with the lighthouse and its surroundings for many years. He is an old boatman and fisherman. He catches shad at the season of the year that they abound, and goes out duck shooting in the fall and early winter. He is acquainted with the history of all the inhabitants, and knows all about the occupants of the lighthouse since it was first built. THE TALE OF A LIGHTHOUSE. He said: ‘‘It is now twenty years since Mr. Crowley was appointed lighthouse keeper. The old light stood on a piece of masonry which was built midway in the river, upon a morass several feet above the surface of the water at high tide, but in a very unsubstantial way. When the early spring freshets brought down the ice, it was feared several times the lighthouse would be carried away, and the necessity of a new foundation and a new lighthouse soon became apparent. The old place, however, was newly supported, and about fifteen years ago he brought over his family from Saugerties to live in the building. His daughter Kate, a little girl then, from first seemed to be amphibious, and she would go out in a little skiff from the lighthouse alone, seeming to take such risks that every one prophesied that she would surely be drowned. Many a time her little craft upset, but SHE SWAM LIKE A DUCK, and always succeeded in reaching the lighthouse in safety. Her sister Ellen during these early years lived at her relatives in Saugerties, and did not join her sister until the new lighthouse was built. That was about nine years ago. Then Kate was fifteen years of age and Ellen about seventeen: In that year, Ellen was leaving Saugerties in a boat with her mother, and she saw a boy in swimming, but who had got beyond his depth, struggling for aid. She endeavored to reach him and her mother attempted to assist her, but, the latter being a woman weighing over 200 pounds, upset the boat, and the girl was thrown into the water in such a way that she came under the boat, which had capsized. Her mother was speedily rescued, but the daughter could not release herself from the peculiar position in which she was placed for several minutes and when rescued was found to have taken a considerable amount of water into her lungs. This seriously affected her health for some time afterwards. She has suffered more or less from that immersion, and malarial fever from that time to the present moment, and though she and her sister are said to take care of the lighthouse, and are always together in an emergency, the latter of late years has taken the responsibility of the place herself and runs the whole affair. Do I know of any case where these girls have saved life? Indeed I do. Three years ago last winter, A YOUNG MAN AND A LADY attempted to cross the ice to Tivoli. They had got about 100 yards from the lighthouse when the ice broke and they were precipitated into the water. Kate had rigged her boat with runners, so that, in her regular trips to main land, she was able in winter weather to make her way over the ice, or the latter gave way, through the water. She appears to be always on the lookout, and saw what had occurred, and in an incredible short space of time jumped upon the ice, pulling her boat after her, while her sister pushed it from the stern. They arrived at the scene of danger speedily and rescued the young man, but his companion had disappeared. Kate saw a fragment of her dress floating on the water, and knew that she was under a cake of ice. It took but a moment for Kate to rush forward, throw herself into the opening and withdraw the woman from her perilous position. The latter was limp and senseless, and it took several minutes to restore her to consciousness. Meanwhile the ice was breaking up all around the boat, the young man was precipitated into the water, and it required the UNITED EFFORTS OF THE TWO SISTERS to recover him also and place him in the boat. During this time gorges of ice had broken up above, and had carried all of them far below, and it was by the utmost efforts of the sisters that they succeeded in reaching a point two miles below the lighthouse. It is only about two-years since a steamer ran into a sloop nearly abreast of the lighthouse, cutting the latter in two and throwing all on board into the water. The sisters immediately launched their boat and put off to the assistance of the men in the water. Two of the sailors could swim, and in a few moments succeeded in reaching the bar, but two others were struggling for life. One of them had gone down twice and was rescued as he rose the third time. A fourth one was hanging to a piece of the wreck, when he was TAKEN INTO THE HEROINES’ BOAT. "These circumstances,’’ declared our informant, "have come under my personal observation, but there are many other cases well substantiated, in which these girls have saved life, but the particulars of which I am not informed.’’ AT THE LIGHTHOUSE. The writer, returning to the long dock, was conveyed to the lighthouse in a row-boat by Mr. Gideon. The place consists of a frame house and an adjoining lighthouse, erected upon a stone foundation built upon the flats. There are no grounds around the house, and consequently no opportunity for raising anything. Stone steps extend in the south side of the masonry to the water, and up these the writer ascended. Several raps at the front door failed to meet with any response, and the reporter walked around the narrow stonework to a side door. A single knock at this brought to the door a young lady, who was evidently surprised at the presence of the visitor. The latter asked for Miss Kate Crowley. The young lady replied that she was the person asked for, and invited the visitor into the front room, which was used as a parlor, and was plainly but neatly furnished. It hardly seemed possible that the modest appearing, FAIR-HAIRED, BLUE-EYED YOUNG LADY could be the heroine spoken of, but there seemed to be no question of doubt, and the reporter suggested that as he had ascertained she had been instrumental in saving life, he should pleased to get the particulars from her lips. She seemed exceedingly loth to say anything about herself, especially in the way of exploits, and when the reporter mentioned the instances spoken of above, she turned them off as of no account, or not worth elaboration. Considerable of her history was gleaned independent of her life-saving exertions. She said that when she was a little girl her father took the old lighthouse, and she had such a fondness for the water that she used to be on it all the time in a little skiff. She liked also to take charge of the light, see that the oil was in good condition, and attend to all lighthouse matters, so that her father by the time she was fifteen years of age had come to depend entirely upon for the care of the lighthouse. About nine years ago, when the new lighthouse was built - work which she had watched at every stage of its progress with a great deal of interest - her FATHER SUDDENLY BECAME BLIND from cataract of the eyes. Her mother was unable to take charge of the lighthouse, and since that time she been compelled to assume the whole management herself with some assistance from her sister, who has always been in poor health. They row daily to the neighboring village to get their provisions and receive $560 a year as their remuneration. They have to find everything except oil and necessaries for keeping the lamp in order. They have some very severe storms sometimes, and in the spring the ice comes down and threatens their little house; but she is never afraid, and thinks it a pleasure when any one is in danger to do what she and her sister can to relieve them. During the conversation her sister came into the room. Never were two sisters more unlike. ELLEN IS A BRUNETTE, tall, slim, with dark eyes and dark hair. When Kate is animated she is exceedingly pretty. She displays a row of milk-white teeth and shows dimpled checks, and looks at you with a pair of large eyes full in the face. She introduced her sister to the reporter, explaining his visit. The new-comer was quite as indisposed to seek notoriety as the other, and said: ‘‘We are simply two girls trying to do our duty here in this quiet place, taking care as we best can of our blind father aged mother. We are always on the lookout for vessels that may get out of their course and are sure to have our lamp in good order. We have not the opportunity of making ourselves heroines as we have learned another woman, Ida Lewis, has, but we do what we can in our feeble way.’’ The writer insinuated that their romantic spot would be apt to induce visitors to call upon, them, but they declared that theirs was a most solitary life. The inhabitants of Saugerties had come to regard the lighthouse as an old institution, possessing no interest whatever; there was nothing to attract visitors but their plain house, which was certainly unattractive, and the only time they saw any one was when they made their visits to the mainland for provisions. They had an idea, too, that the locality was unhealthy. Every summer for the past nine years they had SUFFERED FROM MALARIAL FEVER, arising from the surrounding lowlands, and only a few months ago they had buried a beloved brother. The only pleasure they had in life was to row in the river, keep the lighthouse in good trim, and do the best they could for any one in trouble on the river. They introduced the reporter to their aged parents, who understood only dimly and vaguely (after repeated efforts on the part of their children to make them comprehend what the object of his visit was), and at parting, the heroic sisters asked that they might not be given too much publicity. The writer promised that he would not say anything concerning them which they did not merit, and, as he was told still more of their humane efforts after he had left their island home, he feels that he has not violated his promise. AuthorThank you to HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer for sharing and transcribing this article and for the glimpse into nineteenth century life in the Hudson Valley. 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"The Lighthouse's Tale" is a song by progressive bluegrass band Nickel Creek, taken from their debut album, Nickel Creek, released in 2001. "The Lighthouse's Tale" was written by Adam McKenzie & Chris Thile. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lighthouse%27s_Tale The Lighthouse's Tale - Lyrics I am a lighthouse, worn by the weather and the waves. I keep my lamp lit, to warn the sailors on their way. I'll tell a story, paint you a picture from my past. I was so happy, but joy in this life seldom lasts. I had a keeper, he helped me warn the ships at sea. We had grown closer, 'till his joy meant everything to me. And he was to marry, a girl who shone with beauty and light. And they loved each other, And with me watched the sunsets into night. And the waves crashing around me, the sand slips out to sea. And the winds that blow remind me, Of what has been, and what can never be. She'd had to leave us, my keeper he prayed for a safe return. But when the night came, The weather to a raging storm had turned. He watched her ship fight, But in vain against the wild and terrible wind. In me so helpless, as dashed against the rock she met her end. And the waves crashing around me, the sand slips out to sea. And the winds that blow remind me, Of what has been, and what can never be. Then on the next day, my keeper found her washed up on the shore. He kissed her cold face, That they'd be together soon he'd swore. I saw him crying, watched as he buried her in the sand. And then he climbed my tower, and off of the edge of me he ran. And the waves crashing around me, the sand slips out to sea. And the winds that blow remind me, Of what has been, and what can never be. I am a lighthouse, worn by the weather and the waves. And though I am empty, I still warn the sailors on their way. Source: LyricFind; Songwriters: Adam Mckenzie / Chris Thile; The Lighthouse's Tale lyrics © BMG Rights Management 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 volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published July 2, 1972. When I was a boy of 10 in 1921, my brother Algot was home over the Fourth of July. At that time, he was chief mate on the steamboat “Onteora” - and brought with him about $10 worth of fireworks, which before these present days of inflation was a lot of fireworks! They were all in the big box sitting out on our porch. For the fun of it, he threw a very small firecracker under me as I was leaning over. When it went bang, I jumped up real quick and everybody laughed. Not to be outdone, I threw a firecracker at him. Instead of going off, it sizzled and scooted across the porch right into the box of fireworks. How everybody ran for cover when the whole box went up - night works, roman candles, torpedoes, salutes, sparklers, everything! The glorious explosion was all over in about three minutes. Was my mother angry at me for doing such a thing to my brother and for causing all the fireworks to explode! But my brother was good about it all. He laughed and said, “Come on Bill, let’s go down along the shore.” I was crying by now, thinking I would be all day without any firecrackers. On the Strand Algot took me and our rowboat and rowed over to the Strand and bought $10 more of fireworks - and gave them to me. He sure was a wonderful brother to me. I shall never forget him, even though I was only 11 years of age when he died the following year. Also at that time, on Sundays and holidays I remember going out to Kingston Point with my father. We would watch all the people and the big boats come and go and unload and load their passengers. Phil Maines, former mate of the “Mary Powell,” was dockmaster. Phil always saw to it that we got inside the gates where there were no people and could get a good view of the boats coming in and going out. Jim Murdock was the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse at the time, and he also would be over there. I can still remember how he would be dressed. He always wore a straw boater hat, a light gray suit, a red tie and black patent leather shoes with white laces. Always, his hat stayed high on the back of his head, seemingly because he has so much hair. I remember one day the mate of the steamer “Washington Irving,” Thurlow Davis of Kingston, was going to push Jim Murdock out of the private gangway into the crowded one. “Just a minute there, I am the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse,” Mr. Murdock said. That ended that! The mate gave him a scowl and went his way. Thurlow Davis was an excellent mate for passenger boats. He could do carpenter work or anything in the line of maintenance that came up to do on a steamboat. How my father loved the Fourth of July! How he loved to have his boys enjoy firecrackers and fireworks so they could properly celebrate the Glorious Fourth. I often wonder how he would have reacted today when fireworks are not allowed. I suppose, like myself, he would uphold the law - but not really think much of it. AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River. 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 volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published June 2, 1974. Stuyvesant Lighthouse. The Upper Kinderhook or Stuyvesant Light during one of its long years of service to Hudson River boatmen. The structure shown here was built in 1868 to replace a previous light first erected in 1829. The lighthouse pictured here was replaced by an automatic beacon in 1933 after the building was dismantled. Image courtesy of hudsonriverlighthouses.org The lighthouses along the banks of the Hudson River have always been considered inanimate friends to boatmen. Years ago before the electronic wonder of radar, on foggy and stormy nights, the light houses were often friends indeed. In recent years the efforts of the Hudson Valley River Commission to preserve the last five lighthouses at Tarrytown, Esopus Meadows, Rondout, Saugerties and Hudson have drawn attention to these old navigational beacons. Other lighthouses that have passed from the scene have virtually been forgotten. Two lighthouses in his latter category that always intrigued me were the Old Maid’s Light on Rattlesnake Island at Coxsackie and the Upper Kinderhook Light north of Stuyvesant. Both have long since been torn down and replaced by automatic beacons — the Old Maid’s Light in 1939 and the Upper Kinderhook Light in 1933. The Old Maid’s Light on Rattlesnake Island allegedly got its name from two old maid keepers who maintained the lighthouse for years and years. The channel used to pass very close to the lighthouse and the keepers would always come out and wave to passing Day Liners and other steamers. Day Liners in turn, would invariably blow a salute on their whistle to the keeper's friendly greeting. The first lighthouse at Upper Kinderhook was put up in 1829. This was replaced in 1868 by a more substantial structure. The old stone block foundation of this lighthouse is still there. On a little piece of ground or island made there at that time to protect the dwelling from the freshets and ice jams in the Hudson of long ago, there are lilac bushes. In the spring, one can still see them there in full bloom. I suppose in the far distant past, some keeper or his wife placed or planted the lilacs to lend some color to their austere surroundings. Now, the lighthouse is long since gone and no one goes there. Everything else around the old lighthouse site has returned to a wild state. But the lilacs still flourish and bloom in May and lend color to the river bank — a living memorial to some long departed keeper of the light. On the river a story is told about a keeper of long ago at the Upper Kinderhook Light, who at one time placed a large mirror on the ground on the north side of the lighthouse. The mirror was placed there so that the keeper could look out a window at night from his bed and see if the red light in the tower above was still burning. As the story goes, one of the government lighthouse tenders happened to be going by late one night, which they very seldom did, and the lighthouse inspector was aboard. While looking at the lighthouse, the inspector could see a red reflection on the ground north of the tower. The inspector had the tender stop and he was rowed ashore. Sure enough he found the mirror. Allegedly the keeper was admonished and transferred to another lighthouse. Strangely, for years neither the Old Maid’s Light or the Upper Kinderhook Light were equipped with fog bells. The keepers, however, were always true to their jobs and responsibilities. If a steamboat or tow was coming down the river in heavy fog or snow blowing their whistles to get an echo, one could always depend on the keepers of the lights to be out either banging on a dish pan or making some suitable noise to let the boatmen know where they were. Now, on passing the sites of those two old lighthouses on stormy or foggy nights, all is silent. Both lighthouses are gone, along with their friendly keepers, never to return. In their stead, are automatic beacons — Flashing White, No. 23 and Flashing Red, No. 32. Progress is great, but the lighthouses were better, it seems to me. AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River. 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: Twenty years ago, four friends with an abiding love of the Hudson River and its history stepped away from their families and their work to travel up the river in a homemade strip-planked canoe to experience the river on its most intimate terms. The team set off from Liberty State Park in New Jersey and completed the adventure nine days later just below Albany where one of the paddlers lived. They began with no itinerary and no pre-arranged lodging or shore support. There were no cell phones. The journey deepened their appreciation for the river and its many moods, the people who live and work beside the river and the importance of friendship in sustaining our lives. Please join us vicariously on this excellent adventure. We've been posting every Friday for the past several weeks, and Muddy Paddle's Excellent Adventure on the Hudson is almost complete - just two more days after this - so thanks for reading along! Follow the adventure here. SundayIt was very cold at dawn with frost on the ground. The windmill at Rokeby Farms was silhouetted against the brightening eastern sky. I put on an extra sweatshirt and went out to sketch our cove and “Bob’s Bus” in my journal. The tide was still going out, so Steve and Joe had time to walk up the road to the steel gate to find out what place we were at. They observed BIG signs warning against trespassing and threatening prosecution and wisely decided that it would be a good time to depart. The tide was still going out at 9:15 when we made our offing. It was a beautiful and sunny fall morning with a breeze out of the north. We arrived at Ulster Landing after a brisk twenty minute paddle. As we approached the abandoned Turkey Point Coast Guard Depot, we observed a flock of geese on shore take flight. With a favorable tide and a moderating wind we began to make real progress. We passed the 1794 Callendar House on the east bank and stopped to rest at the 1869 Saugerties Lighthouse. In earlier trips, we had stayed overnight here and simply dropped a contribution in the donation jar before leaving in the morning. When we arrived this time, the lighthouse was operating as a $140 per night bed and breakfast booked more than a year in advance. We made bologna sandwiches, drank lots of water and after a nice pause pushed off at 1:00. We paddled through the turbulent wake of a Mobil petroleum barge towing south behind a light blue tug. We followed the east shore alongside the tracks and signaled an Amtrak engineer to salute us with his blaring air horn. The afternoon was sunny and warm with only a light breeze from the north. The flood tide helped us cover ground quickly. We passed the grey concrete silos and conveyors at Cementon where the extensive concrete plants marred one of the most magnificent views of the Catskills. We steered for the center of the river, past the mouths of the Roe Jan Kill on the east and Ramshorn Creek to the west. Frederic Church’s Olana, begun in 1870, looked down upon us as we approached Catskill Point. Soon, the Rip Van Winkle Bridge loomed large. Steve knows of a spatterdock-filled channel east of Roger’s Island which if passable, would have shaved a mile off of the main river route. We were tempted, but Steve was not convinced that the channel was clear all the way through. An eagle appeared and beckoned us to follow him north on the main channel of the river. After passing beneath the bridge, we followed the main channel toward Hudson and were buffeted by turbulence where two channels separate to follow separate paths around the elongated Middle Ground Island. The 1874 Hudson-Athens Lighthouse stands here with water swirling around its limestone platform. It was getting late and the tide was getting ready to reverse. We were faced with the choice of which side of the island to paddle along and which side offered the best hope of shelter overnight. We started up the Athens channel, but found nothing but low ground and tall grass and reeds. We turned around and came up the Hudson channel instead. We were swept along by a strong current and found many provisional squatter camps along the shoreline, some decorated by colorful road signs and multi-colored roofs made from salvaged material. We began looking for a clearing where we might camp without being noticed or hassled. Smitty’s Place All of the camps were closed for the season except for one, which was literally tumbling into the river. Here we found a man in a camouflaged bass boat. Steve hailed him and asked if anyone would mind if we camped here for the night. The man replied “no” and introduced himself as Smitty as we paddled in toward the shore. This was Smitty’s place and he guided us to a cove where we are able to tie up to beneath a sprawling maple tree covered with poison ivy. Steve bragged that once again, the Lord had provided for us. We climbed out and introduced ourselves. Smitty’s camp was an informal, unplanned structure built from salvaged scraps of wood and partially cantilevered over the river. Two pilings hung from a corner where the bank had been undermined. Smitty explained that when he built the place, it was situated about fifty feet from the river’s edge. The camp consisted of a large shed with a tar paper roof slanting away from the river with an attached porch overlooking the river. An addition built out of a truck trailer or a refrigeration unit was attached on the upland side. A two-person bus seat (could it be from “Bob’s Bus?”) offered the perfect vantage point for enjoying views of the river and coming and going trains. Smitty invited us to sit down at the bus bench and several assorted stumps and he began a story about the island and this particular camp while I prepared a sketch. The island, enlarged by dredge spoil early in the twentieth century, became a favorite haunt for sportsmen and teenagers from the city of Hudson. Land ownership has remained ambiguous. New York State claimed the Middle Ground as state land and periodically threatened to remove the camps. Camp owners claimed that much of it was privately owned but that the deeds burned in a courthouse fire. According to Smitty, Columbia and Greene counties could not even agree on which county had jurisdiction over the island. Smitty told us that he represented the third generation of his Hudson family to maintain a camp here. As a boy, his mother warned him to stay away from the river, but this only encouraged him more. He and his friends still came out here to hunt deer and ducks and to drink beer. Their wives were resigned to the state of things and rarely ventured out to the camp. Smitty claimed that they had had some problems from interloping hunters from Athens, but that there had been little theft or vandalism. He was surprisingly philosophical about losing the camp one day realizing that things could change. It got dark and cold. We built a fire near the beach and Smitty invited us to stay in the “new” camp in the woods which was furnished with half a dozen cots. The new camp was enclosed but unfinished and roofed with an assortment of asphalt shingles of different colors and textures. Pieces of siding were being collected and stored underneath until enough were on hand to cover the walls. There was a convenient two-holer a respectful distance away and a shed for a portable generator. We hauled our gear to the new camp and returned to the fire. Smitty pulled the cord on his outboard and motored home. Joe cooked up beans and franks on the fire and we ate and told stories there. The sky became filled with stars as the temperature dropped. We watched the trains with bright lights arrive and depart from Hudson. We put out the fire at 9:00 and returned to the new camp in the woods. It was dry and the mattresses were soft, but with only a screen door, it proved to be another very cold night. Don't forget to join us again next Friday for the final day of the trip! AuthorMuddy Paddle’s love of the Hudson River goes back to childhood when he brought dead fish home, boarded foreign freighters to learn how they operated and wandered along the river shore in search of the river’s history. He has traveled the river often, aboard tugboats, sailing vessels large and small and canoes. The account of this trip was kept in a small illustrated journal kept dry within a sealed plastic bag. The illustrations accompanying this account were prepared by the author. 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 volunteer Carl Mayer. For more of Captain Benson’s articles, see the “Captain Benson Articles” category. This article was originally published April 22, 1973. One evening back in the early spring of 1925, the Cornell tugboat ‘‘S. L. Crosby’’ was in Rondout Creek getting ice at the old ice house the Cornell Steamboat Company used to maintain along the creek. The ice house was located just west of where the Freeman Building now stands. At the time, another Cornell tugboat, the “Thomas Dickson" was layed up adjacent to the ice house at the rear of the Cornell office building. While taking on ice, Captain Aaron Relyea of the ‘‘Crosby” went over on the “Dickson.” Looking around in the “Dickson's” pilot house he came upon an old order dated June 1914. It read “Captain John Sheehan, tug 'Thomas Dickson’. You will pick up barge ‘Henelopen’ at the Beaver sand dock, Staatsburgh." The Beaver sand dock used to be where Norrie Point Inn is now located along the east shore of the Hudson River off the north end of Esopus Island. Even then, it hadn't been used in years. Captain Aaron thought he would have some fun. At that time, the ‘‘Crosby’’ was the helper tug on a tow going down river in charge of the tugboat “Osceola.” John Sheehan, captain of the “Thomas Dickson" in 1915, was now the captain of the "Osceola.” Darkness Falling When the ‘‘Crosby’’ came up alongside of the ‘‘Osceola’’ out in the river, darkness was falling. Captain Aaron called out to Sheehan, “John, here's an order for you" — and sent the deckhand over to “Osceola” with it. Captain Sheehan, not looking too closely at the order, got all excited and began to fume and sputter. He shouted back to Aaron, “We can't go in there for that barge; this boat draws too much water. Why, when we used to get them out with the "Dickson," we had to pull them out on a head line." "Well," Aaron replied, “they are the orders. We are to hold the tow for you.” With that, Captain Sheehan put the light on in the pilot house and read the order more carefully. It was then he finally noticed the 1914 date and the name of the tug as "Thomas Dickson" instead of ‘‘Osceola." Captain Sheehan was always a good sport. He thought it was a great joke Captain Relyea had played on him and laughed about it for days afterward. Odd Greeting Captain Sheehan also always used a rather odd form of greeting. Whenever he would be passing another boat close aboard, he would lean out of his pilot house — no matter what boat he was on — and holler over, "What do ya say, say say?’’ One would hear his booming greeting no matter what hour of the day or night. In later years, Captain Sheehan was captain of the freighter “Green Island’’ of the Hudson River Night Line running between Troy and New York. In 1934, when the Depression had tied up a lot of steamboats at their docks, he was captain of a dredging company tug by the name of "Kate Jones." One day off Van Wies Point, on her way to Albany, Captain Sheehan slumped at the wheel in her pilot house. He had suffered a heart attack and died before the tug could reach a dock. I always liked Captain Sheehan a great deal. He was an excellent boatman, one who seemed to truly enjoy his chosen profession. In a sense, it was fitting his time should come at the pilot wheel of a tugboat while underway on his beloved Hudson River. AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River. 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!
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