Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published June 18, 1972.

The Rob's Job
The Barge would be painted at the Cornell shops and at dawn on boat race day, the tug “Rob" would tow the “finish boat" from Rondout to Poughkeepsie and anchor it at the proper place. After the last race, the anchors would be pulled up and the “Rob” would tow the canal boat back to Kingston for other year.

John Lynn of Port Ewen, captain of the "Rob," used to invite friends of his and their families to watch the regatta. These people would go out to Kingston Point and take the down Day Liner to Poughkeepsie.After the Day Liner left, the "Rob" would come chuffing into the finish line where she would stand by the "finish boat." These people probably had the best view of the end of the races of anyone at the regatta.

After the last race, all the boats at the regatta would get underway at once and almost all of them headed for New York. Almost all except the “Rob,” which with the "finish boat" alongside would head for Rondout Creek where she would arrive at about 11 p.m.

On June 15, 1904 occurred one of the worst steamboat disasters of all time.  On that sunny June morning, he New York harbor excursion steamer “General Slocum” caught fire and burned in the East River with a resulting loss of life of 1,021 people. 

The “General Slocum” was built in 1891 at Brooklyn to run between New York City and Rockaway Beach.  She later ran as an excursion steamer on the Hudson River and Long Island sound, and — at the time — was the largest excursion steamboat out of New York.  From time to time, she was chartered by local Ulster County groups and carried excursions out of Rondout Creek. 

On the day of the disaster, the “General Slocum” had been chartered by the Sunday School and members of the congregation of St. Mark’s German Lutheran Church of New York for an excursion to Locust Grove on Long Island.  The vessel left a pier at the foot of East Third Street, Manhattan, shortly before 10 a.m. and proceeded up the East River.

A Cabin Ablaze
Off 97th Street, some of the deckhands on the lower deck observed wisps of smoke coming from the forward part of the vessel.  Instead of notifying the captain, they tried to find the cause, apparently thinking they could put out the fire if there was one.  They went below and found a cabin ablaze.  Coming back on deck, they got the mate who immediately sent word to the captain and started to fight the fire.  By this time the fire was beginning to gain momentum and spread. 

The East River, at the point where the fire was discovered, is deep and filled with treacherous tidal currents.  The captain, William H. Van Schaick, thought his best course would be to reach shallow water and ordered the pilot to head at full speed for North Brother Island, approximately a mile ahead. 

The fire, unfortunately, spread rapidly, fanned by a breeze blowing from the north and the steamer’s  speed through the water.  Many passengers became panic stricken as everyone tried to crowd to the rear of the vessel away from the burning forward part of the steamboat.  To add to the dire chain of events surrounding the tragedy, the steamer — on reaching North Brother Island — grounded forward.   Her stern, however, where all the passengers were crowded, was still in water 30 feet deep.  Many passengers, thinking the entire steamer was in shallow water, jumped overboard and were drowned.
​
Due to the huge loss of life, the disaster naturally caused a great public furor and led to several investigations.  There was strong criticism of the adequacy of the life saving and fire fighting equipment aboard the steamboat.  As a result of the investigations, Captain Van Schaick was sentenced to prison.  Almost all boatmen felt the captain was unjustly made a scapegoat for the resulting tragedy, instead of the owners of the steamer or the effectiveness of the life saving and fire fighting equipment then required — and the inspections of it by government inspectors.

Suffered Injuries
Captain Van Schaick was severely burned as a result of the fire and his eyesight was permanently damaged by the intense heat of the flames as he vainly sought to direct efforts to combat the holocaust. 

When he was sentenced to prison, he was sent to Sing Sing at Ossining.  At that time, the State was building what is now Bear Mountain Park operated by the Palisades Interstate Park Commission.  Some of the inmates of Sing Sing were used for cutting down trees, and other work.  

Al Walker, who later was a captain of Cornell tugboats, was then captain of a little steamboat used to carry prisoners back and forth between Sing Sing and the new park.  Captain Van Schaick was one of the prisoners who was sent to the park to do what he could.  Al told me he would always take Captain Van Schaick into the pilot house and let him steer or do whatever he wanted to do as, like all other steamboatmen of that day, he felt Captain Van should never have gone to prison. 

Captain Van Schaick eventually was pardoned by President Taft and later died at the Masonic Home at Utica in 1924.  Several members of his family were also steamboatmen.  A brother was a captain of steamboats of the Iron Steamboat Company, the steamboat line that ran from New York to Coney Island until 1932.  Captain Arthur Van Schaick, who I believe was a nephew of the “General Slocum’s" captain, was a pilot and later captain of the "Chauncey M. Depew’’ of the Hudson River Day Line. 
​
On the ‘Sirius’
Before Captain Van Schaick became captain of the "General Slocum," he had been captain of the steamer “Sirius” of the Iron Steamboat Company.  Jack Dearstyne, Sr., who was later captain of a number of Hudson River steamboats, was at that time first mate of the ‘‘Sirius."
Captain Dearstyne later told me that Captain Van Schaick always used to say his one wish was to be captain of New York’s largest excursion steamer.  Well, he got his wish and, as it turned out, to his great regret.

Learn more at the June 8, 2022 lecture by author Edward T. O'Donnell "The 1904 General Slocum Disaster: New York's Deadliest Day before 9/11"

On Saturday, May 19, 1928, in the early afternoon of a beautiful spring day, a collision occurred off Rondout Lighthouse between the ferryboat “Transport” and the steamer “Benjamin B. Odell” of the Central Hudson Line.
           
At the time, I was deckhand on the steamer “Albany” of the Hudson River Day Line, helping to get her ready for the new season after her winter lay up at the Sunflower Dock at Sleightsburgh. On Saturdays, we knocked off work at 11:30 a.m. As I rowed up the creek in my rowboat to go home, the big “Odell” was still at her dock at the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue at Rondout.
           
At 12:25 p.m. the “Odell” blew the customary three long melodious blasts on her big whistle, high on her stack, as the signal she was ready to depart.
           
At home, eating lunch, I heard her blow one short blast promptly at 12:30 p.m. as the signal to cast off her stern line.

From the Porch
Following a habit of mine from a young boy, I went out on our front porch to watch her glide down the creek at a very slow pace past the Cornell shops, Donovan’s and Feeney’s boat yards, and the freshly painter [sic] “Albany.”  The “Odell” looked to me like a great white bird slowly passing down the creek. At the time, I thought how in less than two weeks we would probably pass her on the “Albany” on the lower Hudson on Decoration Day, both steamers loaded with happy excursionists on the first big holiday of the new season.
           
As the “Odell” passed Gill’s dock at Ponckhockie, I went back in the house to finish lunch. A few minutes later I heard the “Odell” blow one blast on her whistle, which was answered by the “Transport” on her way over to Rhinecliff, indicating a port to port passing. Hearing steam whistles so often in the long ago day along Rondout Creek was something one took for granted, assuming they would be heard forever. Then I heard the danger signal on the whistle of the “Transport” followed by three short blasts from the “Odell’s” whistle, indicating her engine was going full speed astern. Shortly thereafter, I could hear the “Transport” blowing the five whistle signal of the Cornell Steamboat Company of 2 short, 2 short, 1 short, meaning we need help immediately.
           
I ran down to my rowboat tied up at the old Baisden shipyard, and looked down the creek. I could see the “Transport” limping in the creek very slowly, her bow down in the water, and her whistle blowing continuously for help. I also noticed several automobiles on her deck.
           
Looking over the old D. & H. canal boats that were deteriorating on the Sleightsburgh flats, I could see the top of the “Odell” stopped out in the river. After a few minutes, she slowly got underway and proceeded on down the river, her big black stack belching smoke, so I figured she was not hurt. 
​

Decision to Beach
           
As the “Transport” approached the Cornell coal pocket, her captain, Rol Saulpaugh, decided to beach her on the Sleightsburgh shore. Nelson Sleight, a member of her crew, asked me to run a line over to the dock a the shipyard in the event she started to slide off the bank.
           
I took the line and ran it from where the “Transport” grounded to the dock. In the meantime, the Cornell tugboat “Rob” came down the creek, from where she had been lying at the rear of the Cornell office at the foot of Broadway, and pushed the ferry a little higher on the bank.
           
After taking the line ashore, I went back and asked if there was anything else I could do. Captain Saulpaugh asked me if I would row up to the ferry slip and get Joseph Butler, the ferry superintendent, and bring him over to the “Transport,” which I did. On the way over, Butler told me he had already called the Poughkeepsie and Highland Ferry Company to see if he could get one of its ferries to run in the “Transport’s” place. The afternoon about 5 p.m., the Poughkeepsie ferryboat “Brinckerhoff” arrived in the creek and began running on the Rhinecliff route.
           
When we got back to the “Transport,” mattresses and blankets had been stuffed in the hole the “Odell” had slicked in the over-hanging guard and part of the hull. When she was patched, the “Transport,” with the “Rob’s” help, backed off the mud and entered the Roundout slip stern first - and the cars on deck were backed off. Then, the “Rob” assisted the ferry to make her way up to the C. Hiltebrandt shipyard at Connelley for repairs. There she was placed in drydock, the damage repaired, and in a week she was back in service on her old run.

A Flood Tide
           
The cause of the mishap at the mouth of the creek was a combination of a strong flood tide, a south wind and a large tow. Out in the river, the big tugboat “Osceola” of the Cornell Steamboat Company was headed down river with a large tow.
           
She had just come down the East Kingston channel and at that moment was directly off the Rondout Lighthouse. When there is a strong flood tide, there is a very strong eddy at the mouth of the creek. The tide,  helped by a south wind, sets up strong and when it hits the south dike, it forms a half moon about 75-100 feet out from the south dike and then starts to set down.
           
As the “Odell” was leaving the creek and entering the river, the “Transport” was passing ahead of the tow, around the bow of the “Osceola.” The “Transport” probably hit the eddy caused by the flood tide. In any event, she didn’t answer her right rudder and took a dive right into the path of the “Odell.”  The “Odell” couldn’t stop in time and cut into the forward end of the ferry about 6 or 8 feet. No one was hurt and there was no confusion on either boat. The “transport” bore the brunt of the bout; the only damage to the “Odell” being some scratched paint on her bow.
           
I heard later from the Dan McDonald, pilot on the “Osceola,” that there would be the lawsuit as a result of the collision - and he had been served with a subpoena to appear as a witness. He never had to appear, however, as Captain Greenwood of the “Odell” later told me the case was settled out of court.

The next year the Central Hudson Line, because of the inroads made by the automobile, went out of business. The “Benjamin B. Odell”, however, continued to run on the river for another company until February 1937 when she was destroyed by fire in winter lay up at Marlboro. The “Transport” continued running on the Rhinecliff ferry route until September 1938 when she was withdrawn from service. She was later cut down and made into a stake boat for the Cornell Steamship Company for use in New York harbor. 
​

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published April 9, 1972.

​'Splendid Conduct'
Under remarks, the report states, "The Supervising Inspector of the 2nd District considers the conduct of the Captain, officers and crew of this trying occasion, so splendid, that he gives below further details in the hope that these examples may stimulate others to do as well.
 
"The Captain. Charles H. Bruder, being told of the fire, went to the place where it appeared to be and found two streams already playing on the fire — and men cutting a hole in the deck above.

He woke up the first pilot and told him to make a good dock at Dobbs Ferry. He then went back to the fire and had some cargo shifted, so they could cut another hole in the deck above it.
 
"He approved the Engineer's suggestion to get out the gang plank while they could see. He approved the Purser's arrangements for calling the passengers and having them ready to land when he gave the word.
 
Last to Leave
"While the passengers were being landed the Captain was fighting the fire forward. He was the last man to leave the forward end of the boat.
 
"The first pilot, William Van Woert, being called by the Captain, went to the pilot house and headed the steamer, then off the Palisades, for the east shore. He conferred with the second pilot, Mr. Bundy, and decided to make Gould's Dock, because there are no buildings there to which the fire might spread.
​
"The pilots and quartermaster fought the fire for-ward after the steamer was made fast, until they were ordered ashore. They had then to climb down outside and walk ashore on one of the mooring hawsers by the aid of a line thrown to them.
 
"The Chief Engineer, W. R. Fairbrother, when the fire was reported and he was told that the mate had one stream already going, gave additional steam to both pumps, and in five minutes there were three streams. Shortly afterwards there were seven streams at work.
 
Outside Line of Duty
"While he does not mention it, the Captain acted on Mr. Fairbrother's suggestion about the gang plank, and other officers testify to his rendering valuable assistance outside of his regular duty.
 
The Purser, Charles G. Ambler, when notified of the fire, saw that the fire extinguishers were being properly used, and then went about among the passengers quieting them.
 
"When the boat was made fast, he took his passenger list and went to each room telling the passengers to dress and get ready to go ashore with their baggage.
 
"He then reported to the Captain, who told him to wait orders before having the passengers landed. He then made a second round of the rooms.
 
All Passengers Ashore
"When the gang plank was ready, lights were placed all along to the dock, and the Purser and freight clerk, Mr Greenman, assisted the passengers ashore.
 
"Afterwards, Mr. Ambler went all around aft calling "All ashore," got his way bill from his office and, with the steward and three porters who were assisting him, started to go ashore. The smoke was too thick and they got out a small boat and rowed ashore, taking with them a passenger who had not heard the last call.
 
"The testimony of the mate, Mr. Egnor, was not taken, but the Captain says the mate had two streams of water playing on the fire by the time he got there and men cutting a hole in the deck.
 
"All testimony shows that he put his men at work immediately and maintained good discipline. His efficiency is demonstrated by the work done.
 
Copies Were Sent
"A copy of this bulletin will be sent to the Hon. Oscar S. Straus, Secretary of Commerce and Labor, and  to the Supervising Inspector-General, as well as to the Associations of the Masters, Mates and Pilots and Marine Engineers in Albany-and New York."
 
Bulletin No. 56, as the report was titled, was signed by Captain Ira Harris, Supervising Inspector, 2nd District. And so ended the career of the steamboat "City of Troy" on the Hudson River.

“Steamboat racing was once a way of life ... when racing was banned due to accidents friendly ‘goes’ became popular.”
​
Back in the 19th century, steamboat racing was a way of life.  After a number of accidents traced directly to racing as the cause, steamboat racing was prohibited.  This, however, didn’t prevent latter day steamboats from time to time having a friendly "go" if the conditions were right.  One such incident took place in June 1922 between the "DeWitt Clinton” of the Hudson River Day Line and the “Benjamin B. Odell" of the Central Hudson Line. 

The story of the “race” was related by Lester “Happy” Diehl who was then the 1st Assistant Engineer of the "Odell.”  At the time, I was coming across Rondout Creek on the "Skillypot" with my brother Algot who was home for a few days from his job as Chief Mate on the steamer “Onteora."  We had gone to Rondout to get a copy of the old New York World, the newspaper my father always liked to read. 

"Happy" was also a passenger on the "Skillypot" and, on seeing my brother, said "Hey, Algot, you ought to see what we did to the "DeWitt Clinton" coming up on Sunday." As he told the story, I was all ears. 

It had been a beautiful summer’s Sunday.  As boatmen used to say, both boats were crowded to the guards.  The "Odell" was a soft coal burner in those days and the “Clinton" burned hard coal to make her steam.  As the “DeWitt Clinton” was leaving her pier at Yonkers, the “Odell" was just a little ahead.  A south wind was blowing making the flags, while underway, hang limp from the flag poles.  The black smoke from the “Odell” went straight up in the air, as did the blue smoke from the "DeWitt."

The "Clinton" was about one length of open water astern of the "Odell." Sometimes her bow was only fifty feet off the "Odell's" stern.  But try as she would, she couldn’t get out of the "Odell's" back swell.  Up the river they went, both dragging deep in the shallow waters of Tappan Zee and Haverstraw Bay.  The only slow down for each steamer was, when passing a Cornell tow, and in those days there were plenty going up and down. 

At that time the "DeWitt Clinton" in her second year on the river was a very hard boat to keep steam on with hard coal.  On the other hand, the "Odell" was always ready to blow off steam.  Nevertheless, like a dog chasing a cat the two steamboats sped up the Hudson.  Passengers on both steamers got into the spirit of the occasion, cheering their boat on when one or the other would gain slightly.  At times, a slight shift in the wind would cause cinders from one to drop on the other. 

A fellow later told me he had stood on the dock at Haverstraw when they went by.  How the Cornell tugs “Engels” and “H. D. Mould,” that were tied up there over Sunday, rocked and pulled on their lines from the drag of both these big steamers racing up through the bay.  Some of the brick scows that were at the brick yards were only half loaded, otherwise he said they would have swamped. 

When arriving at Bear Mountain, the "DeWitt Clinton" had to temporarily give up as she had the landing to make.  The "Benjamin B. Odell”, however, had a landing to make at Highland Falls.  When the "Odell" was leaving Highland Falls, the “Clinton" was already underway and coming up fast.  By the time the "Odell" was up to speed, she as a scant length in front of her adversary.  Captain Greenwood of the "Odell" gave his engineer of the watch, "Happy" Diehl, the extra hook up signal to get around West Point and Magazine Point ahead of the Day Liner. 

Of course, when they got off the Military Academy both steamers had to slow down to get around West Point.  By pure chance, the pilots of both steamboats blew their whistles at the same instant — the one prolonged blast required by the rules of the road when approaching a sharp bend in the river.  Both boats had beautiful sounding steam whistles.  How that pleasant sound must have pealed up through those old Highlands on that long ago day. 

As the two steamers came up to Little Stony Point north of Cold Spring, there was a Cornell tow on the way down in charge of the tugboat “Edwin H. Mead" with her helper tug the "R. G. Townsend."  When they passed the tow, both steamboats had to go dead slow, it was such a big tow.  The "Odell" passed to the west of the tow and the "Clinton" to the east.  The "Odell" slowed a little more than the "Clinton," so by the time they were clear of the tow the two foes were neck and neck up through Cornwall Bay. 

Both steamboats were scheduled to make landings at Newburgh and off New Windsor both began to slow down.  As they did, both steamers started to blow off steam since the engineers on both the "Clinton" and “Odell” had their steam pressures at the upper limits.  What a racket that must have made over Newburgh Bay and the streets of Newburgh. 
When the “Benjamin B. Odell" landed at Newburgh, Mr. Herbert R. Odell, General Manager of the Central Hudson Line, was on the dock and came aboard.  He asked Captain Greenwood not to do that again.  When he gave his admonition, however, Mr. Odell did so with a smile on his face. 

Years later I was talking to Jim Malia of the Cornell tug "R. G. Townsend" and asked him if he had been on the "Townsend" at that time.  He said he was and remembered the incident well, as the “Clinton” did not slow down enough when passing on the port side in the tow and had done some damage to a canal boat in the tow owned by his uncle.  Some chocks had been pulled out and other minor damage.  

Actually the “race" between the "DeWitt Clinton" and the “Benjamin B. Odell” from Yonkers to Newburgh had been pretty much of a draw, a brush between two evenly matched steamboats.  The following winter, allegedly because of her reputation as a hard steamer, the "DeWitt Clinton" was converted from coal firing to oil burning, the first Day Liner to be so converted.  After that, the single screw “Odell" with her 2,500 h.p. engine was no longer a match for the "Clinton" with her twin screws and 4,000 h.p.  

As the 19th century gave way to the 20th century, the Cornell Steamboat Company of Rondout was the largest and most progressive marine towing organization in the country.  In 1902 they had built what was to be their largest and most powerful tugboat.  When completed, it appropriately bore the name “Cornell.”

By whatever standard of measurement, the “Cornell” was a most impressive tugboat.  At a few inches less than 150 feet in length, she was 25 feet longer than any of Cornell’s other big tugboats.  Her 1,400 h.p. engine exceeded by over 500 the horsepower of other units of the fleet. 

Boatmen used to refer to her as the "Big Cornell" and her two big boilers had a ravenous appetite for coal to make enough steam for her powerful engine.  As a result, she had the reputation of being a very hard boat to fire.  Many boatmen from Hudson River towns one would talk to in the early 1920’s would almost always say how at one time or another they had fired on the “Big Cornell.”  Some would stay only a few hours, some a few days and rarely would she end the season with a fireman who had started out on her in the spring. 

On Lower River
Because of her size and deep draft, she was used almost exclusively on the lower river.  During her service on the Hudson, the channel north of Athens had not been dredged for deep draft vessels like it is today.  During her career, the “Cornell” made only one trip to Albany and this trip was her most notable exploit while carrying the colors of the Cornell Steamboat Company.  It took place in early March, 1910. 

The winter of 1910 had been an old fashioned winter with plenty of ice in the river.  During late February and early March the weather turned unseasonably warm, causing high water at Albany as the result of the melting of the winter’s snow and ice in the Mohawk River.  A huge ice jam formed in the river below Albany which caused the water to back up and flood the waterfront areas of Albany and Rensselaer.  Fears were also expressed that the ice crowding the Albany railroad bridges might move them off their abutments. 

In order to relieve the ice and flood crisis at Albany, the federal government was asked to take action.  The government's plan was to use dynamite on the ice jam to break it up and to charter the most powerful vessel they could find to go up river to break up the river ice so the broken ice could move down river.  The “Big Cornell” was chosen for the job. 
​
The “Cornell" left Rondout Creek on March 3, 1910 with the tug “Rob" to follow and assist in any way possible.  I have been told the whole operation was in charge of Captain Ulster Davis, Cornell’s agent at Rensselaer, and the regular crew of the “Cornell” whose captain was Tim Donovan and pilot Irving Hayes.  Although the upper Hudson was at flood stage, the “Cornell” carried minimum amounts of coal and water in order to keep her draft at a minimum so she would have clearance over the shallow spots north of Athens.  

Very Heavy Ice
The “Cornell” encountered very heavy ice from Kingston to Athens, sometimes as much as two feet in thickness. 

The ice was so heavy, the “Cornell’s” steel hull plating was scalloped inward between her frames at the water line forward caused by her smash into the rock-like ice. 
At Athens, the "Cornell” went up the wider Athens channel rather than the deeper Hudson channel along the east shore, since men going ahead on foot had determined the ice in the west channel wasn’t quite as thick.  She passed Athens through 15 inches of ice on March 5.  All along the river, men and boys would come out on the ice to watch the “Cornell” go by. 

The “Cornell” arrived at Rensselaer on March 6, the river opened and the ice jam broken.  Once the ice jam was broken, I have been told one could literally see the water begin to drop at Albany.  Although the crisis to Albany was over, a new problem arose for the “Cornell.”  The Company was afraid the water might drop so fast, they would not be able to get their big tug back down river in time to clear the up river sand bars and ledges. 

An Early Start
The “Cornell” took on coal, fresh water and grub at Rensselaer as fast as she could.  Due to the strong current in the river, when they started to turn the "Cornell” around for her return trip, the tug “Rob” had to push wide open against her stern in order to get the “Cornell” headed down stream.  At first, they were going to wait for daylight all the way, but because of the falling water decided to start down as soon as possible.

When they started back for Rondout, I have been told it was a clear, cold March night.  The water in the river was running down stream so fast, they ran the “Cornell's” engine dead slow — just enough to keep steerage way.  They were reluctant to run her any faster as they did not want to scrape or hit bottom and possibly smash her rudder shoe or break her propeller. 

They had had such good luck so far, they didn't want to tempt fate any more than necessary. 

Everything went fine until the two tugs came to Dover Platte Island off Coxsackie.  Captain Donovan of the ‘'Cornell’’ knew there had always been a sand bar there and figured the freshet in all probability might have built up the bar higher than usual.  When they reached that point, they stopped the “Cornell's” engine and just let her drift.  Sure enough she fetched up on the bar, stopped and rolled over very slightly to port.  To be sure there was only sand, they sounded all around with pike poles.
 
Over the Bar
Once they were certain there were no rocks on the bottom, they decided to have the “Rob” go up ahead and put a hawser on the “Cornell's” bow — and then to open up both tugs full throttle and to try and “bull” the ‘‘Cornell’’ over the bar.  When all was in readiness, the “Cornell” gave the signal for full speed ahead and for the “Rob” to start pulling.  I can readily imagine on that cold March night the load “chow chow” of the “Rob's” high pressure engine. 

They tell me when the “Cornell’’ hooked up, she lay down on her port side, her propeller part out of the water for a few moments.  Some of her crew thought her towering smoke stacks would topple over, the starboard guy lines being incredibly taut and the port ones having about two feet of slack.  However, in but a few minutes the ‘‘Cornell’’ had inched her way over the bar. 

Once she cleared the sand bar, though, the ‘‘Cornell’’ leaped ahead so fast before they could stop her engine she almost ran over the “Rob’’ pulling on her bow. 
​
Quick action by a deckhand on the “Rob” saved the day.  By wielding a fast, sharp axe he cut the connecting hawser.  From that point back to Rondout Creek they encountered no more difficulties.  From Athens south, the river ice still held, but by following the channel they had previously made going northward the going was relatively easy.  

Renamed Her
The difficulty in keeping firemen on the “Cornell” continued to plague her and led to the end of her career on the Hudson River.  Shortly before World War I she was sold to the Standard Oil Company of Louisiana.  Her new owners renamed her “Istrouma,” converted her to an oil burner, and operated her on the Mississippi River out of Baton Rouge where she remained in service until the late 1940's. 

I have been told the Cornell Steamboat Company always maintained it was not feasible to convert the “Cornell” to an oil burner, since it wouldn't be possible to install sufficient oil storage capacity aboard her.  It is my understanding before purchasing her, the Standard Oil people, unknown to Cornell, sent some men to Cornell who hired out on her as firemen.  The masquerading firemen thoroughly examined the “Cornell” and apparently concluded she could successfully be converted to oil firing.  In any event, she was — and remained in service for another 30 years. 

Many years later, during World War II, my friend Roger Mabie was the commanding officer of a submarine chaser in the U.S. Navy.  One day his ship was in a shipyard at Algiers, Louisiana, across the river from New Orleans.  There, in an adjacent dry dock was the “Istrouma,” the old “Cornell.”  He went aboard. 

Her shell plating forward was still scalloped between frames from her bout with Hudson River ice in 1910.  Her brass capstan caps were still inscribed “Cornell.”  In her engine room, her steam and vacuum gauge faces still were etched ‘‘Cornell,” Cornell Steamboat Company, Rondout, N.Y. 
​
A few days later, Roger told me his ship was leaving New Orleans to go back to sea.  Out in the river, the old ‘‘Cornell” was going upstream.  He blew her a whistle salute, which the former “Cornell” answered with her old deep steam whistle.  I thought it was a nice gesture, both a greeting to an old work horse from the Hudson River and a sort of salute to the maritime greatness that was once Rondout’s.

The tug/fireboat "Istrouma" was scrapped in 1949. If you've seen a large red tugboat named "Cornell" on the Hudson River or New York Harbor, it's not the same as this "Cornell," but nearly as big! She was built the same year the "Istrouma" was scrapped. Learn more.

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Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published February 27, 1972.

During the winter of 1920, both the “Mary Powell” and the “Albany” lay at the Sunflower Dock on Rondout at Sleightsburgh. The “Mary Powell” had been there since her last trip under her own power on Sept. 5, 1917.

On Saturday, shortly before the ice went out of the creek, my brother Algot and I took my father’s lunch over to him on the “Albany” where he was working as a ship’s carpenter. Rumor was that just as soon as the ice broke up, the “Powell” would be towed to South Rondout to be broken up.

​Knowing this, my brother said, “Come on Bill, let’s take a walk over on the ‘Powell.’ It will probably be the last we ever be on her.”

Cold and Dark
We went aboard the gangway right aft of the engine room. All her fine machinery was black from the grease that had been put on the engine when she layed up so it would not rust. All steamboat engineers always coated the bright work with grease in this manner when their boat was laid up at the end of the season. Everything was cold and dark and still.

When we went back to the dining room at the rear of the main deck. Most of the tables and chairs had already been removed. Everything was very dusty.

Up on the saloon deck, most of the carpeting had been taken up, with a few pieces remaining here and there. A few of the big easy chairs in the saloon where still there but most were gone. Some of the plate glass windows were cracked, and others broken - with canvas tacked over the openings.

​When we went up on the hurricane deck, my brother had to use a screwdriver to pry open the door to the pilot house. It was jammed, probably due to the fact that the “Powell's” stern rested on the bottom at low tide. The east end of the dock had been filling in and hadn’t been dredged since the “Powell” stopped running.

An Old Time Table
In the pilot house, there was a long, low locker across the back. The top of the locker could be raised so that things like flags, pennants and pilot house supplies could be put inside. I found an old Catskill Evening Line time table, with a picture of the steamer “Clermont” on the cover, which I took with me. There were no chairs, since these had already been removed.

The old side curtains on the pilot house windows were still in place. They would be pulled down on the side the sun would leaving Rondout on her flying trip to the metropolis to the south, or when the sun was going down behind the western hills on the up trip.

The canvas that had covered her pilot house windows from the strong icy winds and snows, had been removed. The interior of the “Powell’s” pilot house was all varnished and it has turned very dark from the passing years and added coats of varnish.

The big, hand steering wheel was only about half showing, most of the bottom half being concealed in a well in the deck. The top reached almost to the overhead of the pilot house. I noticed how the round turned spokes of the steering wheel were flattened out on both sides near the rim. I asked my brother what caused this.

He said it came from the wear on the spokes caused by the pilot climbing the wheel like a ladder in order to turn the boat in a hurry. The old “Powell” never had a steam steering gear like the more modern steamboats.

He Walked the Wheel
“The pilot of the ‘Powell’ would have to climb the wheel coming into the Rondout Creek from the river on a flood tide,” Algot said. “When it is flood tide, there’s a very strong eddy at the mouth of the creek. The tide sets up strong and when it hits the south dike, it forms a half moon about 75 feet out from the south dike and then starts to set down. To keep steerage way on the ‘Powell’ the had to keep her hooked up until she entered the creek, because a side wheeler running slow or just drifting would have no rudder power. So the pilot in order to get the rudder hard over to port or starboard in a hurry would have to walk right up the steering wheel.”

Algot, who had been quartermaster on the “Mary Powell” in her last years, pointed out that when the pilot got the steering wheel hard over he would then put the becket on the wheel to hold it. When the becket was taken off, the wheel would spin right back to midships. He added with a smile, “At times like that, the fatter and heavier the pilot, the easier the job.”

Algot went on to point out to me the same act of walking up the steering wheel would take place on going around West Point and Anthony’s Nose and rounding up in New York harbor.

​In those long ago days when going down through the harbor on an ebb tide, a pilot had to get around very quick and find a hole in the heavy steamboat, tugboat, ferryboat and steamship traffic. On a steamboat like the “Mary Powell” with a hand steering gear, when going up or down through New York harbor, the pilot house was always fully manned. The captain or first pilot would be at the steering wheel, the second pilot standing with his hands on the bell pulls to the engine room or ready to grab the whistle cord, and the quartermaster as lookout on the forepeak.

Leaving Their Marks
Later in life when I saw the hand steering wheels of the “Jacob H. Tremper” and the steamer “Newburgh” of the Central Hudson Line, the spokes were all worn down and loose the same way. It showed how former pilots and captains left their marks on their steamboats long after they were gone.

We left the old Queen of the Hudson after out farewell visit in the bright sunshine of the late winter afternoon. On April 20, she was towed by the tug “Rob” on her final trip to South Rondout where she was dismantled.

During the early years of the 1900’s, there was a stone quarry at Rockland Lake, a few miles south of Haverstraw.  The Cornell Steamboat Company towed the stone from the quarry on scows to the metropolitan New York market.
 
The winter of 1912 was very severe with heavy ice in the lower river.  Cornell tugs, however, continued their efforts to break the ice so the stone could be towed to New York for use by the construction industry.
 
One one particular day that winter, the Cornell tugboats "S. L. Crosby” and "Hercules" were in the river off the quarry breaking ice — trying to get into the dock to break out the loaded scows that were frozen in.  First, one tug would slam into the ice, which at the time was seven to eight inches thick, until she was stopped cold by the solid ice.  Then that tug would back off and the other tug would slam into the track until she was stopped dead.  Gradually, the two tugs were working their way towards the dock.

Two Good Tries
 On one try the “Crosby” went ahead a short distance and stopped.  On this try, however, she made a good crack in the ice.  Next, the “Hercules" came up astern, hit the crack the “Crosby” had made, and plowed her way right up to the dock.
 
The general manager of the Cornell Steamboat Company was standing on the dock at the time.  And, admiringly, he said, “What a great ice breaker we have in the “Hercules”!”  Quite obviously, he had not noticed the crack in the ice made by the “Crosby.”
 
When spring came, Cornell had the "Hercules" sent to the Cornell repair shops at Rondout and ordered extra stout oak planking and steel straps put all around her bow.  From that point on, the “Hercules" was thought to be the greatest ice breaker of them all.  For years after, whenever ice was to be broken, the “Hercules” was sent out to do the job.
 
At the time of the ice breaking at Rockland Lake, Aaron Relyea of Bloomington was the captain of the "Crosby” and Mel Hamilton of Port Ewen was captain of the "Hercules.”  Nearly 20 years later, I worked for Captain Relyea as a deckhand on the "Crosby" and he was the one who related this incident to me.  Captain Aaron A l w a y s maintained the “Crosby” was the better tug of the two in breaking ice.
 
In later years, I also talked to Captain Hamilton about that day at Rockland Lake.  Captain Mel said, "Aaron was right.  Between the two tugs, the “Crosby” was the best in the ice.  But,” he added with a wink, "never argue with the boss.”

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published January 21, 1973.

​Back around 1908, there was a stone quarry at Rockland Lake south of Haverstraw and the Cornell Steamboat Company towed the quarry's scows to New York from early spring until hindered by ice the following winter.  At the same time, the steamers "Homer Ramsdell" and "Newburgh" of the Central Hudson Line were carrying milk on a year round basis between Newburgh and New York. 

In early January of that long ago time, the Cornell tugboats "Hercules" and "Ira M. Hedges" were sent up river to the quarry to bring down five loaded scows of stone.  Ice had been forming in the river and, as any man who has worked on the river soon finds out, the river sometimes closes over night.  He also discovers that at times salt water ice is harder to get through than fresh water ice.

When the tugs arrived at Rockland Lake, the river was covered with ice from shore to shore and making more ice rapidly.  It was now about 5 p.m., very dark with a northeast wind, and it looked as if a storm was brewing.  Captain Mel Hamilton of the "Hercules" telephoned Cornell's New York office and suggested they stay there overnight.  He knew by waiting until daylight to start down, he could better find open spots in the floating ice and that the "Ramsdell" and "Newburgh" on their milk runs would be breaking up ice and perhaps keep it moving.  The Cornell office, however, would not listen to Captain Hamilton's suggestion and told him they wanted him to start out immediately and get the tow to New York as soon as possible.

Trouble at Tarrytown
On leaving Rockland Lake with five wooden scows, the "Hercules" was in charge of the tow and the "Hedges" was supposed to go ahead and break ice since she had an iron hull.  The ebb tide was about half done and everything went all right until they were about two miles north of the Tarrytown lighthouse. 

The "Hedges” wasn’t too good as an ice breaker and she would get fast in the ice herself.  The "Hercules" with the tow would creep alongside and break her out.  After this happened a few times, both tugs tried pulling on the tow.  Finally, the tide began to flood, jamming the ice from shore to shore, and the two tugs couldn't move the tow at all through the ice. 

The only thing to do was to lay to until the tide changed.  After about an hour it started to snow from the northeast and the wind increased to about 20 m.p.h. Captain Hamilton of the "Hercules" told Captain Herb Dumont of the "Hedges” to go back to the tail end of the tow and keep an eye out for the "Newburgh" he knew would be coming down.  The "Hercules" lay along the head of the tow on watch for the ‘"Ramsdell" on her way up river. 

Both tugs started to blow fog and snow signals on their whistles, as they lay in the channel and knew the Central Hudson steamers would be going through the ice and swirling snow on compass courses at full speed in order to maintain their schedule and not expecting to find an ice bound tow in their path.  Neither tugboat captain relished the thought of his tug or the tow being cut in half by the "Ramsdell" or "Newburgh."

​“Newburgh” Heard First
The first of the two Central Hudson steamers to be heard was the "Newburgh” by the crew of the "Hedges."  Coming down river with the wind behind her, the men on the tug could hear the "Newburgh" pounding and crunching through the ice and her big base whistle sounding above the storm.  Both the "Hercules" and "Hedges" were blowing their whistles to let the "Newburgh" know they were fast in the ice and not moving.  The snow storm had now become a blizzard. 

On the "Hedges" at the tail end of the tow, her crew was relieved when they could hear the crunching of the ice seem to ease off, indicating the "Newburgh" had probably heard their whistle and was slowing down.
 
In a few moments, the bow of the "Newburgh" loomed up out of the blowing snow headed almost directly for the "Hedges."  Above the storm, the men on the tugboat could hear the bow lookout on the "Newburgh" yell to the pilot house, "There's a Cornell tug dead ahead."

The "Newburgh'' eased off to starboard and crept up along side of the tow.  When abreast of the "Hercules," the captain, Jim Monahan, hollered through a megaphone to the "Hercules" captain, asking if he wanted "Newburgh” to circle around the tow and try and break them out of the ice’s grip.  Boatmen always tried to help one another out, even though they might have been working for different companies. 

Moved and Stopped
The "Newburgh" cut around the tow twice before continuing on her way to New York and disappearing into the swirling snow of the winter's night.  The "Hercules" was able to move the tow about one tow’s length and was then again stopped. 

In about half an hour, the crew of the "Hercules” could hear the whistle of the "Homer Ramsdell" blowing at minute intervals as she was cutting through the ice on her way to Newburgh.  On the "Herc," they were sounding her high shrill whistle to let the "Ramsdell" know they were in the channel.  In those days, long before the radio telephones of today, the steam whistle signals were the boatman's only means of communication. 

The "Ramsdell" came up bow to bow with the "Hercules," backing down hard, the bow lookout yelling to the pilot house a tow was ahead.  Coming to a stop with only a few feet separating the two vessels, Captain Fred Miller of the "Ramsdell" tramped out on his bow and yelled down to Captain Hamilton, asking if he could be of any help.  When told the tow was fast in the ice, Captain Miller said he was ahead of time and would try and free the tow. 
​
Captain Miller took the "Ramsdell" around the tow twice and then continued on his way up river.  This time, the "Hercules" was able to move the tow about two tow lengths and again came to a dead stop.  All they could do now was wait for the tide to change.  However, at least they knew no other steamers were moving on the river and they were relatively safe.  

​Leaks Develop
When the crew of the "Hercules" was sitting in the galley and having a cup of hot coffee, one of the scow captains hollered over and waving a lantern, said his scow was leaking and his pumps were frozen.  Men from the "Hercules" then had to climb over the snow covered scow and try to find and stop the leak.  One of the deckhands found the leak in the dark and patched it up.  After about two hours, the same thing happened to another scow, the oakum having been pulled out of the seams at the water line by the ice. 

Finally, the tide began to ebb again and they were able to once again move the tow.  Shortly after daylight the snow storm abated and the wind moderated.  As the "'Hercules" and the "Hedges" moved further down river, the ice became more floes than solid ice.  However, before arriving in New York, they were overtaken by the "Ramsdell" again the following night off Manhattanville.  
​
After the crews’ long battle with ice and snow and on arriving in New York, their reward was to have their tugs tied up and to be layed off for the winter.  In those days their pay was extremely modest.  As a matter of fact, the pay of deckhands and firemen was a bunk, food and a dollar a day, — for a twelve hour day, seven days a week.  As the boatmen used to say.  "Thirty days and thirty dollars."

​​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published November 26, 1972.

The lives of some steamboats are like people. They venture far from the land of their youth, never to return. This was the case with the steamboat “City of Kingston" which left the Hudson River to go all the way to the Pacific coast. 

The “City of Kingston” opened the season of 1889, as she had in her former years of service on the Hudson River, with a run up-river to Rondout shortly after the river was clear of ice. In 1889 this became possible on March 19. As events turned out, it was to be the start of her last season on the Rondout to New York run. 

During the summer of 1889, Captain D. B. Jackson, operator of the Puget Sound and Alaska Steamship Company, came east looking for a “propeller” suitable for his service. Apparently, the “City of Kingston” caught his eye and he made an offer to the Cornell Steamboat Company for her. 

The Price Was Right
Cornell, it would appear, originally had every intention of operating the “City of Kingston" for many years more on her original route — and had made plans for a number of alterations to the steamer, including a new glass-enclosed dining room aft on the top deck. However, in those days of unfettered free enterprise, the Cornell Steamboat Company was not adverse to selling anything — if the price was right. The price apparently was right for at the end of September it was announced the “City of Kingston” had been sold for service on Puget Sound. 

The “City of Kingston", always a great favorite with Kingstonians, left Rondout at 6:05 p.m. on Sept. 30, 1889 on what was supposed to be her last trip. 

It was reported that a particularly large crowd gathered on the dock and gave her a hearty farewell. All the way down the river, her whistle was kept busy answering three blast - salutes of farewell from other steamboats. The following night, however, she came back in Rondout Creek briefly to unload supplies — and then went to Marvel's shipyard at Newburgh to be readied for her long voyage to the Pacific. 

At the shipyard, the red carpeting of the “City of Kingston’s” saloon was taken up and her furniture stowed. Her guards were reinforced with iron braces and heavy wooden slats to break up the force of ocean waves. Her open bow was enclosed, windows boarded up and water tight partitions installed on the main deck. Two large masts were stepped and rigged for sails. 

Before the Canal
Finally, on Nov. 18, 1889 the “City of Kingston” passed New York City for the last time and headed down Ambrose Channel. Since 1889 was long before the digging of the Panama Canal, it meant the steamboat had to go down the entire coast of South America, through the Straits of Magellan at Cape Horn, and then up the west coast of South America, Central America, Mexico and all of the United States to reach her destination of Puget Sound. 

The “City of Kingston" arrived at Port Townsend, Washington, Feb. 27, 1890 after a safe and apparently relatively uneventful voyage. She had been 61 days at sea and her best 24 hour run had been one of 327 nautical miles. The remaining 30 days of her voyage had been spent in various ports taking on coal and supplies and at Valparaiso, Chile for engine repairs. 

​Entering service on the west coast on March 15, 1890, her principal run was on the route between Tacoma, Seattle, Port Townsend and Victoria, B. C., although on occasion she also made runs to Alaska. The “City of Kingston” was to run successfully in this service for nine years. 

Early on a Sunday morning, April 23, 1899, the “City of Kingston’’ was inbound for Victoria from Tacoma, running through a light fog. At 4:35 a.m., just a few miles short of her destination, she was in a collision with the Scottish steamship "Glenogle’’ outbound for the Pacific. The “City of Kingston’’ was struck on the starboard side, aft of the fireroom and sank in three minutes. Boats from both vessels were put over and all 12 passengers and 60 crew members were saved. Her wooden superstructure, broken at two by the collision, floated off.

A number of the “City of Kingston's” crew members when she was in service on the Hudson River went to Puget Sound and served on her there. One of these was John Brandow, second pilot on the steamer on her first trip to Rondout on May 31, 1884. By a quirk of fate, he was the pilot at the wheel at the time of her fatal collision 15 years later. Also, strangely, the steamboat's name remained unchanged during her years on the west coast. The steamboat named for the fine colonial city on the Hudson River proudly carried the name “City of Kingston” to ports 3,000 miles away and in service never envisioned at the time of her launching. 

After she sank, several of her crew members who had gone to the west coast returned to Kingston. One of them brought with him several small sections of her joiner work salvaged from the saloon of the sunken steamboat. 

The Cornell Steamboat Company, the “City of Kingston's” original owner, had several of these small panels put in oak frames and gave them to former officers of the steamer when she had been in service on the Hudson River. One of these was given to former First Pilot William H. Mabie. It is now in the possession of his grandson and my good friend, Roger Mabie of Port Ewen.