History Blog
|
|
Editor's note: The following is from the March 13, 1906 issue of the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman. Thank you to Contributing Scholar George A. Thompson for finding, cataloging and transcribing this article. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. SEEN MANY TIMES AT LINLITHGO BY REPUTABLE WITNESSES. MADE ITS FIRST APPEARANCE FORTY YEARS AGO. ALWAYS VANISHED AT BRIDGE OVER A STREAM. One night, some forty years ago, says the Hudson Republican, when the Central Hudson was a single track road to Albany, two men were fishing on the banks of the Hudson river on the east side at a point just north of Linlithgo, when they saw coming around the bend on the railroad track a short distance north of North Germantown a train fully lighted, the headlight of the engine throwing a bright glare on the track and also reflecting upon the water. They watched it, thinking it was a regular train, but as it came nearer they could hear no noise; they were struck with wonder and amazement when it reached the bridge which crosses the Rolief Jansen Kill at Linlithgo to see it disappear. When they returned home they told the story. That it was a phantom train all believed; some believed that it was a warning that some of the families of those who saw it would meet with sudden death within a year. There had been an accident the previous winter where the train was seen, and some one had been killed. This bend of the road projects out into the river, so that one has a side view of the entire train as far as Linlithgo, which is about a mile or more, and this part of the road can be seen anywhere on tbe track as far north as Catskill station. A few years after the fishermen saw the train the watchman Catskill station one evening saw a train coming around the bend with headlight on and coaches lighted, under full steam: the southbound train was about due, and knowing nothing of the train that was coming up, he rushed down to the south switch to open it and run the "extra" on the side track, so that the southbound train could pass, and fearing a collision he stood with his hands on the switch watching the unknown northbound train, but she never came up above Linlithgo. One of the fishermen who first saw the "spook" train became watchman at Catskill station some years after, and he says that he saw it twice while he was employed there. Again some years later a gentleman one evening was coming to Catskill station to take the train to Hudson. He had almost reached the station when a light flashed on the track from behind: he turned and saw a train coming below Linlithgo; thinking it was his he started and ran for Catskill station, fearing it would overtake him and he would miss his trip to Hudson. But when he looked back tor it there was no train in sight. Afterward he saw the regular train coming around the bend just where he saw the phantom train, but this one came, and he took it and went to Hudson. There are others who have seen the ghost. Ten years ago three men stood in the tower just south of Livingston's dock, between 10 and 11 p. m.; the night was bright; one of the men was looking out of the south window. This piece of track from the bend to Linllithgo which is s mile or more, is in plain sight from this tower. He said "There comes a train around the bend." at which they all looked; the train's headlight showed in the track and also on the water and the coaches were lighted up in the regular way; the towerman at Linliithgo had not unlocked the signals for the north tower, where the men were looking at the train; the towerman was frantic as on came the train nearing the tower at Linlithgo; he rang the bell to the Linlithgo tower to unlock the signals for the train coming, but imagine how this man felt when he got the answer, "No train has passed here, nor is there any in sight. While they were sitting gazing at it, it vanished at the Rolief Jansen Kill bridge and they insist to this day that it was a spook train. There is still another witness which brings it down to within five years; one night the towerman at Linlithgo says it was somewhat misty and he saw the train coming around this often mentioned bend with its headlight showing the track some distance in front; he was holding a train in the block and he did not know what to, for he realized that there must be a fearful collision and he was helpless to avert it. The distance from the bend to the tower is about one mile. On, on, the train came and already in his distracted mind he could hear the groans of the injured: those few moments seemed ages to him. It seems this train is like Tarn O'Shanter's spook; "it dinna dare to cross a stream." There is still another case of a man who was walking south one evening on that part of the track when he saw a train coming under full speed; he got off the track on the river side to let it pass, but just before it reached him it vanished. These are the facts as narrated by reputable residents. Most of those who have seen the spook train, as they call it, are alive today. Will some one explain this strange occurrance? If it is a mirage, how can it happen, as nothing on any part of the track south could cast a shadow on that portion of the track where the train has been seen? 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!
0 Comments
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 October 15, 1972. Of all the steam propelled vessels that have floated upon the waters of Rondout Creek, probably the one that was best known locally in her day was the ungainly little ferry boat that used to cross the creek from the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue to Sleightsburgh. Known throughout the area as the "Skillypot," she made her last trip from Rondout to Sleightsburgh on Oct. 14, 1922 – exactly 50 years ago yesterday. "Skillypot" – reportedly a corruption of the Dutch word for tortoise – wasn't even her right name. It was the "Riverside", a name that many would be patrons often changed to where she usually was found – the "Otherside." She may not have been loved as was the "Mary Powell" or admired as were many other steamboats, but she certainly was well known, and almost universally as the "Skillypot." Her fame on both sides of Rondout Creek rested securely until the opening of the 9-W highway suspension bridge in 1921 – the only way in the latter years to get across the creek, unless of course one owned or rented a rowboat or wanted to walk to Eddyville. She played an important part in the daily lives of many residents, especially when the Rondout section of Kingston was important to the business and social life of the community. Wherever there has been a natural barrier such as a river or a creek, people it seems have always wanted to get to the other side. A Scow Was First At Rondout, the first recorded vessel to regularly cross the creek was a small scow that was sculled across by hand from Sleightsburgh and could carry one wagon and a team of horses. This means of transportation existed until the spring of 1855 when the small steam ferryboat "J.P. Sleight" made her appearance. Built by the sons of John P. Sleight and named for their father, the new ferryboat had two slide valve steam engines connected by cog wheels to two large steel drums. The drums were connected to a chain which was secured to both sides of the creek, a distance of about 440 feet. The drums would rotate and pull the ferry back and forth across the creek on the chain. The chain was of sufficient length to rest on the creek bottom except where it passed around the drums. In March 1870, a severe freshet caused by melting snow and rain caused the ice in the upper creek to let go. The ice coming down the creek carried the "J.P. Sleight" right along with it. At the mouth of the creek, the "Sleight" smashed into the lighthouse that then stood on the south dike. Mrs. Murdock, the keeper of the light, caught a line from the ferry, but it parted and away went the "J.P. Sleight," drifting with the ice floes down the river. In a few hours, the Cornell ice breaking towboat "Norwich" got underway and, breaking her way through the heavy ice fields off Esopus Meadows lighthouse, spotted the "J.P. Sleight" in another ice field down off Esopus Island. The "Norwich" brought the "Sleight" back to Port Ewen where it was found her light hull had been damaged beyond repair. Her owners decided to build a new ferryboat which became the "Riverside." Contract to Washburns Abraham and Isaac Sleight gave a contract for the new ferryboat to Hiram and John Washburn. When she was launched, the "Riverside" measured 55 feet long and 20 feet wide. Her engines came from the old "J.P. Sleight" and were installed by John Dillon of Rondout. The new "Riverside" was a success from the start. Upon the death of Isaac Sleight, ownership of the ferry passed to Herbert A. Starkey, and then in 1903 to Albert Norris who operated her until 1906 when Josiah Hasbrouck became the owner. It is not known at what point in time the "Riverside" became better known as the latter name by which she was known far and wide in Ulster County. As time went by and the automobile came along, new highways were being built along the banks of the Hudson. It soon became evident a bridge was badly needed across Rondout Creek. As a matter of fact, it was long overdue. After World War I on summer weekends, automobiles would be lined up on the Sleightsburgh side almost to the middle of Port Ewen and on the Kingston side to the top of Hasbrouck Avenue. Then, the "Riverside," really was a "Skillypot." On summer weekends when the automobiles were backed up on both sides of the creek, enterprising Sleightsburgh boys would earn money by showing unknowing motorists how to get across the creek by going across the bridge at Eddyville. Pilots for a Fee For a fee, they would get in a waiting car and "pilot" the motorist through New Salem and Eddyville to Rondout. There, they would reverse the process by taking a motorist from Hasbrouck Avenue through Eddyville to Port Ewen. At times in some winters the "Skillypot" would be the only steamboat in operation on the upper Hudson. To keep her operating, men would cut a channel through the ice using ice saws and pike poles to shove the cakes of ice under the solid ice or, if it seemed easier, pull them up on top of the ice. During the summer, when the ferry "Transport" would come over from Rhinecliff, the swells from her paddle wheels would carry up the creek. Then how the "Skillypot" would rock back and forth sideways and cause concern to some of the passengers. The "Skillypot" always made her last trip of the day at 10:30 p.m. She would land at her Sleightsburgh slip and blow one blast on her small, clear, shrill whistle, signifying her toils were over for that day. Then if people still wanted to get across the creek, they would have to take a small scow, sculled by a single oar by Lyman Perrine. Finally, the long awaited day came when the new bridge was open to traffic. The "Skillypot" still continued to operate for a period, but foot passengers even took to walking over the new bridge to save the two cents fare. So on Saturday night, October 14, 1922 a Saturday then as it was this year – the "Skillypot" at 10:30 p.m. blew her final one long shrill whistle. As the echo dies, so did the "Riverside." No More Chains On Monday, Oct. 16, the two engineers, Charles Van Leuven and Charles Becker, and Peter Shoemaker, the deckhand, started to lay her up. They drained the water out of her boiler, disconnected the chains that connected her to each shore for so many years and stowed ashore other equipment like lanterns and life preservers. Then on Oct. 18, 1922, at 4 p.m. when the tide was high, they pulled the "Riverside" by hand to the east of the Sleightsburgh slip and beached her high on the shore. Just as they were about to pull her out of the sip. Richard Sleight, one of the brothers who operated J. Sleight's Sons general store next to the ferry slip, ran out and jumped aboard, saying he wanted to have one last trip on the "Skillypot." She stayed on the beach at Sleightsburgh until Oct. 20, 1923 when she was towed to South Rondout after being purchased by former Alderman John Fischer. There, by a quirk of fate, she was put inshore alongside the remains of the famous "Mary Powell," then being dismantled. To this day, at low tide parts of her old bones may be seen on the shore east of the railroad bridge. Many an old riverman and Town of Esopus resident saw duty on the "Skillypot." In addition to her final crew of Charles Van Leuven, Charles Becker and Peter Shoemaker, the roster included Elmer Marsh, David Relyea, William Sleight, James Devoe, Theodore Relyea, Andrew Taylor, James Rodman and Isaac C. Sleight. 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!
The Hudson River Valley is part of Lenapehoking - or the Lenape homeland. As residents of the southern Hudson Valley and the New Jersey coastline, they were some of the first Indigenous people in the Northeast to make contact with Europeans, and therefore among the first to bear the brunt of disease, violence, and forced removal. In the Hudson Valley, Manhattan, Tappan, Ramapo, Neversink, Wappingers, and Esopus are all place names derived from Lenape tribal names or words. Editor's Note: This introduction to the Delaware Nation and more information can be found here: https://www.delawarenation-nsn.gov/history/ "The long history of the Lenni Lenape, or Delaware people as we are now known, reaches far back before the arrival of the Europeans. Since much has been lost over time, it is perhaps best to begin in the forested waterways of the Hudson River Valley. Ranging from “. . . the states of New Jersey and Delaware, that part of southeastern Pennsylvania lying between the Susquehanna and Delaware rivers, and the southeastern part of New York state west of the Hudson” (Weslager 1972: 33), the Delaware people today can be found in small enclaves across the U.S. and Canada. The largest populations reside mainly in Oklahoma and Ontario, Canada, with families and individual tribal members scattered across North America. Perhaps as frontier artist George Catlin noted in First Artists of the West, George Catlin Paintings and Watercolors (Troccoli 1993: 52), in describing the Delaware character and reaction to the continuous push into unknown lands; “No other tribe on the continent has been so much moved and jostled about by civilized invasions; and none have retreated so far, or fought their way so desperately, as they have honourably and bravely contended for every foot of the ground they have passed over.” The Absentee Delaware, “absentee” being a description we were given early on, broke away from the main body of the tribe shortly after the American Revolution. European promises of the inclusion of a 14th state, an Indian state, were made as enticement to sign the first treaty in 1778 between the fledgling United States and the Indians. Of course no Indian state was ever declared and by 1782 continued expansion of the frontier and the violence often erupting from that expansion, compelled the Absentee Delaware to move beyond the borders of the newly formed United States into Spanish territory west of the Mississippi River (Hale 1987:1)." Editor's Note: This video reflects the terminology used when it was produced in 2009. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWFeMGmJne4&t=10s Although Lenape people still live in the Northeast, most were forcibly removed multiple times to several different locations, including Wisconsin, Ontario, and Oklahoma. You can learn more about the Lenape by visiting these websites:
- Delaware Nation - delawarenation-nsn.gov - Delaware Tribe - delawaretribe.org - Stockbridge Munsee Community Band of Mohican Indians - mohican.com - The Lenape Center - thelenapecenter.com Canadian First Nations: - Munsee-Delaware Nation, Canadian reserve near St. Thomas, Ontario. - Moravian of the Thames First Nation, Canadian reserve near Chatham-Kent. http://delawarenation.on.ca/. - Delaware of Six Nations (at Six Nations of the Grand River), two Canadian reserves near Brantford, Ontario. Editor's note: The following is from a November 9, 1888 issue of "New Zealand Mail" (Wellington, NZ) reprinted from "St. Nicholas: an Illustrated Magazine for Young Folks", September 1888. Thank you to Contributing Scholar George A. Thompson for finding, cataloging and transcribing this article. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. 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. 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! AuthorCharles Barnard was an American journalist and author; born in Boston, Feb. 13, 1838; died in 1920. 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!
|
AuthorThis blog is written by Hudson River Maritime Museum staff, volunteers and guest contributors. Archives
December 2024
Categories
All
|
GET IN TOUCH
Hudson River Maritime Museum
50 Rondout Landing Kingston, NY 12401 845-338-0071 [email protected] Contact Us |
GET INVOLVED |
stay connected |