Eliza Hamilton was born on the Hudson River, somewhere between Albany and Catskill.  Her mother’s home was the good boat ‘Betsey Jane,’ of Buffalo, New York, whereof Mr. Thomas Hamilton was owner and sailing-master.  Eliza and the ‘Betsey Jane' began life about the same time, for the boat was on her first trip down the Hudson when the little child came to live on board.  So it happened that Eliza had always been upon a canal-boat, and had hardly ever spent a night in a house on shore.
           
​The ‘Betsey Jane' was her home, and her little chamber was a state-room.  The boat was a large and fine one, ninety-seven feet long and eighteen feet wide on deck.  It was eight and a half feet deep, and, when empty, stood more than seven feet out of water.  The bows were high and very full, or round, and the stern was nearly square, and there was a great square rudder behind.  Near the bows was a windlass, and a small raised deck which made the roof of the cabin used as a stable for the two horses.  At the stern was another house, or raised deck, about three feet high.  This had two square windows in front, looking towards the bows, and three on each side; and there were green blinds, made to slide before the windows.  Inside the windows were lace curtains fastened back with blue ribbons; but each window was so small that, when Eliza looked out, her round face nearly filled it.  At the back of the house was a door, a very strange door; one half opened on hinges and the other half slid back over the roof.  Before this door was the great wooden tiller for the rudder; and near it a hatch opening down into the hold of the boat.  The top of the house was flat and made a big outdoor table, where, in pleasant weather, the family often had dinner and supper.  In summer, there was also an awning, or big flat tent, covering the after part of the deck, house and all.  The great clear deck, with its two hatches, was Eliza’s playground, while inside the house, below the deck, was the strange little home where she lived a happy life with her father, mother, and baby brother.
           
From the door you went down five steps to the kitchen, parlour, and sitting-room, all in one, — the queerest place that ever was seen.  It was a square room, with windows nearing the ceiling on two sides, and two narrow doors opposite the entrance.  There was a tiny stove tucked away under the deck, and there was just room for one table and four chairs.  Around the walls on three sides were drawers and closets — lockers they were called — so that while the room was too small for much furniture, the lockers were really bookcase, bureau, sideboard, and all.  The two doors opened into the tiny staterooms — one for Eliza, and one for father and mother and the baby.  Her bed was the oddest thing imaginable; only one foot high, and tucked away under the deck like a berth in a ship.  There was a carpet, and pictures, and a clock, nice curtains, and a chair; and it was home, if it was afloat.  You may be sure Eliza thought it was as sweet a home as any in the world.  Although Eliza Hamilton lived on a canalboat, and her home was always afloat, she went to school, in Jersey City, half of every year.  From April to November, she sailed and sailed, backward and forward, hardly stopping more than for a day at a time, between Buffalo, on Lake Erie, and New York, by the sea. From November to April, the ‘Betsey Jane' lay at anchor in the basin of the Morris and Essex Canal, at Jersey City.  Here were scores of other boats just like this one, and each with a family aboard, all closely side by side in the water, thus making a great floating village.  

Eliza could walk from boat to boat all through the fleet; she could visit the other girls at their boats, or cross the planks to the shore and go with them to school in the city.  Thus, for her, every year was divided into two parts; the summer, when the boat sailed and sailed, day and night, always going on and on through daylight and dark; and the winter, when it rested for months in a vast fleet of other boats, snugly anchored out of the way of the storms.  Eliza liked the summer best.  The life on board her moving home was delightful; plenty of fun with the other children on the neighbour’s boats, or those living along the banks of the canal, and much to see every day, — ships, steamboats, the river, the winding canal, town and cities, great mountains, and the sea.  Once she made a long voyage, through as far as New Haven, on Long Island Sound; and twice she went up the canal to Lake Champlain, and then on to Montreal, in Canada.
           
It was in June when it all happened.  ‘It was just before Eliza’s twelfth birthday, and on the second trip of the ‘Betsey Jane' from Buffalo to New York.  They had come for several days and nights through the canal, much in the usual way; the horses walked along the bank, and her father steered the boat.  Sometimes Eliza rode the horse, or held the tiller to steer, while her father went down to dinner or supper.  At other times she sat on the top of the house, played dolls upon the deck, or helped her mother take care of the baby.  The steering was sometimes hard, but she could always manage the boat, and knew how to move the rudder to make the ‘Betsey Jane' keep just the right place in the canal, neither bumping her fat nose into the bank, nor running it into the passing boats.  
           
At Troy, the plank was laid to the bank, the horses walked on board, and went to their state-room at the bows.  Tugboats brought together a number of the canal boats that had come through from the west with the ‘Betsey Jane,' and arranged them on the river in a kind of procession.  An enormous tow-boat took place at the head of the line, and then great cables were run out, binding all the fleet together, and making what was called a ‘ tow'.
           
The tow was a strange affair, a village afloat; men, women, children, horses, dogs, and cats, living in thirty-nine canal-boats, and all dragged along by the tow-boat ahead.  The tow-boat was formerly a passenger steamer, but it had retired from that business, and all its lofty decks and balconies were gone.  There was nothing left but the great frames, the tall smoke-stack, the engine, and the pilot-house.  Behind the engine on the low deck were massive timbers, and about these were coiled four great cables that stretched astern over the water to the four canal-boats at the head of the tow.  The first four boats were loaded with lumber from Lake Champlain.  Behind, these came sixteen boats, four abreast, loaded with lumber, wheat, oats, and grain.  Next came eighteen more, two and two; and then one more, trailing behind them all. The ‘Betsey Jane' was the right-hand one of the last pair; and as the odd one was fastened to the other boat, there was clear water in her wake.
           
As the boats were lashed side by side, with the bows of one close to the stern of the one in front, and as there were planks laid from boat to boat, it was easy to go from one end of the tow to the other.  There were quite a number of children on board, and Eliza had plenty of playmates.  Two hours a day she studied with her mother in the cabin, and part of the time she took care of her baby brother.  The rest of the day she was at liberty to roam at will all over the fleet, leaping lightly from boat to boat.  She visited the two nice girls on the ‘Sunshine,’ of Syracuse; played dolls with the lame girl on the 'Ticonderoga,’ of Whitehall; or joined the boys and girls who played school on the white deck of the 'Polly Stevens,’ of Troy.  Of course, they could not play tag, use roller-skates, or trundle hoops on the deck of a canal-boat; but they often played jump-rope, jackstones, and ‘housekeeping’.  The weather was beautiful; and, while they were playing, the tow moved steadily forward with a smooth and easy motion that was delightful . They had passed the Catskills at sunrise.  

Eliza helped wash the dishes at Saugerties, studied at Rondout, and played with the other girls all the way down to Poughkeepsie.  After supper, it was said, there would be a concert on board the ‘Schoharie,’ of Buffalo.  Everybody was anxious to go, and Eliza got out her blue dress with the white bows, to go with her father.  But she couldn’t go, for mother had been ironing all the afternoon on deck, and needed a change; so Eliza must stay at home and take care of the baby brother.  She was terribly disappointed, and perhaps, when she put away the blue frock in its locker, there was a tear or two on the white ribbons.
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It was eight o’clock when her parents took a lantern to go over the boats to the concert.  

Eliza sat at the side of the deckhouse looking wistfully after them, and as they crossed to the tow-boat she heard her mother say that the tow-line ought to be repaired, as it was nearly worn out.  Her father said that he would mend it in the morning, and then they were gone.  Eliza watched the lantern, dancing over the decks for a few moments, and then, with just a little sigh, she went downstairs to the cabin.  Sarah Tuttle, of the ‘Flying Fish,’ had lent her a book, and she sat down to read it.  The door over her head was open, and once in a while she caught a note in the music as it came floating over the water.  She had been reading for some time when she heard the deep droning whistle of the tow-boat.  Then, after a little pause, came another whistle.  She knew by this that there was a steamer coming up the river.  Presently she heard the beating of the steamer’s paddles, and knew from the sound that it was a large boat.  She heard it pass quite near; and then, as the sound died away, the boat slowly rolled from side to side.  She looked up from her book to see if baby brother had stirred.  Not much danger.  He had slept through many a long voyage, and the waves seemed to make his home all a rocking-cradle.

​Then, for a long time, it was very still; but as the story-book was interesting, she did not notice how the time was passing.  When she finished the book she looked up at the clock.  Half ten.  She must go on deck to see if father and mother were coming.
           
Why, what was this ?  No lights!  Had everybody gone to bed?  No.  That could not be, for there were always lights burning on the deck of the last boat.  No tow in sight anywhere.  Not a boat to be seen.  She ran along the deck to the bow.  She was adrift!  The tow-line was broken, and the ‘Betsey Jane’ had separated from the tow.  The line had probably parted when the boat was rolled by the wake of the passing steamer.  She called her father again and again.  Not a sound in reply.  She was lost on the great river.  She looked all about her, over the grey and silent water.  Far away astern were the twinkling lights of a town. Here and there on each side were lights, and just ahead were gigantic shadows blotting out half the sky.  She knew at once where she was.  The lights astern were in Newburgh; the great shadows were mountains, for she was just entering the highlands, drifting along on the current.  The tow, after the ‘Betsey Jane’ broke adrift, had gone on, and was now out of sight beyond West Point.  
           
What did she do?  Run back to the cabin and hide herself in fright, or fall on the deck and cry for help?  Not at all.  She said, with a brave heart, though her voice was shaking: "Mother will come back for me, and perhaps if I try my best to take care of the boat, and baby, and the horses, God will take care of me.’
           
Eliza Hamilton was the captain’s daughter.  She could handle an oar like a sailor, and she knew just how boats behaved, and what must be done to control them.  The ‘Betsey Jane’ was her father’s boat, her mother’s home. It was worth, with the horses and cargo, thousands of dollars. She must take it safely down the river till help or day-light came.  

There were two dangers.  The boat might go ashore and be wrecked, or it might be run down by some passing steamboat.  She knew she must give the boat headway or it would not steer.  There was a cool, fresh breeze blowing, and as quick as thought she had contrived a plan to take advantage of the wind.
           
'If she drifts this way, she may go ashore!  I must rig up some kind of sail.’  
           
She picked up a boat-hook from the deck and pried open the forward hatch.  She went back to the cabin and pulled out from a locker a large sheet.  She made a knot in one corner, took the sheet on deck, and pushing the point of the boat-hook into the knot, she thrust the handle snugly into one corner of the forward hatch, and then closed the heavy siding of the hatch-cover against it to keep it steady.  She fastened a piece of rope to the opposite corner of the sheet, and tied it to the boathook near the deck.  With a longer piece of rope she made what sailors call a 'sheet,’ or line to control the sail, and by fastening this to the side of the boat, she had a 'leg-o’-mutton’ sail.  It was a small affair but it did the work.  She went to the stern and pushed the tiller over as far as she could, and in a few moments the ‘Betsey Jane’ obeyed her helm, came round, and headed downstream straight for the black portals of the Highlands.  
           
Just then the cat came on deck, and began to howl piteously. ‘Hold your tongue!’ said Eliza, ‘or I’ll throw you over board!’
           
Poor child!  She did not often speak so harshly, but she was excited and perhaps terrified at the. creature’s mournful cries.  She would have caught the cat and locked her up in the cabin, but did not dare to leave the helm.  The cat wandered all over the deck, moaning and crying.  Perhaps a tear or two came into Eliza’s eyes while she clung to the heavy tiller.  
She brushed them away, for she must see plainly in order to steer clear of the rocky shores. 

Ah, there were the lights of the hotel at West Point!  She knew the way pretty well; and she thought it best to keep as close to the east shore as was safe, in order to steer clear of the steamers.  Though the breeze was strong the ‘Betsey Jane’ moved very slowly . Still it did move, for she could see the mountains that towered above her on either side slowly change their shapes against the sky.  There were lights on the shore, as she passed Cold Spring, though she could not see the houses nor the Iron foundries. The town and the mountains behind it seemed one solid wall of blackness.  After a while, the cat seemed to think better of her fright, and came and nestled close to Eliza as she stood leaning against the tiller.  Ah! what’s that?  A bright light was shining directly ahead.  Thinking it was a steamer’s light, Eliza pushed the tiller with all her might, for the purpose of turning the boat shoreward.  Then came a deep roar, making the mountains echo, and she knew that a train was passing on the railroad.  It was the locomotive headlight, which she had mistaken for a steamer, and in a moment the whole train swept past her, close to the water.
           
‘I thought it was a steamer, sure!  If only I had a lantern, I wouldn’t care, for I might wave it as a signal.  If a steamer does come, I’ll hug the shore and keep out of the way.’
           
The train passed on, the roar and rumble died in the distance, and the echoes seemed to go to sleep; for it was very calm and still.
           
‘I do believe the wind’s gone down.’
           
No.  The boat had sailed into a calm corner under the shelter of the mountains.  Eliza ran forward and found the sail quite limp and useless.  She took up an oar to pull the boat off into the stream, and when she put it into the water it struck rock.  In a fright she pushed against the rock with the oar and the boat slowly swung off into deep water.
           
‘That was lucky.  A little more, and I should have been aground.’
           
The boat drifted sluggishly along for a few minutes and then the wind seemed to spring up again.  Ah, there was the light-house!  She would steer straight across the point and run the risk of meeting a steamer.  She listened intently to hear the beating of paddles, but the night was still, — not a sound anywhere.  The boat passed close to the friendly light-house, and then went clear across the bend to the opposite side of the river.
           
She now ran forward and altered the sheet of her leg-o’-mutton sail, bringing it back farther, for now the wind would be abeam. She must now, sail side to the wind, and as the boat had no keel, it kept drifting in toward the shore; but she felt she must take the risk, in order to keep out of the way of the steamers.  A steamboat hove in sight around the next bend below, just as she had fixed the sail.  She could see its red and green lights, and she gave it a wide berth, keeping close under the shadow of the mountains.  It passed swiftly and without paying any attention to her.  In the dark, she could not make out what it was.  She guessed it might be a night passenger-boat, and was glad it had gone past in safety.

The concert was a fine one, and as nobody was in any hurry to get home, the audience wished many pieces repeated.  It was late when the company broke up and scattered over the tow to their various boats.  Twice, on the way home, Mrs. Hamilton stopped at cabin doors to speak to friends, and at one place she even waited to have a cup of tea.  Mr. Hamilton said he would go on and look after the boat, and Mrs. Hamilton sat down on the deck of the ‘Flying Fish’ with Mrs. Tuttle and the other women.  While they were quietly sipping their tea, they heard loud shouts from the direction of the boats astern, and in a moment Mr. Hamilton came running back over the boats.

‘The man on the last boat has been asleep.  The “Betsey Jane” is adrift — lost!’
The news spread over the entire tow in an instant.  Where did it happen?  When did she break away?  It might have happened hours and hours ago, and perhaps the boat was then drifting about, miles astern.

Eliza’s mother heard the news calmly, without a word.  She merely picked up a lantern and resolutely started off over the tow as fast as she could walk toward the tow- Where are you going and what are you going to do?’ said the people.

 ‘I’m going to take the steamboat if it is possible, and go back for my children.’
All the men said it could not be done.  The captain would not stop for the lost boat.  The ‘Betsey Jane’ would certainly drift ashore.  No harm would ever come to it, stranded high and dry, and they could take a boat and row back and find it.

`My children are on board.  Some steamer will run them down in the dark.’

This seemed only too likely, and they all ran on toward the head of the tow; and in a moment or two there ware half a hundred men and women gathered on the great piles of lumber on the forward boats. The tow by this time had passed West Point, and was approaching the great bend just above Iona Island.  The men shouted and called to the steamer, but there was no reply.  The noise of the engine drowned their voices and the steamer went steadily on, dragging them all farther and farther away from the lost boat.  The steamer was two hundred feet ahead, and the water was beaten into creamy waves by her great paddles.  They were just then rounding the curve, and every one said the captain would not stop in such a dangerous place; so the poor mother had to stand there in the cold night-wind, while the long, snake-like tow crept round the bend in the black and silent river.

At last a boat was lowered overboard, and Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton and two men started to catch up with the steamer. By holding on to the towing-lines they managed to drag themselves up to her low stern and climb aboard, leaving the boat dancing on the creamy water in the wake of the steamer.

In a moment the poor mother climbed the winding stairs to the lofty pilot-house where the captain stood at the wheel.

'Oh, sir!  The boat is lost.’

 ‘Well, marm, I can’t help it.  The man on board must look out for her.’

‘There’s nobody on board but two little children.

The captain did not say a word for a moment, and then he lowered the window and looked all about the black river as if searching for something.

'We can’t stop here.  I’ll go on to the bay at Peekskill, and ---

‘Oh, sir, can’t you take the steamer back?’

 ‘Just what I was thinking o’ doing, but we must find a place to anchor the tow first.’
'The night-boats will be coming up.  They will run into the children’s boat.’

‘No, marm.  They are not due here yet.’

It took more than an hour to reach the wide place in the river, opposite Peekskill, and to swing the long tow close in shore out of the way of the passing steamers; and half an hour more to make the boats fast to a rock on the shore, to free the steamer from her charge and start her upon the search for the missing boat.

Two men were placed on the bows below.  There were four more on the upper deck, and from the windows of the pilot-house the poor mother looked out with, straining eyes into the vast blackness ahead.

How the firemen piled their roaring fires!  The engineer urged the great machine to full speed, and his men ran to and fro, oiling every joint.  Showers of sparks poured out of the tall smokestack, and the woods and mountains re-echoed with the furious beating of the paddles.  The crazy old boat seemed to awake to some remembrance of her famous speed in the day when she was the fast passenger-boat on the Albany day-line and was the pride of her captain.

 'Ah! what’s that?  See that black thing close under the shore?’

That's not the boat, marm.  She couldn’t get away down here by this time.  We will not find her this side of Cold Spring, for I reckon she broke loose at the time the “Poughkeepsie freighter” passed us.”

On and on they went, rushing round the sharp bend at West Point, and steaming straight ahead through the Highlands. The boat would be drifting about somewhere above Cornwall.  They would soon find it.

Nothing to be seen.  Not a sign of a boat anywhere. They went up even as far as Newburgh, and crossed the river, and crept slowly down-stream close inshore.  The winds would drive her over to that side, and she might be aground somewhere along the bank. Then they saw the lights of a steamer coming up-stream, and they turned out into the middle of the river to meet her.  It was the ‘Saratoga,’ of the Troy night-line.  There were warning whistles, and the two boats stopped and met in the darkness.  Black figures came out on the lofty decks of the passenger steamer, and the captain of the tow-boat shouted through his hands:
'Boat lost.  Two children on board.  Seen her as you came up along anywhere?’

No; they had seen nothing.  The Albany boat was just behind; perhaps she had sighted it.  The great white boat moved on again and left the tow-boat to continue her search.  The Albany boat was stopped, too, and the same report was made and the same question asked.

`No ; they had seen nothing.

‘I’m thankful,' said the mother, as she leaned out of the pilot-house window and saw the monstrous boat move slowly away in the darkness; ‘I’m thankful, — for that danger is past.  I’m glad they didn’t see it.  They might have gone right over it in the darkness.

So there was one of the perils escaped.  The ‘Betsey Jane’ had not been run down, and there would be no more steamers till daylight. Round and round went the towboat, crossing and recrossing the river, poking her slender nose into every nook and corner; stopping here and there, blowing her whistle furiously, and listening for any answering shouts or calls.  The sentinel, high on the bluffs at West Point, paused in his lonely tramp, and leaned on his gun to look down on the river, wondering what the strange steamer was about.  He called the corporal; and the corporal, too, looked down, on the black river.  He even called out the guard, and sent men down to the shore with a lantern. They thought the captain of the steamer must be crazy.  Then there appeared a pale glow in the eastern sky, and the steamer turned down-stream. The soldiers went back again to their posts upon the heights, for there was no solution of the mystery.

It grew lighter, for it was morning.  Now they would be sure to find the lost boat.  The steamer kept the middle of the stream, steaming slowly along, with every one on the lookout.  On and on they went, round the next bend, past Iona Island and into a bay near Peekskill.

'What's that near shore?’  The ‘Betsy Jane’, sailing serenely along close inshore, with her leg-o’-mutton sail spread out on the breeze!  At the stern stood Captain Eliza, bravely steering straight for the anchored tow just ahead.  Swiftly the steamer came up along side, and there was a grand rush on board the ‘Betsy Jane’; but the mother was first, and the father came next, with a tow line in his hand.  

How they did cheer!  All the people on her tow saw them. The steamer rang her bell and blew her whistle, till the woods and mountains echoed again.  The grim old captain, leaning out of his lofty window, wiped his eyes with a big red handkerchief, and told the engineer it was the biggest trip the old steamer had ever made.  Every one said Captain Eliza was a splendid navigator.  She had brought her father’s boat in safety down the river, and her little baby brother never awakened until he was safe in his mother's arms!

‘Hitch on that tow-line,' said the captain to the deck-hands.

Then he rang the bell sharply: ‘Full speed ahead!

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 Contributing Scholar Carl Mayer. This article was originally published  December 19, 1976.

Capt. William O. Benson recalls the rough autumn run of 1926

Many years ago, before the Hudson River channel to Albany was deepened for ocean vessels and kept open all winter by the Coast Guard, rivermen marked time by the last tow of the season. For boatmen, the last December run was more or less the end of the year, and it was often fraught with problems. Like the last tow out of Albany in 1926:

That autumn of fifty years ago had weather to match this year's. November temperatures had been below normal and banks of fog, sometimes pea soup thick, rolled in every morning. Cold nights brought skim ice along the shores and froze over the coves along the upper Hudson.

In early December a date was announced for the last Cornell tow to leave Albany. In those days almost all the towing on the Hudson River was done by the Cornell Steamboat Company.
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As usual, some scows and barges in the Albany area were not completely unloaded by the deadline, and others at the brickyards at Coeymans were still being loaded with brick for the New York market.

The owners put up a howl because they didn't want their barges to miss the last tow. When that happened, the barges froze in for the winter and lots of money was lost. So the owners kept yelling until the tow steamed out of Albany – a day later than announced.

About 30 boats were in the tow – a diverse fleet of late canal barges, scrap iron scows, lighters, and dredges that had been working on the upper Hudson. The lead boat in charge was the big tug "Pocahontas", with the "George W. Pratt", "G.C. Adams", Empire" and "Geo. N. Southwick", assisting as helpers. All five had wooden hulls.

Just before the flotilla started down river, the snow began. Before long it was a blizzard, which went on all day and through the night, accompanied by a biting cold north wind. As the tow approached Van Wies Point, the pilots could barely see either bank.

Slush, or 'snow ice' was forming from shore to shore. And, as it did in those days, the slush that passed under the wooden scows and barges clung to their flat bottoms and kept building until it actually dragged on the bottom of the river in the shallow parts.

The next morning the tow was off Castleton, only about eight miles from where it had started, and barely moving. Captain Gus Gulligan of the "Pocahontas" sent Captain Ed Van Woert of the "Adams" into Castleton to telephone Cornell's New York office for help. When Captain Van Woert came back to the tow, he said the big tugs "Geo. W. Washburn" and "Edwin H.. Mead", together with the helper tubs "W.N. Bavier" and "Edwin Terry", were on their way up river to assist the tow to New York. All four of these tugs had steel or iron hulls.
The loaded scows from the brickyards at Coeymans were added to the tow. With the benefit of an ebb tide and the helper tugs to break a track in the snow ice ahead, the flotilla was able to move slowly downstream. But off New Baltimore, it came to a dead stop. The slush under the barges had hit bottom.

The second morning set in clear and cold with the river beginning to freeze solid. All the crews kept looking down river, trying o be the first to spot the heavy smoke over the hills in back of Kinderhook that would signal the approach of the "Washburn" or "Mead".

Towards noon the "Washburn" was spotted coming around Bronck's Island with a bone in her teeth, pushing the ice and the river ahead of her. When she took hold of the tow it began to move again and in a short while the "Mead" showed up. The smaller "Bavier" and "Terry" had to stop then at Rondout for coal and grub.

The tow was off Coxsackie when who walks out on the ice but Mr. Robert Oliver, Cornell's superintendent of operations. It didn't faze him a bit that there were cracks in the ice. Captain Frank McCabe of the "Empire" put his tug's bow against one of the cracks, and Mr. Oliver climbed up over her bow and was put aboard the "Washburn".

As the tow was nearing Hudson the four helpers that started out with the group in Albany were running out of coal. One by one they went into Hudson, where coal trucks came down to the dock to load them up.

Because of the deep drafts of the "Washburn" and "Mead", the tow had to progress from there down the deeper Hudson channel instead of the Athens channel.

By this time, the "Bavier' and the "Terry" were in tow, bringing the number of Cornell boats in the group to nine – more than the company floated during their final years of operation in the late 1950s.

After the tow cleared the Hudson channel, Mr. Oliver ordered the captains of all the wooden-hulled tugs to go to the end of the tow and start in the broken track. He was afraid they might break a hull plank in the ice and sink.

Off Percy's Reach, the steamer "Catskill" of the Catskill Evening Line, was seen lying fast in heavy ice. Mr. Oliver sent the "Bavier" and "Terry" ahead to break her out, which It didn't take them long to do. The "Catskill" headed right into Catskill Point to tie up for the winter.

By now, both the "Washburn" and the "Mead" were pulling on the tow while the "Bavier" and  "Terry" broke the ice ahead. The flotilla was perking along at about four miles an hour.
Down off Smith's Landing, the tug "Joan Flannery" was waiting for the Cornell tow to come down. She had three lighters loaded with cement for New York, and her captain knew he could never make it alone. As the Cornell Tow went by, Captain Jim Malia of the "Flannery" pulled in about 50 feet behind, following right in their track in the ice.

"Whoever is on the "Joan Flannery" must have worked in Cornell's at one time," Mr. Oliver told the "Washburn" Captain Jim Dee. And Dee replied: "Yeh, that's Jim Malia who used to be captain of the "Townsend" and the "Cornell."

After all the scows from the brickyards between Malden and Kingston were added to the tow, the flotilla had grown to 55 boats. But off Kingston Point, five of them said goodbye. The wooden hullers in the group made a bee line for the Cornell shops on Rondout Creek to lay up for the winter.

Once past Kingston, the only obstacle was floating ice. The passenger and freight steamers "Newburgh" and "Poughkeepsie" of the Central Hudson Line operated daily between Kingston and New York in those days and kept the ice pretty well broken up.
​
The tugboat men of fifty years ago sure had their trials and tribulations. Captains and pilots were always worried about what the ice might do to their boats – and to the other scows and barges in the tow. But in that year, as in most, good judgement and a certain amount of luck prevailed. The boats brought the tow safely down the old Hudson, and, with it, the close of the season of 1926 on the upper river.

Tom Porter (Mohawk Spiritual Elder) - "The Equinox"
8 minutes
The Nolumbeka Project Presents
NolumbekaProject.org
Tom Porter - (Sakokwenionkwas - “The One Who Wins”), spiritual elder of the Mohawk Community of Kanatsiohareke and member of the Bear Clan of the Mohawk Nation at Akwesasne speaks about the Equinox.
Filmed at the
Pocumtuck Homelands Festival
A Celebration of Native American Art, Music, and Cultures
Turners Falls, MA
August 8, 2021
Photographed and Edited by
Robbie Leppzer
Turning Tide Films
TurningTide.com
Music by
Black Hawk Singers
(Abenaki)
Check out our multi-part series,
INDIGENOUS VOICES: Stories From the Connecticut River Valley
nolumbekaproject.org/indigenous-voices/

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.  This article was originally published ​ October 7, 1973.​

Many years ago when the pace of life was less hurried and pleasures more simple in nature, a favorite pastime of residents along the Hudson River was steamboat watching.
 
A Saturday summer's evening in the late 1890's or early 1900's was a particularly good time, for the "Mary Powell" and the "James W. Baldwin" of the Kingston night line would both arrive off Rondout light-house at about the same time. Old time residents of Port Ewen have told me how they would go out on the river bank to watch the sight and how many citizens of Rondout would gather along the water front to observe the hustle and bustle on the docks.
 
The "Mary Powell" would be returning to Rondout from her daily round trip run to New York. The "James W. Baldwin" would be ending her Saturday afternoon run up river with vacationists seeking the cooler air of Catskill Mountain resorts.
 
Both steamboats would try and get to Rondout lighthouse first, for the one which arrived last would have to wait out in the river for the other to enter Rondout Creek, turn around and land. Both used adjacent docks on the creek along Ferry Street between the foot of Broadway and Hasbrouck Avenue. Although the "Mary Powell" would leave New York later, invariably she would be first at Rondout.
 
What a sight it must have been! A lot of older folk around Port Ewen have told me how they would look down river and frequently the two steamers would be coming around Esopus Meadows light, one right behind the other.
 
Off Port Ewen, they would both clean their fires before going in the creek. Both steamboats had their boilers right aft of the paddle wheels out on the wide overhanging guards. The firemen would simply rake the ashes out of the boilers and dump them through a deck scuttle right into the river. As the ashes and hot coals would hit the water, a cloud of steam would momentarily envelop the middle portion of the steamboats.
 
One time several years ago, Miss Hilda Smith, who then resided at West Park, told me an interesting incident of steamboat watching that occurred at the turn of the century when she was a very young girl. At the time, her home was adjacent to that of John Burroughs, the famous naturalist.
 
She told me how she would be sitting with her father and John Burroughs on the lawn of their home high on the river bank. Frequently, it would be one of those summer evenings when the Hudson would be like a piece of glass, with not a ripple on the water and very warm. Mr. Burroughs and Mr. Smith would be talking of flowers,  birds and events of the day.
 
Then, below them, the "Mary Powell" would appear on her up river trip to Kingston. Her walking beam would be going up and down with its rhythmic motion, a white wake from her paddle wheels sending the water away from her like a great inverted letter "Y." Mr. Burroughs then would invariably remark, "There goes Mary rustling her skirts" — like a woman of those days with her ground length dresses.
 
Then he would look down towards Krum Elbow and say, "now here comes Jimmy chasing Mary home" — meaning, of course, the "James W. Baldwin."
 
If the "Mary Powell" made a  landing at Esopus, it would be the "Baldwin's" last chance to overtake the "Powell" and beat her to Rondout.
 
It must have been a wonderful sight to see, those two great paddlers going up river with the setting evening sun making their white paint glisten, with all their flags and pennants flapping in the breeze and passengers all around the decks. And the thump, thump, thump of their paddle wheels beating the water was a pleasant sound that is now stilled forever.
 
The nightly parade of the up river night boats on their journeys to New York was also a sight that enthralled many an old time area steamboat watcher. Shortly before dusk, the night boat from Saugerties would paddle by. Sometime later, the down steamer of the Catskill Evening Line from Coxsackie, Hudson and Catskill would glide past, followed by the night liner from Troy. Then, as sort of a grand climax, the largest steamboat of all, the night boat from Albany, would come out from behind Kingston Point and pass down river.
 
The Albany night boats in particular were huge, the largest steamboats ever built for service on the river. They would be illuminated by hundreds of lights. In the early years of this century, when electricity onshore was still relatively new, the Albany night boats carried their names emblazoned in lights in large signs on their top decks. As they glided into the distance, their myriad number of lights would blend into what appeared like a glittering diadem reflecting on the waters of the Hudson.
 
Back in the 1920's, the old New York Herald Tribune used to run a series of cartoons on the editorial page by T.A. Webster. One series was entitled "The Thrill that comes Once In a Lifetime," and one showed two boys standing on a river bank at night watching a steamboat pass by. The caption read, "The first sight of genuine glory — a steamboat at night."
 
Now, the last night boat has long since passed around the last bend in the river for the last time. Although almost everyone in today's affluent society tells us we are all better off, there is one delightful pleasure of old none of us in all probability will never experience again — steamboat watching.

ON Wednesday, the ceremony took place of opening the Hudson River Railroad, in its entire length from New York to Albany. Hitherto the portion of the road between Poughkeepsie and Tivoli (twenty-six miles ) was not in operation, and the passengers were conveyed in a steamboat between those two points. Last week the road was completed, and the cars ran over it privately. Last week it was publicly opened, by running two excursion trains each way and returning. The first train from New York started from Chambers street at six o'clock, being drawn by horses to Thirty-first street, whence it proceeded at half-past 6 o'clock, and, stopping at Manhattan, 152nd street, Yonkers, Hastings, Dobbs' Ferry, Tarry-town, Sing Sing, Peekskill, Cold Spring, Fishkill, New Hamburg, Poughkeepsie, Hyde Park, Rhinebeck, Oakhill, Hudson, Stuyvant, Castleton, ought to have arrived at East Albany at 11.15 A.M., but did not arrive till 11.35., A. M. This was the way train. The through train started at 7 o'clock A.M., from Chambers-street, leaving Thirty-first street at half-past 7 A.M., and stopping at Peekskill at 8h. 30m.; Poughkeepsie 9h. 30m.; Rhinebeck, 9h. 55m.; Hudson, 10h. 40m., arriving at East Albany at twenty-five minutes past 11 o'clock, being four hours and twenty-five minutes from Chambers-street, or five minutes less than four hours from Thirty-first street. Two similar trains started from the Albany terminus at the same hours, making the same stoppages and making nearly equal time. When the new portion of the road -- especially as much of it as runs over the river on piles and embankments -- settles down and becomes firm, the distance will be accomplished in still less time than it was on Wednesday last. The oscillation of the cars was considerable over the new portions of the road; but this was to be expected. On all other parts of the road, riding is as smooth as upon any railroad in the United States. One portion of the line extends for four miles over water, in a single stretch.
           
The entire length of the road, from Chambers-street to Albany, is 143 miles. As a general feature, it may be observed that the work is constructed along the eastern bank of the river, five feet above high tides. The grades are excellent, there being, of the entire distance, 114 miles upon a dead level; five miles, from one to five feet per mile; thirteen miles, of ten feet per mile, and five miles, of thirteen feet per mile inclination, which is the worst grade upon the road. The total rise and fall is 213 feet only. The whole number of curves is 279, there being 56 miles of curved line. The shortest curve is at Peekskill, which is of 1000 feet radius, while more than half the whole number are from 4000 to 10,000 feet radius. The rock excavation is immense, a very large proportion of the road being hewn out of the solid rock, along the water's edge, besides the following eight tunnels: --
Oscawana or Peg's Island.                    225 feet
Abbott's Point (bridge tunnel)   100"
Flat Rock                                                70"
Anthony's Nose                                     400"
Garrison's at Phillips' Hill                     900"
Breakneck Hill                                     400"
New Hamburg                                    1400"
Milton Ferry                                        100"
Total length                                         3595"
           
The total amount of rock-cutting is nearly two millions of cubic feet. On the Highland division, above Fishkill to Peekskill, a distance of sixteen miles, over 425,000 cubic yards of rock were excavated. The whole cost of this railroad will be about nine millions of dollars. The original stock subscribed amounted to 3,016,600 dollars, in 30,165 shares. The road was opened on the 29th September, 1849, between New York and Peekskill, a distance of forty miles; on the 6th December to Hamburg, and on the 31st to Poughkeepsie. On Wednesday the whole line was not only opened to Albany, but a feat of speed was accomplished that our ancestors would have laughed at as the wildest absurdity, and Fulton himself among the number. Nay, ten years ago a railroad to Albany was considered one of the most impracticable of ideas, and the wise men of Wall-street scouted it as perfectly visionary. But the progress of science is not to be calculated by the men of dollars and cents. Some fifty years ago it took two or three days, and sometimes four days, to accomplish the distance. Now it can be done in as many hours. It is mentioned in the papers of 1797, as an instance of remarkable despatch, that Colonel William Colbreath, Sheriff of Herkimer, left Albany on Sunday morning, May 7, on board a vessel for New York, and returned on Thursday afternoon, 11th, having in a little more than four days, including a day and a half he was in New York, performed a journey of 330 miles. The mail stages in winter, till steamboats were established, took from thirty-six to forty-eight hours in winter, and the fare was 10 dollars. Fulton ran his boat, which the whole world ridiculed, on the 1st of October, 1807, just forty-four years ago, when he accomplished the distance in thirty-three hours, or as some say in twenty-eight hours. This was considered a wonderful feat at that time. But the "Isaac Newton" and the "Reindeer" have long since eclipsed it, and the performance of the iron horse on Wednesday, three hours and forty minutes from Albany, has distanced them still further. What next?
           
A more delightful season, or a more beautiful day, could not have been selected for this celebration. It was one of those days peculiar to Indian summer -- calm, soft, and genial, and the air like balm. The glorious Hudson was like a mirror -- not a breath of wind rippled its burnished surface, in which was reflected the trees of many hues that clothe its picturesque banks, and the numerous craft, with their snow-white sails spread in vain to catch the unwilling breeze, and all seeming as motionless as "painted ships upon a painted ocean."  Perhaps there is not at this season of the year any scenery in the world to compare with that of the Hudson, from New York to Albany. In summer it has its charms, but what are these compared with the gorgeous glories of the autumnal tints that now burst upon the delighted vision on either hand?  Wednesday, the trees of the Hudson presented the appearance of a gigantic flower garden, extending nearly 150 miles, and exhibiting in all their rich variety and mellowness, those hues which the brightest parterre cannot equal, and which cast completely into the shade the boasted scenery of the Rhine, and all the forest scenery of the old world put together. Such is its grandeur and beauty, that Europeans have no conception of it, even from what they read, and they are lost in mute astonishment and wonder when they beheld for the first time, those matchless pictures, painted by nature's pencil. The most glowing description is cold and feeble when compared with the reality of the autumnal scenery on the banks of the Hudson, which is now in all its glory. Nor ought the magnificent Palisades, or the smiling beautiful villages, basking in an unclouded sun be omitted from a description of the landscapes of that noble river which derives its name from Hendrick Hudson, who discovered it nearly two centuries and a half ago.
           
At all the stopping places along the line there were crowds of people assembled, who loudly cheered, and discharged fire-arms, great and small. The demonstrations at Peekskill, Poughkeepsie, and Hudson, were greater than at the other villages. At Hudson, the orphans turned out in procession, and sung a ditty in honour of the occasion. They bore a flag, with the following inscription: "Boorman the friend of the orphan."  The number of well dressed ladies here was very large. The second train overtook the first at Hudson, and went out before it.
           
Near New Hamburg as the trains passed, the "Isaac Newton" and the "Oregon" were observed to be aground, and the directors of the railroad hailed the incident as showing the superiority of steam on terra firma above steam on water.
           
All the officers of the company were on the train, including W C. Young, Esq , who was this week elected president, E. Jones, Esq., Vice President, J. M. Hopkins, Esq., Treasurer, C. H. Lee, Esq., Secretary and Acting Superintendent. Of the Directors, we noticed E. D. Morgan, Esq., and H. M'Cullagh. There were several officers and directors of other railroad companies.
           
On the arrival of the train at Greenbush, there was an immense concourse of persons there from Albany and other parts of the State. There was a band in attendance, which welcomed the excursionists with its merry music and volley after volley of artillery boomed across the river. The engine house was set apart as the place of entertainment for the guests, and was tastefully decorated with flags and evergreens. It was filled with tables, which were elegantly laid out, the head table being on the turn table of the building, which is of a circular form. Seats and plates were laid for 1002 persons, and a number were still standing, who could not be accommodated. A magnificent dinner was served, and champagne flowed in abundance, while a band discoursed excellent music. The entertainment was given by the directors and officers of the Board of the Common Council and heads of departments of the City of New York, the authorities of Albany and Troy, the shareholders of the road, and a large number of other invited guests.

May 16, 1797 Diary and Mercantile Advertiser.
We mention as an instance of remarkable dispatch -- that Col. William Colbreath, the Sheriff of Herkimer, left this city on Sunday morning last, on board a vessel for New York; and that yesterday afternoon he returned to this city -- Having in little more than 4 days, including a day and a half he was in New York, performed a journey of 330 miles.

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HENDRICK HUDSON TO MAKE INAUGURAL TRIP MONDAY. FLOATING PALACE WITH ROOM FOR 5,000 PERSONS. SHE IS THE FINEST RIVER BOAT IN THE WORLD.
On August 20 the new steamer Hendrick Hudson will make her inaugural run up the Hudson river to Albany.
           
It was on August 17, 1807, that Robert Fulton began the memorable trip to Albany in his little steamboat Clermont, and now, ninety nine years later, almost to a day. the most wondrous of river steamers built since that time will begin trips over the same route. The Clermont went up the river on the l7th and returned on the 21st of August.  The Hendrick Hudson will not make her maiden run to Albany until August 20, but she will return on the ninety-ninth anniversary of the completion of the Clermont's voyage.
           
The Hendrick Hudson is the property of the Hudson River Day Line, and has been built to ply on the route between New York and Albany.  The designer of the new boat was Frank E. Kirby, the most celebrated naval architect in America to-day, assisted by J. W. Millard, designer of the new Staten Island ferryboats and other successful modern craft.  The interior plans such as grand stairways, decorations of the various rooms, etc. , are the work of Louis O. Kiel of Detroit.  The general contractors for the building of the vessel were the W. & A. Fletcher company, Hoboken. N. J., and the builders of the machinery stand at the head of their profession in America, having been identified with all the more important passenger steamers built in this port during the past half century.  This firm entrusted the construction of the hull to the T. S. Marvel Ship Building company of Newburgh. N. Y., and the boilers were built by the New York Ship Building company of Camden, N. J., warship builders, etc.  The joinery and fine cabinet work was done by John Englis & Son, Greenpoint; the carpets throughout the vessel especially made by John Wanamaker, and the electric light fixtures, entirely original, as well as the great stained glass dome on the hurricane deck, executed by the Tiffany studios, New York city.  In round numbers, the Hendrick Hudson represents an outlay of nearly $1,000,000.
            
There is ample room aboard this modern pleasure craft for 5.000 persons, and all may be sheltered from sun or rain without crowding or discomfort.
           
The Hendrick Hudson is 400 feet long, 82 feet broad over the widest part, and 14 feet 4 inches depth of hold.  The draft of water is 7 minutes 6 second feet. [sic]  There are no less than six decks, beginning at the lower deck, and every part is stiffened and held together by a rigid framework of steel, making her the staunchest craft of her character ever built With a wonderful system of hydrants and fire hose, she comes as near being fireproof as a vessel well could be.
           
The main deck, usually given ever to freight on other passenger steamers, is white and smooth like that of a yacht, with runners of the softest carpets laid in all directions, and the walls from end to end of beautifully polished hardwoods.  The ponderous machinery — its like never before seen on a Hudson river steamboat — is open to view, a row of plate glass windows giving the spectator a clear and comprehensive idea of its working.
           
The hold of the Hendrick Hudson is lighted throughout by many large port holes, an original feature being the placing of port holes of extra width — of a size which will enable a person to climb through in case of an emergency — at frequent intervals from bow to stem. One of the unique apartments of the vessel is the lunch room, located in the hold forward, reached by wide stairs from the main deck, the stairs being placed directly under the band stand. This room, which extends the width of the ship, is thoroughly modern in style and finish.
           
The barber shop is located on the lower deck, and attached to it is a public bath, a new feature for steamboats operating on day routes.
           
A photographer's dark room is a novel idea to be found only on this boat.
           
The emergency hospital, with doctor in attendance, is located on the main deck.
           
Aft, across the bulkhead that faces the entrance to the main dining room, is a beautiful mural painting, showing the great capitol building at Albany.  The paddlewheel shafts are placed below the deck, so there is no occasion to stoop when passing this particular point, a disagreeable feature of most paddle steamers. The wheels arc of the feathering type, and send the mammoth craft along at the highest rate of speed with the minimum amount of vibration.
           
The dining room is one of the pleasantest and most inviting apartments on the boat, as it well should be.  The deck is nine feet high, and the room is surrounded almost entirely by plate glass, the narrow pilasters between each window, merely as a dividing line, making the room appear like a glass enclosed veranda.
           
​The great kitchen is a unique establishment and would be the wonder and admiration of a New England house wife.  The steel ranges extend from one side of the craft to the other.  Two enormous refrigerators hold the perishable stuff, such as meats, dairy products, fruit, etc., and a special box is provided for fish and one for lobsters. ​

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.

​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.

Scow Sloop LITTLE MARTHA
 
African Americans played a vital role both before and after slavery as skilled captains and boatmen on the Hudson River. Built circa 1870 to carry lumber, Little Martha was captained by African American Clint Williams and his two brothers. They were described by sloop historians Collyer and Verplank as “capital boatmen.”  The sloop was owned by William Bull Millard of the Millard Lumber Co. and operated principally between Chelsea, Dutchess Junction, Marlboro, Milton, Barnegat and Poughkeepsie. She was named for the builder’s daughter, Martha Hyer Millard.
 
Scow sloops and schooners were more easily and inexpensively built than their fully-molded counterparts. The shallow draft boats were surprisingly good sailers and appeared on the Hudson River, Lake Champlain, the Great Lakes and San Francisco Bay where they remained in use well into the 20th century.