Since I began writing this series of steamboat articles for “Tempo,” I’ve received some 50 letters and more than 100 telephone calls from interested readers. It has been amazing to me, at least, to discover the wide audience reached by the articles. Letters have been received from such diverse points as Alaska, California, and Florida.
           
One of the more interesting of these came from Mrs. Richard Dawson of Silver Springs, Maryland. Her father, Frank Luedike, was the Barrytown agent of the Saugerties and New York Steamboat Company from 1901 until the company ceased operations at the onset of the Great Depression of the 1930’s. She mentioned an incident that was previously unknown to me and had given me permission to use her letter. It follows:

Dear Captain Benson: I have not been able to resist writing to you about the journey into the past afforded by your most enjoyable articles in The Freeman on the well remembered Hudson River steamboats. Of deepest interest and nostalgia to me was the “No More Night Boats from Saugerties.”
           
You see, my father (Frank Luedtke) was Agent-in-Charge of the Barrytown dock of the Saugerties and New York Steamboat Company from 1901 until the company went out of business. My parents lived, and I was born, in the house right on the bank of the river - reached by a flight of stairs from the dock. This property was purchased by the company with the express purpose of providing a place for their Barrytown agent to live.

In particular, the account of your visit aboard the “Robert A. Snyder” on that afternoon in New York at Pier 43, North River, foot of Christopher Street (how often I heard that address!) brought back many wonderful memories of my childhood and Captain Richard W. Heffernan. He was so wonderful to a small girl who thought that, next to her father, he was about the greatest thing that had ever happened to her and the resplendent gold braid of the Captain’s uniform really cinched it! I am happy to say I never had occasion to change that opinion in later years when the gold braid was long gone - the wonderful person that he was still continued to shine!
           
I also remember well the pilot with whom you spoke and who gave you such timely advice. Strangely enough, I’ve always remembered his name as Harry Gough - not grough has the paper had it. However, I could be wrong about that. The helmsman or quartermaster that I remember was a blond haired young man by the name of Johnnie but his last name escapes me at this point.
           
Incidentally, Captain Heffernan was instrumental in literally saving for us the home I mentioned earlier. Just to the north was a piece of property on which had stood one of the ice houses owned by the Knickerbocker Ice Company. With the advent of electric refrigerators, ice harvesting from the river was no longer profitable and the ice house, badly deteriorated, was pulled down and the materials mostly left where they were. Each summer at least one careless individual walking through would flick a cigarette butt which would ignite the sawdust remaining from the ice house.
           
This, of course, was the most difficult fire to conquer as, while it would seem to be extinguished, it was smouldering beneath the surface only waiting for a breeze to fan it into flame. On this particular late afternoon, a strong breeze from the north sprang up and a really large fire took hold. The Red Hook Fire Department responded but, at that time, they had no pumper so could only stand by with the chemical engine to use on the house should it catch.
           
Just as my mother had some treasured items and clothing ready to be moved out, the “Robert A. Snyder” hove into view. Captain Heffernan immediately sized up the situation and as soon as she was made fast at the dock, the captain ordered her hoses broken out and the pumps manned. The fire was shortly under control, the house was saved and the freight loading operation went on! But, it had been an unforgettable experience I assure you.
            I
also enjoyed your article on the “Old Steamboat Whistles at Rondout.” However, since none of these boats put into “our” dock, with the exception of the “Jacob H. Tremper,” I do not particularly remember their various whistles. Aside from the “Robert A. Snyder” and “Ida,” probably my most vivid recollections are of the beautiful picture the Night Line boats presented gliding by on a mirror-like river with each of their lights from seem to stern reflecting a double glitter. As I recall, they would pass Barrytown going downriver at about 11:15 p.m.
           
I hope you will forgive the presumption on your time of these rambling reminiscences of a total stranger. I can only blame the contagion of your articles which I have just received from relatives in Kingston. Thank you for writing them!  
Sincerely yours, Wilhelminia Luedtke Dawson

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published ​ July 8, 1973.

Since railroad trains have been operating along the east shore of the Hudson River for virtually its entire length between New York and Albany since 1851 and along the west shore of the river from Haverstraw to a point below West Park since 1883, Hudson River boatmen have had plenty of opportunity to observe the changes that have taken place over the years in railroading. 

One big change, of course, was the disappearance of the steam locomotive and its replacement by perhaps the more efficient but much less colorful diesel engine.  I well remember the end of steam locomotives on the old West Shore Railroad. 

Late April 1953 marked the end of passenger trains on the West Shore pulled by the previously reliable iron horse.  The morning of the last stem [sic] runs, shortly after sun-up, I was on the tugboat “Callanan No. 1" bound north with a tow.  We were just south of Crum Elbow, in close along the west bank of the river to get out of the tide.  Along came what we used to call the "paper train," the passenger train out of Weehawken with the New York newspapers for the communities all along the river. 

It was a cool April morning with a north east wind and the sun shining very bright out of the east.  As the train was going up the West Park hill, black soft coal smoke was pouring out of the locomotive’s stack.  I knew it marked the end of an era:

As the train pulled abreast of us, I blew a one long, one short blast on the whistle which the locomotive engineer answered.  Then I blew the traditional three long whistles of farewell. 
I can still see in memory of the three white plumes of steam from the train’s whistle as the engineer answered. 

As the train charged up the incline and out of sight, the wheels of the locomotive pounding, and black smoke and steam belching from the short, stubby, stack, I was reminded of the words of an almost forgotten poem of old, “Pulling up along the track, with the choo choo of the stack, how I love to watch the local as it comes along the track; Pulling up along the track, with the choo choo of the stack, up, up along the lonely track.”

Another change in railroading caused by the passing years, was the disappearance of the track walkers.  For many, many years, the railroad used to employ men to make regular foot patrols of their trackage, especially in the vicinity of rock cuts along the river’s shore.  It was their job to watch for fallen rocks and to make regular inspections of the rights of way. 
For years, boatmen at night would see the track walkers on their lonely patrols carrying a lantern and later with a good flashlight.  This was especially true in the Hudson Highlands from Stony Point to Cornwall where there were extensive rock cuts. 

In the lonely morning hours around 2 or 3 a.m., when seeing a track walker, I would always turn our searchlight on and blink it or raise it up and down.  In return, they would waive their lanterns back to us.  It was a friendly greeting at that hour.  I used to think that it must have been very lonely for them walking along those tracks in the dark. 

A train would come roaring along if a passenger train or rumbling along if a freight, making a great deal of noise, and then it would be all peace and quiet again.  You would see the track walkers going into their little flag shanties along the tracks to get warm and then go out again in another hour for another patrol. 

During the middle 1950’s there was a big stock proxy contest for control of the New York Central Railroad.  A group, headed by Robert R. Young, won control and shortly after that the new management made a lot of changes in the operation of the company.  One of the changes was to do away with the jobs of the track walkers.  After that, no more did boatmen see their friendly lanterns moving back and forth as the track walkers walked their solitary way in the night looking for broken rails, loose spikes or rock slides. 

Before the days of radar on tugboats, when the boats were running in fog, the track walkers were a blessing to the boatmen.  Sometimes we would be running pretty close to shore and see dimly the friendly light of their lantern.  They probably over the years, unbeknown[st] to them, saved many a steamboat or tugboat from running on the shore or rocks. 

On other change is the demise of the hoboes or knights of the road.  Either our affluent society has done away with the hobo or, if there are any left, they must have all taken to the highways. 

Back during the Great Depression of the 1930’s, when on the tugboats we would be bucking the tide with a large tow, we would get close to shore so the tide wouldn’t have such an effect on our tows.  Then, when a freight train of 90 or 100 cars would come along we would try and see how many knights of the road we could count.  Sometimes there would be as many as several dozen.  Times change.  Today, when the freight trains go by one never sees anyone riding the rails. 
​
Also, in those depression years, boatmen would see the fires of hoboes burning along the rails or in culverts under the tracks.  If a box car were standing along the tracks on some isolated siding and if we threw our searchlight beam on it, you would frequently see someone slip out the other side or come to the half closed door and peek out. 
Like the seasons and the tides of the river, things along the Hudson are continually changing.  Hopefully, the hoboes of yesteryear have all found the destination they were seeking and surroundings more hospitable than that formerly provided by the "water level route” of wooden ties and steel rails.

Most boatmen are notoriously sentimental. A fine example of their feelings for an old veteran of the river was the last trip of the Cornell tugboat “Osceola."

The "Osceola" finished her travels and work on the Hudson River on a Sunday afternoon during the latter part of October 1929. At the time I happened to be down along the shore at Sleightsburgh.

On that Sunday afternoon of mid-autumn, the "Osceola" came down river with a large tow, the tugboat "George W. Pratt” helping her. When opposite the Rondout Lighthouse, the big tug "Edwin H. Mead” of the Cornell Steamboat Company came up river, running light, and took over the tow from the “Osceola." As soon as the towing cables were shifted to the "Mead, the “Mead” blew three very long whistles of farewell. The “Osceola" then turned and headed for Rondout Creek, answering the "Mead’s" salute with her own whistle.

Answering Whistles
The steamboat "Poughkeepsie" of the old Central Hudson Line at the time was coming out of the Rondout Creek on her run to New York. The "Poughkeepsie" also blew three long whistles which the "Oscy” answered.

Finally, the "Osceola’s” old running mate and helper for many years, the "George W. Pratt," blew three very long blasts on her whistle saying good-bye, knowing the “Osceola" was to sail the river no more.

As the “Osceola"’ was going between the dikes on either side of the creek, she answered the “Pratt’s" last salute. I can still see in my mind’s eye the white steam from her whistle as it trailed around her big black smokestack in the clear autumn air. It was the last time that old familiar whistle was to echo along the banks of the Hudson.

The "Osceola” tied up at the Cornell shops at Rondout and the fires in her boiler were let die. The "Oscy’s" hull was worn out, but her engine and boiler were still considered to be in good shape. The Cornell Steamboat Company had acquired a sound hull from another company and it was Cornell’s original intention to take the "Osceola’s'’ engine, boiler and deck houses from her original hull and install them in the newer one. During 1930, the work progressed to a point where the transfer of engine, boiler and upper works was almost completed. Then the Great Depression set in and the project was never finished.

Stranded on Beach
The "Osceola’s” original hull, as soon as the engine, boiler and topside gear were removed, was towed to Port Ewen where it was stranded in 1930 on the beach outside of where the Hidden Harbor Yacht Club is now located. The uncompleted newer hull, after work was stopped in the fall of 1930 or early 1931, was shifted to Sleightsburgh where it weathered away for almost 20 years. Finally, in the late 1940’s it, too, was towed to Port Ewen and sunk off the shore, almost right next to the "Oscy’s” first hull.

The "Osceola" was a big tug and very similar to the Cornell tugboat "Pocahontas." Both had been built during the same year, 1884, at the same shipyard at Newburgh.

Both were used in the same type of service and after World War I the two tugboats pretty much handled Cornell's business on the upper river. One would leave Albany one night, and the other the following night with Cornell’s daily tows for down river. The tows would meet the daily up tows from New York in the vicinity of Poughkeepsie where the meeting tugboats would exchange tows. As a result, the "Osceola" and "Pochahontas” [sic] in their latter years were to be seen almost always on the northern half of the Hudson — and their whistles heard on the foggy nights of spring and autumn. In the "Osceola’s” last trip to her home port of Rondout, Howard Palmatier was captain, Dan McDonald her pilot and Victor Matt chief engineer. 

One night back in the late 1930’s, I was pilot on the tugboat “Cornell No. 41” of the Cornell Steamboat Company. We were the helper tug on a tow in charge of the tug “Lion” headed for Albany. As was the custom in those days, the helper tug would take off and add barges for local delivery as the tow slowly moved up or down the river.
           
When we were off Athens about 2 a.m., we went along the tow to take off two cement lighters to land them at Hudson. The cement lighters were alongside a big coastwise barge in the tow destined for Albany. My deckhand, the late William “Darby” Corbett of Port Ewen, had to climb up on the coastwise barge to cast off the lines of the cement lighters.
           
As “Darby” was about to let the lines go, I saw this big dog come sneaking up the deck in the shadow of one of her hatches. He looked as if he was about to pounce, I yelled over, “Watch out ‘Darb’, here comes a dog after you!” With that, “Darby” turned quickly, caught the dog with his foot and raised him over the barge’s low rail almost quicker than the eye could see. Overboard the dog went, between the barges, without a sound. I thought sure the dog was a goner. We saw nothing of him as we pulled away from the tow with the cement lighters.
           
The next morning as we lay on the other side of the tow, the captain of the coastwise barge came over and asked if we had seen anything of his dog. We didn’t have the heart to tell him what happened.
           
Later that morning, when we were up off New Baltimore, there, to my incredible surprise, was the dog running along the shore, following the tow. When we landed the coastwise barge in the old D&H slip just below Albany, he was waiting for us.
           
He sure was a tuckered out dog.
           
Fortunately, we were bucking an ebb tide during the last part of the tow, which slowed our rate of progress overground.
           
The dog must have swum to shore at Athens and followed the lights of the tow until daylight.
           
How he ever lived after going down between the barges, no one but the dog ever knew.

Way back in the 1890’s, the Cornell Steamboat Company had a big tugboat by the name of “John H. Cordts.” And at that time, the steamboats,  “New York” and “Albany” were the regular steamers of the Hudson River Day Line.
           
One summer afternoon, the “Cordts” came out of Rondout Creek to run light to Hudson and to relieve the “Norwich” of a large tow of canal boats. At the same time, the “New York” was leaving Rhinecliff on her way up river, crowded with passengers. The “Cordts” pulled slightly ahead of the “New York” and as the “New York” got up her speed, the “Cordts” dropped back and then hooked up so she lay off the port side aft of the “New York.” The suction from the “New York” dragged the “Cordts” right along with her all the way to Catskill, where the “New York” made a landing.

The “New York” and “Albany” were in that day and age very fast wide wheelers and ordinarily could outrun the “Cordts” like a rabbit would a turtle. However, when those side wheelers were in shallow water they would drag their stern down deep in the water and a bid suction wave would follow right along with them. Whatever lay off the after quarters on the Day Liners would go right along with them.

Disbelief from Distaffers
The “New York” and the “Albany” were advertised in the newspapers of the day as very speedy. Some ladies who were passengers on the “New York” that day wrote a letter to the Day Line saying they did not think the “New York” was so fast when a tugboat could stay right alongside her for so long a distance.

A. Van Santvoord, a president of the Day Line, wrote a letter to S.D. Coykendall, president of the Cornell Steamboat Company, requesting him to please ask his captains to stop trying to race with the Day Line steamers. Of course, Van Santvoord and Coykendall knew what the score was, but passengers on the “New York” wouldn’t understand about shoal water, suction, etc.

Coykendall called captain of the “Cordts”, Jim Monahan, on the carpet about the incident and told him not to do it again or he would be discharged. But the way it has been told to me, Jim Monahan was a very stubborn man. Sure enough, he tried it again and that was the last of Captain Monahan on the “John H. Cordts.”

After leaving Cornell, Captain Monahan was captain of the steam lighter “Uriah F. Washburn,” carrying cement and lime all along the Hudson River and Long Island Sound. After that, until his death, he was captain of the steamer “Newburgh” of the Central Hudson Line. All river men agreed he was always a very good captain or pilot tugboats, steamboats or whatever he happened to be on, the sleigh rides and dismissal notwithstanding. 

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By William O. Benson as told to Ann Marrott

SLEIGHTSBURGH — Labor Day on the Hudson signified the last runs of the excursion steamers for the summer — especially for the people who had come up from New York City to spend the summer around the Catskill Mountains and Kingston. 

It always seemed that on Labor Day, people didn’t appear so happy — especially the children.  When you saw the boats come up in early June or July, the children would be so happy. But when getting on the boats going back Labor Day Weekend, they would all be nice enough, but there would be no joy. 

Labor Day was one holiday I hated as a boy, because the next day I had to go to school. The Hudson River Day Line would run extra boats on Saturday and Sunday and Labor Day.  And if you were out on Kingston Point on that holiday there would be a number of boats coming out of New York to bring the people back.  Everyone wanted to get home the day before school started. All those boats would be loaded going to Bear Mountain. The Central Hudson Line would be running boats up to Beacon, Newburgh and Poughkeepsie. Labor Day was also the last excursion of the “Homer Ramsdell” and it would be advertised in the papers. 

Now, if you brought the New York World back then you would see two whole pages full of steamboat listings.  There would be steamboats listed there that people today have probably never heard of, such as the “Grand Republic,” the “Commodore,” the “Benjamin Franklin” and the “Sea Gate.” The “Sea Gate” could carry 500 to 600 people.  But the bigger boats you would see would be the “Benjamin E.  Odell,” the “Robert Fulton,” the “Albany,” the “Onteora,” and the “Clermont.” Some of the big Day Line boats could carry 3,000 or 4,000 people.  The “Washington Irving” could carry 6,000 people. 

I remember one Labor Day on the “Albany.”  A lot of people got off her at Bear Mountain and this poor, stout woman came rushing down the pier, screaming and yelling.  Her children were on the boat and it was already leaving.  So the mate yelled back to her, “We'll put them off at Newburgh in charge of the dockmaster there. You'll have to get them at Newburgh.” Anyway, the purser took them under his wing and when they got to Newburgh the dockmaster took care of them.  I’m not sure how they made out, but I’m sure they were fine.  You used to see that all the time!!

The[n] after Labor Day the boats would get back to their regular schedules.  Most of the captains on those boats, especially George Greenwood, the captain of the “Benjamin B. Odell,” were always glad to see Labor Day come.  George was always worried with so many people on the boat during the summer excursions, of a fire starting in the staterooms.  Some of the boats did run after Labor Day on a Saturday or a Sunday to carry passengers to Bear Mountain or an excursion out of Kingston, but they wouldn’t have the big crowds. 

I looked forward to Labor Day, too, when I worked on the boats.  You knew the boats were going to only run another day or two.  Then she was headed for the Rondout Creek to tie up for the winter and you could go home.  All during the summer you never got home much on those boats. 

Whatever boats were the most expensive to run were tied up first — right after Labor Day.  The Day Line, after the holiday, operated only two boats.  Sometimes for two weekends in September they would have, for example, the “Robert Fulton” ready to come out for a fall excursion to see the Hudson River fall foliage. 

When the boats were tied up we worked on them until the first of November cleaning the boat and painting her.  Then of course you were laid off for the winter. In those days if you saved $150 to $200 during the summer you would have it made. You could live very comfortably all winter long.  Some of us would get jobs ashore, which I used to do.  I always looked forward to spring, when I could get back on the boats.

After Labor Day — during the fall and winter — was the busiest time for workmen in the  Cornell Steamboat Company shops.  When the river was freezing over and navigation was closing, that’s when they started to repair and clean up the boats.  Sometimes they would employ 400 or 500 men during the winter.  They had the boiler gang, machinists, sawyers, painters, blacksmiths, the coaling gang and the bull gang—they did all the heavy work.  They also had a lot of white collar workers.  Everyone worked to get the boats ready for the next season.

When steamboating was in its heyday, anyone living in Rondout, Ponckhockie, Sleightsburgh or Port Ewen never needed a clock or a watch.  They could always tell what time it was by the steamboat whistles.
 
First, there was the huge steam whistle on the Rondout Shops of the Ulster and Delaware Railroad that boatmen always said came from the big sidewheel towboat ‘‘Austin.”  There would be one long whistle at 8 a.m., 12 noon, 12:30 p.m. and 4:30 p.m., telling the men at both the U. and D. shops and the Cornell Steamboat Company shops to start work, eat their noon meal and to stop for the day.
 
When the U. and D. shops were torn down in the early thirties, this whistle was then installed on the Cornell shops.
 
Three Long Blasts
 
Then, every afternoon at 3:25 p.m. three long blasts of a steam whistle would be heard along Rondout Creek as either the ‘‘Benjamin B. Odell,” “Homer Ramsdell,’’ ‘‘Newburgh” or “Poughkeepsie” of the Central Hudson Line prepared to leave their dock on Ferry Street for the start of the evening trip to New York.
 
During the summer, on Saturday mornings at 10:55 a.m., one would hear the wonderful whistle of the “Benjamin B. Odell” as she prepared to leave Rondout.  Then in the evening could be heard the ‘‘Homer Ramsdell” as she came in the creek.  She would blow at about 8 p.m. just as she was passing the gas plant at Ponckhockie.
 
Every summer Sunday morning, the “Homer Ramsdell” would leave Rondout at 6:30 a.m. on an excursion to New York.  The three long blasts on her whistle at 6:25 a.m. sounded twice as loud in the still morning air.
 
From May until early October one always heard the Day Line boats blowing for the landing at Kingston Point.  The one long, one short, one long blast of the down boat’s whistle was always heard just before 1 p.m.  Then shortly before 2:30 p.m. would be heard the landing whistle of the north bound steamer.  Phil Maines of Rondout, the former mate of the “Mary Powell,” was then the dockmaster at Kingston Point.
 
From the ‘Tremper’
At about 10:30 a.m. on alternate days, one would hear the “Jacob H. Tremper” coming in Rondout Creek on her way to Albany.  Then the next day, she would blow for Rhinecliff at 2 p.m. and by 2:45 p.m. she would be coming in the creek and blow again for Rondout. |
 
In the evening about 8 p.m. one would hear three long whistles out in the river.  One would be the Saugerties Evening Line steamer “Robert A. Snyder” or “Ida’’ blowing for their landing at Rhinecliff on their sail to New York.
 
Before World War I, the finest sound of all was the mellow whistle of the ‘‘Mary Powell” as she prepared to leave the dock at the foot of Broadway in Rondout at 6 a.m.  Then in the evening would be heard her whistle out in the river on her return from New York, just before she entered the creek.  Also, all during the day at 10 minute intervals, except when stopped by ice, could be heard one short whistle from the ferry ‘‘Transport.”

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.

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.

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. 
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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. 
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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. 
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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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