In this recent lecture for the Southampton History Museum, author and historian Skip Finley discusses his research from his new book Whaling Captains of Color: America's First Meritocracy (June, 2020). 

​Many of the historic houses that decorate Skip Finley’s native Martha’s Vineyard were originally built by whaling captains. Whether in his village of Oak Bluffs, on the Island of Nantucket where whaling burgeoned, or in New Bedford, which became the City of Light thanks to whale oil, these magnificent homes testify to the money made from whaling. In terms of oil, the triangle connecting Martha’s Vineyard to these areas and Eastern Long Island was the Middle East of its day. Whale wealth was astronomical, and endures in the form of land trusts, roads, hotels, docks, businesses, homes, churches and parks. Whaling revenues were invested into railroads and the textile industry.

Millions of whales died in the 200-plus-year enterprise, with more than 2,700 ships built for chasing, killing and processing them. Whaling was the first American industry to exhibit any diversity, and the proportion of men of color people who participated was amazingly high. A man got to be captain not because he was white or well connected, but because he knew how to kill a whale. Along the way he would also learn navigation and how to read and write. Whaling presented a tantalizing alternative to mainland life.

​Working with archival records at whaling museums, in libraries, from private archives and studying hundreds of books and thesis, Finley culls the best stories from the lives of over 50 Whaling Captains of Color to share the story of America's First Meritocracy.

The history of Black Americans is often purposely erased, so when conducting research for our new exhibit, “Mary Powell: Queen of the Hudson,” I was delighted to find several references to Black and African-American crew working aboard the Mary Powell.

One of the first clues we found was a photo of the crew, including a lone woman – Fannie M. Anthony [also spelled “Fanny”] – who was listed as the “stewardess” of the Mary Powell. Clearly Black or mixed race, I had to find out more about this intriguing woman. Although the research wasn’t especially easy, it was less difficult than I expected, because it turned out that Fannie was famous. 

Fannie M. Anthony was born on June 27, 1827 in New York City. Often listed in Census records as “mulatto,” according to a 1907 Daily Freeman article, “[h]er father was an East Indian, and her mother a full-blooded Indian of the Montauk tribe.”[1] In Census records, her father, Charles R. Smith is listed as “mulatto” and born in 1797 in New York (with his father listed as being born in Neris, Wisconsin and his mother in New York), and her mother, Mary Walker, as born on Long Island.[2]

It is certainly possible that her mother was Montauk, but it is unlikely that her father was East Indian. Few, if any East Indians emigrated to the United States before 1830. In the 1900 Census and her 1914 death record, her race is listed as Black.[3] Many people of African descent often concealed their heritage in an attempt to deflect the worst effects of racism. In addition, census takers and journalists were often subject to their own personal biases, conscious or unconscious, and assigned race accordingly.

Fannie’s husband was Cornelius Anthony, born in 1825 in New Jersey. Census records also list him as “mulatto,” and the 1880 Census lists him as a steward aboard a steamboat. [4] Sadly, it does not indicate which one, although his 1900 obituary lists him as working aboard “Albany boats.”[5] It would be kismet if he and Fannie both worked aboard the Mary Powell, but that cannot be confirmed. He is listed as a carpenter in the 1900 Census, but other information in that record, including the spelling of names and birthdates, is inaccurate.

Cornelius died on or before Monday, July 16, 1900. The following day, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle published his obituary. It read, “Jamaica, L. I., July 17 – Cornelius Anthony, aged 69 years, a negro, a well known and respected resident of this place, died at his home on Willow street on Friday. Deceased was for many years head steward on the Albany boats and was known as a caterer of considerable note. He was at one time sexton of the Methodist Church of Jamaica. He leaves a widow and many near friends and relatives. Internment was made yesterday, at Maple Grove Cemetery.”[6]
​
An 1894 article in the Brooklyn Times Union indicates that he was sexton of the Methodist Episcopal Church at that time. Although we do not know which vessels he worked on as a steward, he must have had considerable skill in his management of the dining rooms, as his obituary also notes his fame as a caterer.

It is unclear when Fannie began her work as the “chambermaid” of the Mary Powell, although sources (listed below) suggest a start date of 1869 or 1870. Her occupation in the 1880 Census, at age 52, is listed as “steamer chambermaid.” Identified alternately as “chambermaid,” “stewardess,” and “lady’s maid,” Fannie worked in the “ladies’ cabin” of the steamboat Mary Powell.

In a private home, a Victorian era chambermaid cleaned and maintained bedroom suites. Ladies’ maids assisted upper class women with dressing, cared for their wardrobe, and dressed hair. As a day boat, the Mary Powell did not have sleeping cabins, so it is likely that the “ladies’ cabin” was a “saloon” or public indoor space designed specifically for women, likely including toilet facilities, couches, and other private comforts.

Since the days of Robert Fulton’s North River Steamboat, a separate, private cabin for women was reserved, allowing delicate Victorian sensibilities to relax, knowing that white women were protected from the attentions of single men. Fannie Anthony likely would have cleaned and maintained this space and assisted female passengers with requests, much like the steward would do for the rest of the steamboat. In all likelihood, as a “stewardess,” Fannie’s role was probably similar to that of a housekeeper in a wealthy household. Her husband Cornelius, as a steward, likely had a job similar to a household butler. In particular, he would oversee dining facilities and public spaces, ensuring their cleanliness and smooth operation, and overseeing waitstaff, porters, etc.

One of the earliest newspaper articles about her is a very complimentary one. Published in the Monday, September 17, 1894 issue of the Brooklyn Times Union, it quotes the Newburgh Sunday Telegram. The article, titled, “Compliments for a Jamaica Woman” reads:
“A correspondent of the Newburgh Sunday Telegram speaks very pleasantly of Mrs. Fannie Anthony, for many years stewardess of the North River steamer Mary Powell. Mrs. Anthony is a Jamaica woman, and the wife of Cornelius Anthony, sexton of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Jamaica. The correspondent says:

“’Mrs. Fannie Anthony, the efficient and obliging stewardess on the steamer Mary Powell, is about concluding her twenty-fifth season in that capacity. Mrs. Anthony enjoys an acquaintance among the ladies along the Hudson River that is both interesting and highly complimentary to the amiable disposition and cheery manner of the only female among the crew of the favorite steamboat. Mrs. Anthony travels over 15,000 miles every summer while attending to her duties on the boat. She seldom misses a trip and looks the picture of health and happiness. Many are the compliments I have heard from Newburg ladies of the genial stewardess’ worth aboard the boat. Rich and poor are alike to her. Her smile and mien are as cheery on a stormy day as on one of sunshine. Every member of the crew pays the homage due her, and the Captain thinks the boat couldn’t run without the stewardess. She is the second oldest traveler now aboard the vessel, but this statement does not imply that Mrs. Anthony is by any means very old. She is well preserved and active, and in every way a credit to her sex and race. Good luck to her.’”[7]

Note that the “Jamaica” woman refers to Jamaica, Long Island – it does not connect Fannie to the Caribbean island of Jamaica. If she was finishing her 25th season in the fall of 1894, that gives her a start date of 1869.

This article is very respectful, particularly when compared with subsequent publications. Fannie is referred to as “Mrs.” and by her full name.

A 1902 New York Press article about her, when she would have been 75 years old, writes, “She looks as young as when she bustled about in the saloon in 1860, her chocolate complexion betraying no ravages of time.”[8] It is unlikely that Fannie started in 1860. For one, the Mary Powell was not even built until 1861. In addition to the Brooklyn Times Union reference, which indicates a start date of 1869, a 1907 article in the Daily Freeman indicates that she had been in service aboard the Mary Powell “for thirty-seven continuous years,” giving her a start date of 1870.[9] Regardless of when she actually started her work, by the turn of the 20th Century she was a Hudson River legend.

An issue of the Newburgh Register from sometime after August 12, 1900 reads, “Mrs. Fannie Anthony, who for the past thirty years has been employed as a lady’s maid on the steamer Mary Powell, is spending the summer at Kingston, her daughter having taken her position on the Powell.” But clearly, as subsequent articles indicate, Fannie did not retire in 1900 and no mention is made of which daughter may have ultimately taken her place.

She is mentioned again in the May 6, 1902 issue of New York Press. In a gossip column entitled, “On the Tip of the Tongue,” following a brief description of the Mary Powell, there is a whole section entitled “Fanny.” The article is transcribed verbatim:
“’Fanny’ is known to a majority of regular travelers on the Hudson as the stewardess of the Mary Powell, a billet she has held ever since the boat was launched. No one knows her age, but it must be 80. She looks as young as when she bustled about in the saloon in 1860, her chocolate complexion betraying no ravages of time. The multitudes that have been in her care never bothered to inquire about her surname, but accepted her as ‘Fanny,’ and ‘Fanny’ she is to all. This good woman and my old friend H. R. Van Keuren are the only two living of the early crew of the Mary Powell. ‘Van’ has just celebrated his fiftieth birthday. He resigned the stewardship of the boat in 1876, I think, and got rich in another business. Recently when he stepped upon the deck of the Mary, who should run up and throw her arms about his neck but faithful old ‘Fanny?’”[10]

In reality she was 75, not 80 years old. This article, like several that follow, speak of Fannie in a condescending way, consistent with the racism of the day. In addition, Fannie’s position as chambermaid or stewardess meant that she was likely treated as a servant, albeit an upper level one. Hence the passengers never bothering to “inquire about her surname.” A stark contrast to the earlier, more respectful article of 1894.

On Wednesday, July 24, 1907, The Kingston Daily Freeman published on page 8 an article entitled, “Fannie of the Powell: A Character and Fixture on the Steamer.” It reads:
“Almost everyone who has even been on the Mary Powell has seen the stewardess, ‘Fannie,’ says the Poughkeepsie Star. She has been on the boat for thirty-seven continuous years. Her name is Fannie M. Anthony. Her father was an East Indian, and her mother a full blooded Indian of the Montauk tribe. She has the shoes that her grandmother was married in, and a copper kettle one hundred years old. She is a very fine looking woman, and talks history with authority. She has met in her time thousands of people, the majority of whom have passed away. All the prominent men who travel shake hands with Fannie and have an old-time chat with her. She is exceedingly interesting and full of [maint?] humor. She hates a snob, and knows ladies and gentlemen at sight. Fannie is the pet of the public and the faithful and honored servant of the Powell.”[11]

This article reflects the changing times and a new veneration for elders who had lived through a history-making era. The references to the 100-year-old copper kettle, her grandmother’s shoes (perhaps Montauk), and all the people who have “passed away” is not only establishing her as someone who can “[talk] history with authority,” but also establishing her as a third-generation free American, distancing her from the possible taint of slavery. Her role in public service and her long tenure aboard the Mary Powell led to her fame and the fondness with which newspapers and general public spoke of her.

Fannie retired from the Mary Powell in 1912, at age 85. She died on May 26, 1914 in Queens, just short of her 87th birthday, and was buried May 28, 1914 in Maple Grove Cemetery, in Kew Gardens, Queens.[12] Her husband Cornelius was also buried in Maple Grove Cemetery.  

Like Cornelius, she received a formal published obituary, emphasizing her status and fame in the community. On Thursday, June 4, 1914, the Poughkeepsie Evening Enterprise published “Aunt Fannie, of the Mary Powell Dies:”
“Mrs. Fannie Anthony, who for 39 years was chambermaid in charge of the ladies’ cabin on the steamer Mary Powell, died at her home at Jamaica, Long Island, on Friday, aged 87 years. She was in active service on the Powell until failing health and advancing years compelled her to give up her work two years ago, when she was succeeded by her daughter. To the traveling public she was familiarly known as ‘Aunt Fannie,’ and hundreds of visitors on whom she waited during her service have pleasant recollections of her. She began under the late Captain Frost, and continued under Captain Absalom Anderson, Captain ‘Billy’ Cornell and Captain A. Elting Anderson.”[13]

Two days later, on Saturday, June 6, 1914, Fannie made front page news in the Rockland County Journal – “Aged Chambermaid of Mary Powell Dead” – a verbatim reprint of the above Evening Enterprise obituary.[14]

The nickname “Aunt Fannie” is a complicated one. On the one hand, it likely was used by most as a term of endearment. However, the use of the word “aunt” in relation to older Black women in the 19th and early 20th century, especially by white people, is often a derogatory honorific. By using the terms “aunt” and “uncle,” white people could avoid using the more respectful “Mrs.” And “Mr.” with elder people of color, maintaining the racial hierarchy of white supremacy. People of all races in service were often referred to only by their first name as a way of highlighting their subservient role. At the same time, the Evening Enterprise also refers to her as “Mrs. Fannie Anthony,” giving her the proper honorific.

Here we also have confirmation that she was, indeed, succeeded by her daughter, although we still do not know which one. An Ada Anthony, granddaughter of Charles R. Smith (and therefore probably Fannie and Cornelius’ daughter) is listed in the 1880 Census, born in 1862.[15] By the 1910 Census, Cornelius is dead and Fannie is living alone with her widowed daughter (listed as granddaughter in the 1900 Census) Mary R. Smith and a boarder.[16]

Newspaper searches for Ada and Mary have so far revealed no leads. The Mary Powell itself was taken out of service in 1917, just five short years after Fannie’s retirement.

Fannie M. Anthony walked a delicate balance in the 19th and 20th centuries aboard the steamboat Mary Powell. Although she occupied a service role, often one of the few avenues of employment open to Black people, it seems that through sheer force of personality, excellence, and longevity, she managed to overcome some of the obstacles that faced most women of color at the time. Like the steamboat Mary Powell herself, Fannie achieved a measure of fame not usually afforded ordinary people.
​
I hope that by sharing Fannie Anthony’s story, we can help bring more details of her life and her family to light. If you have any information about the Anthony family not featured here, please contact the Hudson River Maritime Museum. We will update this article with more information when possible.

                                                           No. 27- M. Martin
           
Built in 1863 at Jersey City for the Catskill and Albany day route, the 191 foot “M. Martin” was considered at that time one of the most handsome boats of her type ever to appear on the Hudson river. And the “M. Martin” has a historic background second to none of the vessels ever to ply the Hudson.
              
Because she was constructed in 1863, shortly after the Civil War broke out, the “M. Martin” was pressed into service under General Grant, and during the latter part of the war she was used as General Grant’s dispatch boat on Chesapeake Bay, carrying troops and messages across the bay and river. The “M. Martin” was known as the “greyhound” of the fleet of inland steamers that served the federal government during the war, and after the fall of Richmond, President Abraham Lincoln and General Grant made a visit to the Confederate Capital aboard the “M. Martin.”
              
At the close of the war the “M. Martin” was brought north and purchased by Romer & Tremper of Rondout who placed her in service on the Newburgh and Albany route, running in line with the “Eagle.” These two boats ran together until August 2, 1884, when the “Eagle” was destroyed by fire and the “Jacob H. Tremper” was built to take her place.
              
In 1899, the “Martin” was sold to the Central Hudson Steamboat Company of Newburgh, and served that company many years. She was an exceptionally fine performing vessel in the ice and was thus one of the first out in the spring and the last boat in at the close of navigation in the fall.
              
On Thursday, June 16, 1910, laden with freight and about 20 passengers, the “M. Martin,” southbound from Albany to Newburgh, caught fire and was beached near Esopus Island on the east shore of the Hudson, where all passengers were taken off in small boats. Captain George Hadley first noticed smoke curling from the pilot’s cabin in increasing volume, so he beached the vessel, saw that the passengers were safely taken off, and then got the “Martin’s” firefighting apparatus working playing streams of water on the flames. It was a matter or about 10 minutes for the water to quench the flames, and with only a scorched pilot house to record her experience, the “M. Martin” proceeded on to Newburgh.
              
After repairs had been made, the “M. Martin” resumed service, running until the fall of 1918, when she was laid up. Then in the summer of 1920, the work of junking the “M. Martin” began. Everything of value was removed from a vessel that had once conveyed a President of the United States, and the hull was purchased by Patrick Doherty to use for dock purposes at Eavesport, a small landing near Malden on the Hudson.

                                                                      No. 177- Norwich
              
Running a close second to the Mary Powell for its fame on the Hudson river comes the old Norwich, known to followers of the river’s history as the “Ice King.”
              
The wooden hull of the Norwich was built by Lawrence & Sneden at New York in 1836, and her engine was the product of Hall & Cunningham of New York. From stern to stern the Norwich measured 160 feet; her breadth of beam was 25 feet five inches; depth of hold five feet nine inches; gross tonnage 255; net tonnage 127. Her engine was of the crosshead variety with a cylinder diameter of 40 inches with a 10 foot stroke, and she carried one boiler in her hold.
               
The Norwich was built for the New York & Norwich Steamboat Company and ran on Long Island Sound for a number of years after she was launched.
              
The year 1843 marked the appearance of the Norwich on the Hudson river- in service between Rondout and New York as a passenger and freight carrier; and about 1850 Thomas Cornell purchased the steamboat and converted her to a towboat.
              
It was about the middle of the nineteenth century  that the Norwich began a procedure which was to gain for her the title of “Ice King”- a title which was never disputed! Her construction was such that heavy river ice usually broke before her onslaught, and in the early spring and late fall the Norwich was a familiar figure breaking ice along the river.
              
The bow of the Norwich was so constructed that she could run upon and break down heavy ice fields, and the bottom of the steamboat was well protected with copper and steel. Her paddle wheels were fashioned out of live oak and iron, and her commander, Captain Jacob DuBois often said that, “She could run through a stone yard without damaging herself.”
              
The spectacle of the Norwich battling heavy ice was always interesting to watch, and occasionally when endeavoring to break down large mounds of ice, the staunch vessel was turned over on her side. At such time prompt action was necessary by the crew in the shifting of chain boxes and weighty ballast to right the vessel. The wheels of the Norwich were so placed that one of them could be detached quickly- and thus the tilting of the steamboat was of little importance. It is safe to assume that the Norwich saved many thousands of dollars of damage by her successful attempts at breaking up the ice in the river and thus preventing floods and serious jams.
              
Frequently the Norwich was called upon to rescue vessels caught in the ice on Long Island Sound, and in the year 1851 she fought what was perhaps her greatest battle with the ice. The steamboat New Haven was caught in the ice, and the Norwich went to her aid. Rows of ice so high that the stranded New Haven could not be seen from the pilot house of the Norwich was finally crushed down by the old “Ice King,” and the Sound vessel was released from its perilous position.
              
Usually the first vessel on the river in the spring and the last to tie up in the winter, the Norwich was also a conspicuous figure in the steamboat parade in New York harbor on September 25, 1909. On two occasions the Norwich was almost destroyed by fire, (December 16, 1906 and August 30, 1909) and both times she was rebuilt and placed in service.
              
Many of the well-known figures in Hudson river history were connected with the Norwich at one time or another, including Captain George B. Gage, Captain Stephen Van Wart, Captain Jeremiah Patteson, Captain Delzell, Captain Harry Barber, Captain James Welsh, and Captain Jacob DuBois.
              
​The Norwich continued her career on the Hudson river until 1921 when she was deemed of no further use and was tied up at Port Ewen. In November 1923 the Cornell Steamboat Company sold the Norwich to Michael Tucker of Port Ewen, who broke her up for scrap. Today the fame of the Norwich is constantly recalled through stories passed from one individual to another, and visitors to the Senate House in Kingston are reminded of the old “Ice King” when they view the bell of the Norwich which is displayed in the local museum.

                                                           No. 41- James W. Baldwin
                                                                              
The “James W. Baldwin” was one of the better-known steamboats to the people of this section of the Hudson river valley. She was built in 1860 and was originally 242 feet long, breadth of beam 34 feet, and a tonnage rating of 710. Her hull was constructed of wood by M.S. Allison of Jersey City and her engine, a vertical beam with a 60 inch cylinder and an 11 foot stroke, was the product of Fletcher, Harrison & company of New York. She had two iron boilers located on the guards. In later years the “James W. Baldwin” was rebuilt- measuring 275 feet, five inches, and a net tonnage rating of 923.
              
The “James W. Baldwin” was built for Captain Jacob H. Tremper of Kingston. Captain Tremper was one of the best-known of the old Hudson river skippers, beginning his career back in the thirties by purchasing and operating the steamboat “Fanny,” a stout little sidewheeler  formerly used on Long Island Sound, which he placed in service between New York and Marlborough. Later he purchased the “Emerald” and ran her for a short period between Poughkeepsie and the metropolis.
                
By the year 1860, Captain Tremper had made Rondout his terminus for a line to New York and he was running the steamboat “North America” on that route. In 1860 he ordered a new steamer which he intended to name the “Wiltwyck,” but when he launched her on November 19, 1860, he christened her the “James W. Baldwin.” The new steamboat was placed in regular service in the spring of 1861, and immediately gained attention because she was the speediest vessel carrying staterooms on the river at that time. She had 50 staterooms and sleeping accommodations for up to 100 persons. Later she was lengthened, an extra tier of staterooms added, and accommodations increased to 350 persons.
              
The “Baldwin” was a typical Hudson river night boat, and she was under the command of Captain Tremper from the day of her first trip until the year 1888 when the Captain died.
              
In the year 1899 the “James W. Baldwin” was purchased by the Central Hudson Steamboat Company of Newburgh, and in 1903 she was rebuilt, two new boilers were placed in her, and her name was changed to the “Central Hudson.” She saw service on the same route for which she was constructed in 1860.
              
During her career the “James W. Baldwin” had many running mates. In 1861-1862 she ran in line with the steamboat “Manhattan.” In 1863 she saw service with the “Knickerbocker,” continuing with the latter vessel until the “Thomas Cornell” made her appearance. The “Baldwin” ran in line with the “Thomas Cornell” until that vessel was wrecked on March 28, 1882, and then for the balance of the season she had the “City of Catskill” as her running mate. In 1883 the “City of Springfield” was the companion boat of the “Baldwin,” and then from 1884 to 1889 she ran in line with the hull propeller vessel “City of Kingston.”
              
In October, 1889, the “City of Kingston” was sold to a company on the Pacific coast, and for the balance of that season the steamboat “Saugerties” was chartered to run with the “Baldwin.”
              
During the winter of 1890 Romer & Tremper bought out the night line business of the Cornell Line between Rondout and New York, and purchased the steamboat, “Mason L. Weems,” later rechristened the “William F. Romer,” from a concern in Baltimore to run in line with the “James W. Baldwin.”

I​n 1910 the Central Hudson Line constructed a new steel hull propeller boat named the “Benjamin B. Odell,” and in the spring of 1911 this new vessel replaced the “James W. Baldwin” or “Central Hudson” as she was known at that period. The “Central Hudson” was then chartered out to the Manhattan Line to run between New York and Albany in line with the steamer “Kennebec,” later called the “Iroquois.”  On May 20, 1911, on the down trip from Albany, the “Central Hudson” ran aground at Jones Point where she was fast for 13 hours. On the return trip she again ran aground near West Point. This second accident occurred at high tide and was more serious than the first mishap, as the bow of the vessel was fast while the stern was floating. The keel was broken. An investigation in dry-dock showed the damage to be quite serious and the “Central Hudson” was abandoned. She was towed to Newburgh from Hoboken and was partly dismantled. Later she was purchased by J.H. Gregory, and on November 15, 1911, the once proud “James W. Baldwin” was towed through New York Harbor on her way to the bone yard at Perth Amboy where she was broken up.  

Editor's Note: This article was originally published on January 12, 1896 in the Chicago, Illinois The Daily Inter Ocean.  The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

New York, Jan. 10 – Special Correspondence. – The most popular new sport of the winter is golf on ice. This is like golfing on land, with a few important differences, but the persons who golf upon the ice are the same ones who golf on land. The popularity of the sport will not allow it to die during the months when the earth is covered with snow too deep for running across the links on land.

In the neighborhood around New York the most popular place for ice golfing is the Hudson River when it is frozen stiff as a sheet of ice and is covered with snow, from up above the Palisades down to where the river finds the harbor.

The way to play golf on ice is to mount upon skates and chase a ball over a certain course. So far it is like golf on land. The necessary attribute of golf on ice is that one should be a very expert skater, and that one has endurance and strength and can be comfortable in cold weather.

When the Gould family went up to the ice carnival at Montreal just a year ago upon that memorial tour when Count de Castlane proposed to Anna Gould, one of the prettiest sights they saw was the Montreal ice golfers. Pretty English girls with warm clothes and red cheeks swung the golf sticks high in the air and made flying descents upon the ball, chasing it as though on wings. A game of golf on ice progresses faster than a game of golf on land, and more space is covered in one link than there is in a whole country golf course.

The girls of the Hudson – those hearty daughters of millionaires who persisted in living along the banks of “the Rhine of America” most of the year – began ice golfing this winter. Their plan is to lay out links in the form of a course. The course is marked by a trail of fine dark sand, which is sprinkled upon the ice or upon the snow that covers the ice of the river. There isn’t over a handful in a mile of trail, but it is enough to mark the course.

The “Tee” in a Pile of Snow
The “teeing hole” lies upon the bank of the river. You start your ball along the trail, keep it going with as few strokes as possible on account of the score, and finally drive it ashore and into a “tee.” The second link lies farther on, and on the ice in this case is on the opposite shore of the river, maybe a mile across. All skate along to see fair play and the little caddy keeps close to the player’s heels.

On the return course the trail lies down the middle of the river, and the tee is a pile of snow with a hole sunken in it for the ball. This is very difficult to “make,” as the smoothness of the ice and the smallness of the hole carries the ball on and around instead of in. But it can be done. The etiquette of the teeing ground is the same on ice as on land. Not a word must be spoken at the tee, until the ball has been safely landed in the hold. The length of a proper golf course on ice, instead of being the regulation distance of five miles, is always twenty-five. Those who do not care to skate can drive along the river bank, or upon the ice, and watch the game.

If a millionaire could buy ice ponds with money it is sure that George Vanderbilt would have golfing on ice at the opening of his home, Biltmore, in North Carolina this week. Every other outdoor sport has been provided. There is a beautiful pond there that occasionally freezes over, but the crust is never thick enough for so many players and their spectators. But there are all things in readiness for golf on ice, and if the cold snap comes they will have it.

The Seward Webbs, whose Shelbourne farms, in New England, is the ideal country place in the world, have a lovely winter golf course that lies over a frozen lake. When the land is passed and the player reaches the lake she has her caddy slip on skates, and the two strike out after the ball. The tools required for golf on ice are the oval and flat ones. The round and pointed sticks and clubs are not needed. There are no obstructions on the ice like fences, but there are snowdrifts that require a frequent lofting of the ball. In fact, for golf on ice a particular science is required. The average player would strike straight ahead and be obliged to come back and, finally, waste more time in returning than would be allowed for a good game.

Back upon the Rockefeller country places that adjoin each other in the Tarrytown region there is a lovely spot that nestles quietly enough in the hills to tempt another Rip Van Winkle to lie down for a long slumber. To this spot the golf craze has penetrated, and a little house has been put up for the players. They gather in her as though in a clubhouse, get warm, eat little luncheons, and start out upon the chase across the ice. They can easily cover twenty-five miles in an afternoon’s golfing on ice.

Expert Girl Golfers
Hitherto the Meadow Brook Club people (who entertained the Duke of Marlborough on the hunt when he was here, and who bring their guests from the Pacific coast every fall for the hunting) have languished during the deep-snow season; but this fall the waters nearest them, the sound, the bay, the open bit of harbor, wherever there is a strip of ice, have been called into play for ice golfing. There may be as many links as one pleases, according to their newest rules, all to be decided the day before by a committee, which is governed by the state of the weather and the ice.

Golfing upon the ice is a special sport with the young millionairesses and debutantes. They have opportunity for so many pretty poses. Nothing is more graceful than skating, and the playing of a game upon the ice is bewitchingly becoming.

A very clever ice golfer is Miss Amy Bend, the very blond, baby-faced young woman, in her second or third season, who is reported engaged to Mr. Willie K. Vanderbilt.  Miss Bend golfs in the Shelbourne Farms house parties and at the many country places where she is a guest this winter.

Mrs. Ogden Mills and Mrs. Burke-Roche, both of which beautiful matrons are the mothers of twins, skate a great deal, with their children with them. Mrs. Burke-Roche, with her two sturdy boys, and Mrs. Mills, with her pretty little girls, can be seen skating every pleasant day. Their favorite spot is a club ground in New York City, upon which there will soon be built a set of golf links.

The Western young women who own large country places, like Miss Florence Pullman, have a way of their own in planning links.

A short time ago a professional golf linker who was engaged to lay out links at Lenox visited Miss Pullman’s country place in the West to get ideas from her. Her course is a very pretty one, and differs from others in having the tee holes situated in the prettiest portions of the ground. This is contrary to rule, as beauty of scenery is supposed to detract too much from one’s interest at the teeing time. If Miss Pullman follows the new winter golf fad, and has links upon the ice, she will doubtless invent a new way of making the golf links novel.

There is a certain young heiress in this country. She is a Western girl, though cosmopolitan, having lived all over the world, and she is original in taste. A short time ago, when the lake upon her country place where she went for the December holiday began to freeze, she began lamenting that she could not play golf on ice. “I hear they are doing it at Fifi’s country place,” said she, mentioning the nickname of a girl well known in society, and I don’t see why I can’t do the same.”

An Heiress’ Dream
Straightway she had her landscape gardeners set to work to make a golf link upon the ice. The lake was a smooth, round sheet, and the course was to lay around it. The first obstacle planned was a mound of ice. This was made by packing snow upon the crust of the ice and pouring water upon it. The next obstacle was a miniature falls, with icebergs and icicles. This the gardener had his men make by pouring water slowly down upon the ice letting it freeze in midair as it would. After many tubs of water had been poured, the ice took on the appearance of a frozen falls.

In playing golf upon the ice, where obstacles have been placed, the skill of the player is taxed to strike the ball just hard enough to lift it over the obstacle. He then skates around it and finds his ball upon the other side. This would be simple enough if he were sure of lifting the ball over the obstruction. But he can only “loft” with his full strength and then skate around. He not wait or the ball will have gone a mile ahead of him over the frozen surface, and a hundred feet past the tee, which is just the other side of the obstacle.

There will have to be a new code of golf instructions written for those who golf upon the ice, because the summer golfing is different in everything but principle. But that will soon be done, as several young men who have fallen in love with the sport are at work upon it. HARRY GERMAINE.”

Editor's Note: This account is from the February 23, 1879 New York Times. The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

"A Winter Ramble Over The Surface of the Hudson – Fishing Through The Ice – A Trap for Ice-Yachts – Trying Speed With Thought – Looking Down Upon A Winter Scene
Walking on the surface of the deep is no miracle in our climate. But the experience is quite rare enough to make a vivid impression, especially on those who tread habitually the dull sidewalks of a city. For the mind is haunted by at least a feeling of the miraculous as you walk over a great lake or river. The elements seem to have forgotten their laws, and the whole face of nature is weird when her gleaming eyes turn glassy. This unusual view of nature drew me to visit the Winter scenes on the Hudson. I purposed on this Winter walk to go from Poughkeepsie to Newburg on the ice, through the region renowned for ice-boating; where they hold tournaments for lady skaters; where they trot horses when they cannot row regattas; and where Winter life on the ice may seen in its perfection. I started by skating, and I rested from this by sailing, and walking part of the time, for I have a friend on the way who is a famous iceboat skipper; and we skipped about the river with the speed of the wind. I can scarcely call the trip a walk; for I traveled neither all by water nor by land, nor yet as the fowls of the air. But, however I went, the excursion was delightful with scenes and experiences characteristic of the Winter life of the Hudson.

As I left the dock at Poughkeepsie and skated out over the river, a thrill – almost a shiver – ran through me as I thought of the depths. But a few inches below my feet. Of course, one is not afraid on ice nearly a foot thick, but this unusual relation to deep wide water is unavoidably startling. You say to yourself there is no danger, but you feel to yourself, this is all very queer. The first minutes of my trip were therefore a little chaotic, with the confidence born of other people’s opinions, yet, with my own secret questioning about the ice all the way down my long route. But the exhilaration of the keen Winter morning soon bore away every other feeling. The thermometer marked only 15 degrees; a light west wind blew down over the hills of Ulster County, and the clear air and sunlight made the most distant scenes appear like faultless miniatures. I looked down the river 20 miles, over my whole route. The river near by was a narrow level valley between high banks of bare trees. The hills over-topping the banks were also brown and bare, excepting here and there a patch of snow or a knoll crowned with cedars that added deep shadows to the sober face of nature. The level valley of ice ran straight away to the distance between dark wooded headlands projecting one behind another, and marking in clear perspective the long vista of the river. The valley seemed to end at the foot of the Highlands, which over-topped the whole scene with their majestic heads, now gray with snow under a bare forest. This long level of ice was generally smooth, excepting here and there, a low wandering ridge of projecting edges and cakes at cracks; and the shores were marked by a tide.

Groups of men and boys were seen down the valley, even far off, and a few ice-boats were moving about at Milton, four miles below, and at New-Hamburg, 10 miles off. The mirage was very strong this clear morning, so the boats appeared double, as if one ran on the ice and other under it. The new ice was a curious record of nature in a warm and lenient hour. Jack Frost seemed a tell-tale of his freaks. He had pressed her white flowers; he had preserved her little landscapes modeled in the ice of rivulet, gorge, and bluff; he had caught the wind playing with the ripples and locked them fast, and he had painted the clouds and scattered crystals for the stars.

I soon reached Blue Point, where some fishermen were taking up their nets, and a few boys were grouped about them. Two men at each end of a narrow trench cut through the ice, and hauled up a line. These lines at last brought up a net 12 feet square, with a pole across the bottom, weighted with a stone at each end. The nets are lowered her about 50 feet, or half way to the bottom, and 10 to 20 of them are put down in a row across the current, over a reef or rocky point. The upper ends of the lines are tied to sticks that lie across the open trench, or stand up in the ice. The nets swing off under the ice, by the pressure of the current, and fill out like open bags. Catfish run into them, and are kept there by the current until slack water enables them to leave; but perch and bass are caught by the gills in the two-and-a-quarter-inch meshes. When the nets had all been lifted and put down again, the men picked up the few perch   and young sturgeons, frozen as stiff as sticks, and walked to the shore. There they had a flat-boat decked over for a house. Bunks, stove, and various fishing-tackle filled the little cabin with a chaotic mass. They will launch their boat when the ice leaves, and float up or down then river as inclination may direct. In good seasons this ice-fishing yields often 50 pounds of fish at a lift, the men make about $10 per day with 20 nets. This year the fishing here is very poor, for the great freshet of the Fall carried the bass down to Haverstraw Bay.
​
I left the fishermen of Blue Point, and skated down the opposite shore. The bluffs along the railroad cuts were hung with great icicles, some of them 8 or 10 feet long. Every projecting ledge of some cliffs, from top to bottom, was decked with these splendid crystals, flashing in the sunlight. And at their feet, the twigs and rocks were covered with round forms of quaint shapes. While I stood there the rails began to ring faintly, but clearly as a bell, in the frosty air. The sounds beat in quick pulsations, grew to a rumbling, then to an increasing roar, and in a moment an express train came around the point at a thundering pace. All the stillness and peace of the morning vanished as before the blast of war. It passed in an instant; the roaring fled; the rails rang again with a clear, pure music, softer, and fainter still, and then the Winter silence came once more over the valley of ice. The solemn repose of the great river was then unbroken. For even its mutterings were solemn, when the ice cracked under my feet with a loud report, and the sound darted away in quick, erratic angles to the bluff, and still rumbled on in persistent gloom. The falls at the Pin Factor were a scene of prettier details. The rocks were covered with pillowy masses of whitish ice, and the clear water came down in zig-zag courses, now over these pillows, now under ice caverns built over rocks. The steep descent of the stream was guarded by rustic balustrades of roots and branches, all covered with ice, and the whole was partly veiled by some bare elms, bushes, and dark cedars. A nearer view of the ice showed it to be a bank of crystal flowers, gleaming faintly with prismatic hues in the sunshine. The water ran all over it in little rivulets perfectly free from earthly stain. The dim caves were the most poetic objects; they had neither a ray of sunshine nor a line of shadow within them; yet their sculptured walls were exquisitely shaded with the softest, clearest lights, and the arch in front was hung with crystals of brilliant colors. The whole fall was full of magic, the faint Winter music of the stream, the exquisite delicacy of forms petrified as in death, and the strangeness of objects that transmit light instead of casting shadows. The only witness of the scene is an old mill with a crumbling wheel that once turned round to the music of the brook.  Now when the moonlight shines on his tottering form on the falls in the magic of Winter, and on the wide river groaning in his bed, the scene must be still more weird, if not more beautiful.

I went on to Milton, and there found my friend and his ice-boat ready for a cruise further down the river. I put on a few suits of clothes, woolen socks, arctics and mittens; then we embarked, and glided away toward New Hamburg. Other boats were skimming over the ice, and we exchanged many social greetings, if that term can be applied to salutations that begin and end at opposite points of the horizon. I dream of flying when I hold the tiller of an ice-boat, and find myself flitting about the earth, and reaching a place almost as soon as my thought of it. We flew about the Hudson for an hour or more, here turning to visit this point or that, there pausing in our flight to enjoy the excitement of another start, or to touch the social scenes and incidents of this Winter life. At a place near Milton we were admiring a large boat coming from the distance at great speed. Suddenly she stopped. As something was evidently the matter, we ran down there, and found her fast in a hollow that had been filled with water and then skimmed with thin ice. These hollows form by the expansion of the ice. The expansion across the river drives the ice up the shore, so that no cracks form up and down the stream. But the still greater expansion of the long stretches of ice up and down the river find no such room as the shores. The ice, therefore, doubles up, or buckles. It thus either throws up a low ridge, or else forms a hollow, on each side of the cracks running across the stream. The ridge does not interfere much with travel until one side of it drops down and makes a step or fault. But the hollow fills with water, sometimes several feet deep; and at last the tide catches one side of the inclined cakes or sides of the hollow, doubles it under, and carries it away. These clear, open cracks, from 10 to 20 feet wide, are slow to freeze, and generally offer the most dangerous places on the ice. They may form at any time, even in cold weather; so that constant attention and good light are required in raveling up or down the river. But, to return to the stranded ice-boat. She had a good breeze, and had come to this hollow too suddenly to avoid it. If the new ice had been a little stronger, or else narrower, it might have held her up till her forward runners had reached the old ice on the further side of the hollow, and the high wind, with her momentum, would have drive her through. This she would have “jumped a crack,” as the phrase goes; instead of this she “broke through,” as another phrase goes, and her passengers and crew were there surrounded by broken thin ice over a hollow of water in a depression of old ice. Now, we were interested chiefly in the passengers, for they were two very pretty girls, who explained with much animation and distinctness that they would like to get out of that situation. They appeared very well in the midst of rich furs and robes, but for once this advantage was ignored. So we had all the pleasure of their unnecessary distress, and finally landed them, still warm and dry, on the old ice. Then the boat was rescued, and amid many thanks on one side and some merry advice on the other, both parties darted away on the wind. We were afterward favored with pretty salutations from them, too literally en passant, yet too long drawn out for any comfort. Afterward, the same hollow entrapped a second boat; but this had only men aboard and we let them scramble out by themselves.  A third boat came up to see what was the matter, and also ran into the trap. Then a fourth came up with a gust of wind, and ran her port runner and the rudder in before she could be rounded to. The water flew, the ice rattled; and it came so suddenly that the whole crew jumped off in a fright. But the whole crew was only one man, and the helmsman stuck to his tiller and brought her out to clear sailing again.

​At Marlboro we found a crowd of skaters and sliders, collected to witness a horse-race on the ice. They all seemed to be animated with red, red noses. For the wind was keen, and they had to keep in constant motion. Some rosy girls and boys, with scarlet mittens and comforters, were skating hand in hand along the retired nooks of the shores. And some of the farmers from the hills were speeding their horses up and down the straight track on the ice. The village looked down on the scene from the head of its picturesque ravine. Northward, the river stretched away between its bold banks to Poughkeepsie, throwing up a cloud of thin smoke on the Western wind. Southward, the valley of ice ran between still bolder heads of dark cedars, along the sweeps of Low Point, past Newburg, and down to the foot of the Highlands. The gray heads of the mountains were nearer and grander now than when I first saw them from up the river. As the afternoon was passing away, we had to turn our backs on the swarms of boys and men at the horse-race, wave a last farewell to our pretty acquaintances on the ice-boat, and stand away southward. We flew along with a stiff breeze past New-Hamburg, the bold hills at Hampton, and on to other picturesque points. Cracks in the ice here and there made us turn in and out, and flit about with the quick motions of a bird. At last I had to give up the tiller, at the Dantz Kammer Point, shed my various suits down to a walking load, and bid the skipper good by as he flew away up the river.

But, after all, give me the sober earth for better or for worse. I enjoyed again the firmness of a good hard road, and the steadfast reality of a good walk down to Newburg. The road gradually mounts the high bank of the river among an army of cedars storming the height, and some farm-houses and orchards in their Winter reserve. At the top of the hill, near Balmville, you look back up the river and over the plains of Dutchess County. Southward the view includes the rolling hills about Newburg and Fishkill, the spires of these pretty towns, and the broad bay between them. The valley of ice contracts there to enter the magnificent gorge of the Highlands, and then disappears behind the shoulders of the mountains. These majestic spirits of the Winter scene are now still grander as you near their feet and gaze at their hoary, silent crowns. The suburbs of Newburg were quite cheerful. Carriages, with spirited horses, and with rosy faces above rich robes, dashed along the roads, and here and there a cozy home-scene shone out of window among  evergreens. The town, too, was alive with teams and people from the surrounding country. Winter vigor and high spirits pervaded both man and beast. And I was kin enough to each to share in their joy for the keen Winter day. C.H. F."

                                                            No. 4- The Knickerbocker
              
The 291 foot “Knickerbocker” was a wooden-hull steamer built in 1843 by Smith and Dimon of New York, with her engine made by the West Point Foundry, and originally used in the “DeWitt Clinton.” Daniel Drew, Isaac Newton, and others of the People’s Line, were the owners of the “Knickerbocker” which was considered a very staunch and beautiful craft, plying the waters of the Hudson until 1846 when her owners sent her to the Stonington Line. She saw service on the Long Island Sound line for a number of years and was partially rebuilt for this work, being widened three feet forward of the wheels which were set back into pockets, thus making added stateroom accommodations.
              
Once again the “Knickerbocker” returned to the Hudson river, meeting with various mishaps during her service. On September 1, 1856, the Knickerbocker” sailed from Albany, bound for New York, with 300 passengers and a quantity of freight and livestock aboard. Enroute  down the river, the vessel hit a rock, displacing her boiler which caused the vessel to list to the larboard as the cargo and boiler rolled to one side of the craft. The pilot saw the danger and turned the vessel’s bow towards Fort Montgomery creek, three miles north of Peekskill, with the intentions of backing the stricken vessel into shallow water. The steamboat “Niagara” of the opposition line passed by while the “Knickerbocker” was in distress but disregarded all signals for assistance and plowed her way on up the river. The little steamer “Machanic” came to the aid of the “Knickerbocker” and took off 150 of the passengers, with the rest being rescued in small boats and taken to Peekskill.
              
The rescued passengers on board the “Machanic” held a prayer and praise meeting at midnight to give thanks for their deliverance, and then they made up a purse of almost a thousand dollars which they presented to Captain Coe of the “Machanic.”
              
The “Knickerbocker” drifted about with the tide and then sank. She was raised and repaired, and then saw service running in line with the “Hero” of the Merchants Through Line.
              
In 1859 the “Knickerbocker” ran down and sank the sloop “Stephen Raymond” near Hastings. This collision came at night and the entire crew of the sloop perished.
              
During the year 1862 the “Knickerbocker” plied the route between Rondout and New York, taking the place of the steamboat “Manhattan” until the new steamboat “Thomas Cornell” came into existence. This was the last of the “Knickerbocker” in this territory as she was then taken south and used for a troop transport, and later was wrecked on Chesapeake Bay.

THE  ACCIDENT ON THE HUDSON RIVER -- CORRECTION. 
There was an error in the report of the collision which occurred on the Hudson river on Monday evening, near Hastings. The steamer which sunk the sloop Stephen Raymond was not the North America, as was supposed, but the Knickerbocker, of the Merchants’ line, and there was only one man drowned instead of three, as reported. Captain Nelson, of the Knickerbocker, says the accident occurred by the sloop changing her course and luffing across the steamer’s bow when too near to prevent a collision. Two persons (Germans)  [Editor's Note: Peter Dazel and William Hagan] ​climbed over the steamer’s bow as the sloop went down. The man at the wheel, named Conklin, could not be found. The two persons rescued proceeded with the steamer to Albany and returned on her yesterday to this city.

Editor's Note: These accounts are from the June 9, 1831 issue of The Evening Post (NY) and the National Gazette (Philadelphia, PA). The tone of the articles reflect the time period in which they were written.

June 9, 1831 The Evening Post (NY) General Jackson Boiler explosion – Lives Lost and Saved
The morning papers contain a few further particulars concerning the late steamboat disaster on the North River. Two other deaths in consequence of the explosion are to the added to the list which we gave yesterday. The name of one of the unfortunate victims is Mr. Marshall, a passenger, and the other was Mr. Brady, of this city, a carpenter, and a man of much talent and ingenuity. He was exceedingly skillful as an architectural, machine, and ornamental iron work draughtsman.

Among the persons severely, but it is hoped not fatally scalded, are Mr. John Glads, of Haverstraw, the bar-keeper of the boat, and Mr. Rathbone, of this city. Mr. Rathbone is a young gentleman of wealth, who was returning to New York from his country seat, on the North River, opposite Grassy Point. At the time of the disastrous explosion he was in the act of stepping on board the steamboat from his own boat. One of his arms was broken, and his leg dreadfully torn and shattered, so much so that amputation has, we learn, since been resorted to.

The Journal of Commerce relates the following instance of fortunate escape.
A singular circumstance is related to us of another gentleman, well known to the public as a zealous promoter of every good object, who had intended to come down in the same boat [General Jackson]. It appears that he was waiting, either at Peekskill or one of the landing-places lower down, when the Captain of a sloop, which was just getting under way, solicited him very earnestly to take a passage with him. No, he replied; he was waiting for the steamboat. The Captain still pressed the invitation, and withal manifested so much good nature, that the gentleman finally consented. [Money of course was no object with him, being independently rich.] The winds afterwards became less favorable, and he did not arrive in the city till after midnight. He then told his companion that he had been silly enough to go on board a sloop instead of taking the steamboat, and had got well paid for his folly, by being detained till that hour. What was his surprise when he learned that to this circumstance, under Providence, he was probably indebted for the preservation of his life.

June 9, 1831 The National Gazette (Philadelphia PA) Steamboat General Jackson’s Boiler Explodes near Grassy Point Dock on June 7, 1831 [From the N. Y. Com. Advertiser of Wednesday.]
Steamboat Explosion - The startling intelligence was received last evening, and spread rapidly over the city, that the Steamboat Gen. Jackson had exploded yesterday afternoon, some where in the neighborhood of Sing Sing, and that many lives had been lost. The accounts of this disaster given in the morning papers, are in substantial agreement, and we have selected that of the Mercantile, which is as follows:

Another Steamboat Explosion. – The steamboat General Jackson, Capt. Vanderbilt, that has plied daily between this city [New York] and Peekskill,  on her passage down burst her boiler with a terrible explosion. The accident occurred about 4 o'clock, while she was lying near Grassy Point Dock, a new landing in Haverstraw bay, about two miles below Stoney Point Light House, and thirty-five miles from the city. Captain Vanderbilt was on shore at the time, assisting in the landing of passengers and merchandize. Such was the force of the explosion that the boiler was blown entirely from its place, and fell in the river between the boat and the dock; a great part of the forward deck was demolished - the bows blown out, and in about 20 minutes, the boat sank, the stern only being visible above the surface of the water. When the accident happened, the steam boat Albany, Capt. Jenkins, on her passage down, was only a few miles from the scene of this terrible catastrophe, and in half an hour thereafter, Captain Jenkins was near enough to send his yawl onshore, to the assistance of the sufferers. Capt. Vanderbilt and six passengers returned to the city in the Albany last evening, and from their report we regret to state, that a man and a boy were killed, and when the Albany left the scene, a black man was on the point of death; about 15 others were wounded, some of them, including the engineer, so seriously that their lives were despaired of. The Gen. Jackson had on board about 40 passengers, but the short period that elapsed between the accident and the departure of the Albany, together with the confusion of the scene, render the particulars thus far received, rather imperfect. Whether any passengers were missing or not, was unascertained; nor did we learn that any cause could be assigned for the fatal explosion.

Since the above was prepared, one of the passengers in the Gen. Jackson has called to inform us, that the following persons are already dead; viz: - John Van Tine, Engineer; Oliver Mott, Fireman; - Morris, Waiter; Captain Van Wart, the Pilot; a colored man by the name of Smith, (the Cook;) and one of the hands, also a colored man, who died this morning. This is the second narrow escape of our informant, who was a passenger on board of the Washington, at the time of her late disaster. There was a countryman on board of the Gen. Jackson, who was blown to a considerable height, and fell into the river, where he was picked up with but little injury. He was ascending the gang-way from the cabin, at the time of the explosion; but he says he heard nothing of it, and while supposing himself just stepping on the deck, he was surprised to find people pulling him out of the water. The boat went down in ten minutes from the time of the accident.

P. S. Just as we were putting this paper to press, the following list of persons dead, or injured by the explosion, was handed to us, from which it appears that the pilot and engineer of the boat are not dead.

Captain Vanwart, pilot, badly scalded; John Vantine, engineer, a fireman, (a colored man) and a deck hand, all very badly scalded; Mr. Marshall, a passenger, dead; John Glass, of Haverstraw, very badly scalded; Miss Dow, dead; Rufus (a waiter) missing; the bar keeper had his legs badly scalded; Mr. Bradley, (architect) of this city, very much mangled, and not expected to recover.

The Journal of Commerce says: - The only additional fact which we have learned with certainty in respect to the explosion on board the steam boat Gen. Jackson, is, that among the sufferers is Mr. Rathbone of this city, a gentleman of wealth, whose country seat is nearly opposite Grassy Point, where the accident happened. His leg is dreadfully torn, the cords being all separated above the knee, and one of his arms broken. 

June 10, 1831 The National Gazette (Philadelphia PA); Further Details about the Explosion on the General Jackson
New York, June 9 Further particulars of the late Steamboat Disaster.
By the North America steamer last evening, the following additional particulars of the late melancholy disaster of the General Jackson, were received by the morning papers, from which it will be seen that the dead and wounded are more numerous than we had hoped, or than was first reported.
​
"In the [steamer] North America, (says the Mercantile,) the dead bodies of John Vantine, Engineer, Josiah R. Brady, architect, and Miss Dow, were brought to this city. John Glass, Esq. calico printer from Glasgow, who settled in Haverstraw a few years ago, and Mr. Mitchell, of Peekskill, are dead; and two it is said died while they were being conveyed to Poughkeepsie. Rufus, a waiter, is missing - as well as three or four others. Fourteen are badly bruised or scalded, of whom not more than three are expected to recover - among them are Mr. Edward B. Rathbone, merchant, of this city, whose arm was broken, and whose left leg was terribly shattered. Dr. Proudfoot, who was on tho spot, set the former immediately, and yesterday, amputated the latter, but Mr. Rathbone is in a very precarious situation. Smith, the cook; capt. Van Wart, the pilot; the barkeeper, the fireman, a colored man, and a deck hand, are severely scalded and not expected to survive - these are all the names that have come to our knowledge. The General Jackson is a complete wreck; save the deck, scarcely one plank remaining to another."

The remains of Mr. Vantine have been taken to New Brunswick for interment. Mr. Van Wart was not dead last evening, but was not expected to live through the night. Mr. Glass was found after the explosion, suspended by his neck-handkerchief -  dead. Dr. Proudfoot was conversing with Brady, at the time the latter was injured, and was himself unharmed.

The number of the dead is thus summed up: Five died at Grassy Point; two died on their way to Poughkeepsie; two no doubt were carried down in the vessel, as they were distinctly heard halloing for help, and how many more is not known. [Final death toll turned out to be 14 people.]

                                                            No. 107- Highlander
              
Almost from the day she slid down the ways into the water the “Highlander” was a part of the contests between steamboats for the honor of being the fastest and most efficient vessel on a particular route on the river. Later, after her days as a passenger vessel gave way to the era of more modern craft, the “Highlander” was converted into a towboat and continued her useful career on the river up which Henry Hudson’s “Half Moon” sailed centuries before in quest of a route to India.
              
The wooden hull of the “Highlander” was constructed at New York in the year 1835 by Lawrence and Sneden. The length of her keel was 160 feet, with an overall length of 175 feet, and her beam measured 24 feet wide, her hold eight feet deep. Her engine was the product of the West Point Foundry, being of the vertical beam type with cylinder diameter of 41 inches with a 10-foot stroke. Two iron boilers were located on her guards, and her paddle wheels were 24 feet in diameter with buckets 10 feet long and a dip of 29 inches. She was rated at 313 tons.
              
The “Highlander” was built for Thomas Powell, Samuel Johnson, and Robert Wordrop, for use on the Hudson river, and she was one of the finest and fastest steamboats of that period. While the “Highlander” was under construction at New York, another steamboat, the “James Madison,” was being built at Philadelphia to run in opposition to the “Highlander” on the Newburgh and New York route. The ensuing contests between these two vessels were frequent, and both steamboats claimed a share of the honors.

The pages of Hudson river steamboat history are marred considerably by the disasters caused by contests between steamboats when overtaxed boilers exploded and fire swept vessels from stem to stern, but these records fail to shed light on any accidents that resulted from the rivalry of the “Highlander” and the “James Madison.”

The “James Madison” was finally placed in service between Albany and New York and her name changed to the “Oneida”- thus bringing to an end the contests with the “Highlander.”

The “Highlander” continued operating on the Newburgh and New York route until 1846 when the steamboat “Thomas Powell,” a new and faster vessel, made her appearance. She was next seen as an excursion steamboat, and later she appeared on the Rondout and New York route, as a passenger vessel.

In 1851 Thomas Cornell purchased the “Oneida” and changed her name back to the “James Madison,” and during this period both the “Highlander” and the “James Madison” were converted into towboats. In 1852 the “Highlander” and the “James Madison” were towing out of the Rondout creek to New York- the “James Madison” in the service of the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company and the “Highlander” for the Pennsylvania Coal Company from the Port Ewen docks.

​Following the season of 1852 the “Highlander” was taken to the Delaware river where she was used as a towboat until 1866 when she was dismantled and her engine installed in a new towboat, the “William H. Aspinwall.”