The old Rondout to New York night boat “James W. Baldwin,” that linked Rondout and Kingston with the metropolis to the south longer than any other, had her share of mishaps. 
The ‘‘Baldwin” ran on the river during an era when sloops and schooners still plied the Hudson in great numbers. On one dark and hazy night, while making a landing at Marlborough, the steamer mistook a sloop’s lantern for a light on the dock.  She hit the sloop, named “First Effort,” which sank in 50 feet of water and, which to this day, is still on the bottom of the river. 

Another time in 1904 on a black, rainy night off Esopus, the “Baldwin” collided with an ancient sloop named '‘Contrivance.”  The sloop, carrying a load of brick, was 86-years-old and was sunk.  The captain of the sloop, Calvin Delanoy, was drowned. 
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On Wednesday, July 4, 1888, the “James W. Baldwin” was involved in an accident that subsequently led to the steamboat's name being changed to “Central Hudson.”  On that holiday evening shortly after 8 p.m. on leaving her dock at Newburgh, a small steam launch carrying eight people crossed the steamboat's bow.  Despite the steamer's frantic efforts to back down, it was too late to get the way off the “Baldwin.”  The launch was hit amid-ships [sic] and immediately sank.  

Quick action by the “Baldwin's" crew saved six of the eight people in the launch.  Of the two persons lost, one unfortunately happened to be Mrs. Benjamin B. Odell, Jr., whose husband would later become Governor of New York State and head of the steamboat company that years later was to acquire ownership of the “James W. Baldwin.” 

Of the accident itself, a coroner's jury later found the launch to be at fault and exonerated the men in the “Baldwin's” pilot house of blame. 

During the latter half of the 19th century, virtually every community of any size along the Hudson River was linked to New York by its own steamboat line.  In 1899, the three independent steamboat companies serving Newburgh, Poughkeepsie and Kingston were consolidated into one company, the new company being named the Central Hudson Steamboat Company.  One of the prime movers behind the consolidation and an officer of the new company was Benjamin B. Odell, Jr. of Newburgh, whose wife had been drowned in the “Baldwin” incident 11 years before. 

Since the “James W. Baldwin” was one of the two steamers of the Kingston line acquired in the merger, she came under the Odell ownership.  In 1903, the “Baldwin” underwent a rebuilding which included new boilers and a dining room on the saloon deck forward.  Allegedly as an aftermath of her tragic accident of July 4, 1888, the “James W. Baldwin” at this point was renamed “Central Hudson.”  As a final irony, the Central Hudson Line built a new steamer in 1911 to replace the “James W. Baldwin,” now named “Central Hudson.”  The new steamboat's name was “Benjamin B. Odell.” 

Back in the glory days of the “James W. Baldwin” on the Rondout run, the steamer, particularly on Saturdays, would have brushes with the “Mary Powell.“

Both steamboats were scheduled to arrive at Rondout on summer Saturday evenings at about the same time.  Coming up off Esopus both boats would frequently be neck and neck with throttles wide open.  The Chief Engineer of the “Baldwin“ would pace back and forth across the main deck commanding his firemen, “Don’t you dare let that steam pressure drop one ounce, or you can go ashore at Rondout for good!" 

Up in the pilot house of the “Baldwin,” the pilots would try and jockey for position and get on the west side of the channel so their steamer would be on the inside of the turn going around Esopus Meadows lighthouse.  Sometimes the “Baldwin” would cut the Esopus lighthouse so short her port paddle wheel would stir up the mud.  When they got off Sleightsburgh and if they had a good high tide, I understand they would sometimes cut inside the Rondout lighthouse —which at that time stood on the south side of the creek.  Then, how the water would turn muddy! 

If they beat the “Powell” to Rondout Creek, the “Mary Powell” would have to lay out in the river and wait for the “Baldwin” to go in the creek and get turned around.  At times like that, sometimes the crew of the “Baldwin” would take their sweet time turning and handling lines just to show the people waiting on the dock the “Baldwin” was on time landing, and the “Powell” would be late landing her passengers—sort of 19th century one upsmanship. 
As the first decade of the 20th century drew to a close, the career of the old “James W. Baldwin” also approached its end.  During 1910, the Central Hudson Line contracted for a new steamboat, designed as a replacement for the “Baldwin.” 

The new steamer, the “Benjamin B. Odell” made her first trip into Rondout Creek on April 11, 1911, bringing to a close the 50 year service of the “Baldwin,” now named “Central Hudson”, on the Rondout run. 

In May of 1911, the “Central Hudson” was chartered by a company known as the Manhattan Line which had sprung up as an opposition line to the Hudson River Night Line running to Albany and Troy.  The “Central Hudson“ was to run with the steamer “Kennebec,” an old Maine steamboat. 

On her trip down river on May 20, 1911 in heavy fog, the '‘Central Hudson” ran aground below Jones Point, opposite Peekskill.  She was aground some 13 hours before getting off and continuing on to New York.  On the very next trip up river, heavy with freight, the “Central Hudson“ grounded again, making the turn too quick before getting up to Gee’s Point at West Point.  Unfortunately, she ran aground at high water. 

The Cornell tugboats “E. C. Baker” and "G. W. Decker” were sent down from Newburgh to try and pull her off.  By the time they got there, however, the tide was ebbing and the captain of the “Decker” later told me the rods from her spars were getting slack in them, an indication she was hogging.  The way her bow was aground, the tugboat captains thought if they pulled on her, at her age, and if she came off, the “Central Hudson” might sink in the deep water there before they could get her beached. 

The captain of the “Decker“ observed, “If they had had a Central Hudson Line crew on the old “Baldwin” like Amos Cooper and Abram Brooks, the accident would never have happened.  Look at the hundreds of times those two men took her around there in years past without anything happening.”

Finally, Merritt, Chapman and Scott, the marine salvagers, had to be hired to free the “Central Hudson.”  After getting her afloat, it was found she was so badly strained, the old steamer would have to he retired.  She was towed to Newburgh where she lay for nearly six months.  On Nov. 15, 1911, the “Central Hudson,” or as she was better remembered as the “James W. Baldwin” was towed to the old steamboat graveyard at Port Amboy, N.J. and broken up. 

During her long career, the steamboat was commanded by a long line of well known Hudson River captains.  The list included Captains Jacob H. Tremper, Jacob H. Tremper, Jr., Reuben H. Decker, Weston L. Dennis, Arthur Palmer, Zack Rossa and F. L. Simpson.

For decades after she was gone, the old “James W. Baldwin” was remembered by steamboatmen and spoken of kindly—as the old side wheeler that after running between Kingston and New York for 50 years did not want to go off on a new route with a new crew. 

The book “Mary Powell” published earlier this year and written by my good friend, Donald C. Ringwald, justly revived interested in the old “Queen of the Hudson.” However, another Rondout steamboat that had many striking similarities to the “Mary Powell” but never achieved the fame I thought she deserved was the old Rondout to New York night boat “James W. Baldwin.”

Both the “Mary Powell” and the James W. Baldwin” had much in common. Both steamboats were built at the same shipyard at Jersey City, the “Baldwin” in 1860 and the “Powell” in 1861. Both were built for service between Rondout and New York, the “Powell” as a day steamer, the “Baldwin” as a night boat. Both faithfully served their Rondout to New York route for almost the same period of time, the “Powell” making her last run in 1917 and the “Baldwin” ending her service only six years before in 1911.

Although the “Mary Powell’s” period of active service was a few years more, the “James W. Baldwin” probably made more trips. The “Powell” was treated almost like a yacht and her regular season would normally be from early May to mid-October. The “Baldwin,” on the other hand, was a work horse and she would start yearly service just as soon as the river ice broke up in March and run until river navigation was stopped by the ice of the following winter. Whereas the “Powell” carried only passengers, the “Baldwin” also on most trips would be heavily laden with freight and Hudson Valley cargoes.

Also, the “Mary Powell” ran only during the best months of the year as far as the weather was concerned the “James W. Baldwin,” on the other hand, had to combat the fogs of early spring and late fall with their potential accompanying hazards of grounding or collision and on occasion, even had ice to contend with. Clearly, she deserved more credit and fame than was to be her fate.

The “James W. Baldwin” first appeared on the Hudson River on the Rondout run in the spring of 1861. She was built for Captain Jacob H. Tremper of Kingston, one of the best known steamboat operators of his era. Originally 242 feet long and, as was the custom in that long ago day, she was a typical steamboat of her time – a sidewheeler with a walking beam engine and with her boilers on her guards abaft the paddle wheels.

When she came on the Rondout route, she was immediately hailed as the fastest night boat on the river carrying staterooms. Some old timers, as late as 1920, claimed that before she was lengthened and more staterooms added, she was just as fast as the famous “Mary Powell.”

When she was built, it was said she carried on her paddle boxes as the base of the fanlike wheel housings a carved portrait likeness in vivid colors of James W. Baldwin, the man for whom she was named. While under construction, Captain Tremper was allegedly going to name the new steamer “Wiltwyck.” Baldwin was the father-in-law of William F. Romer, Captain Tremper’s partner in his steamboat venture, and on his death a month or two prior to the vessel’s launching Captain Tremper decided to name his new boat after Mr. Baldwin.
In those days, captains frequently also attended to the business affairs of their steamers, as well, and Captain Tremper sailed on his new boat in this capacity from her first trip until his death in 1888. During this same period, the “Baldwin’s” chief engineer was David B. Jackson, known as “Boss” Jackson. It was said he could sit in his engine room and uncannily detect any unusual sound from his boat’s faithful beam engine, immediately tell where it was coming from, and take whatever corrective action was necessary in but a moment or two. He passed away two years after Captain Tremper on June 4, 1890, after 30 years of sailing up and down the Hudson on the “Baldwin.”

Since she sailed on the Rondout to New York run for fifty years, the “James W. Baldwin” had many running mates – as it took two steamboats to provide nightly service. First it was the steamer “Manhattan,” then the “Knickerbocker” and  then for a 19 year period the steamboat “Thomas Cornell” – until the latter was wrecked on Danskammer Point on March 27, 1882. The steamboats “City of Catskill” and the “City of Springfield” then ran opposite the “Baldwin” until the new steamer “City of Kingston” came on the route in 1884. After the “City of Kingston” was sold in 1889 to run on the Pacific coast, the steamer “Saugerties” filled in on the run until the steamboat “William F. Romer” came on the route – the “Baldwin’s” regular companion for her last 21 years of service.

Since the “James W. Baldwin” was built in an era when many vessels – particularly large sailing ships – carried intricately carved figure heads on their bow, the “Baldwin” also boasted fine examples of the wood-carver’s art.
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Only the “Baldwin” carried her carvings on the top of her spars, of which here were four for the purpose of strengthening her hull. On top of the forward spar was a very large eagle with wings spread. The second spar was surmounted by a large gold leafed ball. On top of the third spar was a Union soldier’s liberty cap, somewhat like the fireman’s cap which surmounts today’s flag pole in front of the Port Ewen fire house. Topping the after fourth spar was a sailor peering through a spy glass – always looking dead ahead. These ornamentations were subsequently removed in later years and disappeared, probably due to deterioration caused by the effects of winter snows and summer rains after making hundreds of trips up and down the Hudson.

Like the “Mary Powell,” the “James W. Baldwin” had many devoted followers. One was an old southern gentleman by the name of John C. Alsdorf, who had been a colonel in the Confederate Army. In 1890 at the age of 86 and unattended,  Col. Alsdorf traveled from Atlanta, Georgia to visit some friends in the Catskill Mountains. He took the "Baldwin" from New York to Kingston and told the Second Mate, Charles Steenburgh, he had heard about the "Baldwin" from his son who had been a prisoner of war during the Civil War.

The son had been held as a P.O.W. in the Hudson Valley. When released, he had started his journey home on the "Baldwin." The elderly Colonel said to Mate Steenburgh, "Now, I have done something I wanted to do since my son told me about this sidewheeler. And what a wonderful stateroom I had last night; not even any vibration like the ones down home. She sure is some steamboat to be poud of and I will tell all my friends about her when I get back to Georgia."

Col. Alsdorf's admiration for the "James W. Baldwin" apparently grew during his visit to the Catskills, for on his return about two weeks later he bought a three-way ticket – sail to New York, and then back up to Kingston and back to New York again before resuming his return journey to Atlanta.

Another devoted friend of the "James W. Baldwin" was an early fireman on the steamer who lived in Sleightsburgh and had been drafted for the War between the States. Captured in 1863, he had been held as a prisoner of war at the infamous Andersonville prison. After his release at war's end, he made his way north from Georgia by his own devices, a good part of the journey I've been told literally on foot. Arriving penniless at Jersey City and walking along the waterfront, he saw the "James W. Baldwin" at her New York berth across the river.
The former soldier went to the Jersey City ferry terminal and asked if he could get a ride across the river. The collector curtly told him, "We don't carry people for nothing." A deckhand on the ferryboat overheard the exchange, rand up to the ferry's pilot house, and related the incident to the captain, knowing the captain had lost two sons in the war.

The captain immediately ran down and overtook the crest-fallen soldier walking away in his tattered blue uniform. The captain called out to him to wait and on catching up to him said, "Soldier, if you want to get to the New York shore come back with me. Where are you headed?"

The soldier told him he lived up the river and on seeing the "Baldwin" on which he used to work, he knew he could get a ride of Rondout.

The captain then gave the soldier twenty-five cents to carry with him, saying "I wish I could give you more, but I have to help my son's wives with their children."

The grateful soldier, after crossing the harbor, went aboard the "James W. Baldwin" and saw his old chief, "Boss" Jackson. It was reported to be a very happy meeting with the chief engineer supposedly saying, "You sure can sail up with us. And after you are home awhile and, if a job opens up, I'll let you know." After about a week, "Boss" Jackson was true to his word, and the former soldier was back on the "Baldwin," firing the same starboard boiler he had reluctantly left three years previously.

Human nature being what It is, we all have an odd quirk or two.  Boatmen were no exception. 

The foibles of two boatmen that come to mind were those of Staats Winnie and Ira Cooper, two of the better old time boatmen on the Hudson.  Staats Winnie's Whim was that he wore red flannel underwear the year round — Ira Cooper’s was a dislike for uniforms. 

Staats Winnie was an old time pilot for the Hudson River Day line and at the turn of the century was second pilot of the “Albany.”  When the “Hendrick Hudson” came out in 1906 he was to become her first pilot and served as her head helmsman during that steamboat’s early years on the Hudson.  Like many old time boatmen, he had previously been a pilot on towboats and tugboats of the Cornell Steamboat Company. 

With an impressive mustache and a stern gaze, Staats Winnie was a formidable looking man.  As my good friend Donald C. Ringwald observed in his book “Hudson River Day Line,” Pilot Winnie looked as if he could steer anything afloat. 

Like a number of old boatmen in his era, Staats Winnie wore red flannel underwear.  Only he wore his year round, summer and winter.  During the hot days in July and August, Pilot Winnie would frequently doff his uniform jacket and roll up his shirt jacket [sleeves?], exposing a pair of bright red shod forearms.

Steamboatmen were always known as great arm wavers.  Whenever two steamers passed each other, it was rare indeed if several crew members were not observed vigorously waving in the direction of the passing steamboat.  One would have thought the crew members of the two steamers hadn’t seen each other in months. 

As a matter of fact, in some instances this situation would have been true — as when a line had two steamers running between New York and Albany in daily service.  The two steamboats would leave New York and Albany on alternate days and the only time crew members would see each other for months on end would be on their daily passing in the middle part of the river.  Many crew members of a particular steamboat line came from the same community and were neighbors.  During the season they would get but a fleeting glance of each other as their steamboats passed in mid-Hudson and this, perhaps, was the probable reason for the vigorous arm waving. 

Staats Winnie was well known as one of the arm wavers.  During July and August in his years of piloting the Day Liners, boatmen on passing steamers became accustomed to seeing a red shod arm waving a greeting from his pilot house window.  It was said that passengers, however were frequently startled by the sight. 

Ira Cooper was captain of the steamer “Onteora” of the Catskill Evening Line.  During the early years of steamboating, officers of the steamers wore their usual civilian clothes in carrying out their jobs afloat.  During the 1880’s and 1890’s, the larger steamboat companies began to introduce the use of uniforms for their steamer's personnel, particularly the officers. 

The practice of wearing uniforms soon spread to all steamboat lines.  First, it was just a uniform cap.  Then it became a full fledged uniform with brass buttons and gold braid.  On some lines, the uniforms were provided by the companies outright, others granted a uniform allowance and the officers purchased their own uniforms, while on others a partial reimbursement for uniforms was given to officer personnel. 

Captain Cooper was an individualist of the old school.  He would have no truck [sic] with the new fangled idea of uniforms.  For him, what was good enough to wear ashore was good enough to wear afloat.  To the very end, he steadfastly refused to don either a uniform or even the traditional steamboatman's cap.  He undoubtedly was the last captain of one of the larger Hudson River passenger steamboats to command his steamer dressed in civilian garb. 
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It was said Captain Cooper's ideas as to dress did not particularly please the owners and operators of the Catskill Evening Line.  It is my understanding, as a matter of fact, that a clash of wills ensued — and, since the owners held the trump cards, Captain Cooper left the “Onteora.”  He was later captain for many years of the big tugboat “J. C. Hartt” of the Cornell Steamboat Company — where he had no trouble dressing as he pleased.  The Catskill Evening Line’s loss, however, was the Cornell Steamboat Company's gain — for Captain Cooper was one of the best boatmen on the river.  

The largest steamboat ever built for service on the Hudson River was the “Berkshire” of the Hudson River Night Line, built to run in overnight passenger and freight service between Albany and New York.  Because of her imposing size, most boatmen referred to her as the “Mighty Berkshire” rather than by her mountainous name alone. 

The “Berkshire” was some 440 feet long overall, making her 13 feet longer than her one time running mate, the “C.W. Morse,” and nearly 26 feet longer than the “Washington Irving.” the largest steamer of the Hudson River Day Line.  The late Francis “Dick” Chapman of New Baltimore, her last captain, was later a pilot with me on the the Cornell tugboat “Lion” and related to me a number of incidents about the big Night Liner. 

One night back in July 1935, the “Berkshire” was preceding down river on her regular run from Albany to New York.  As they were passing Saugerties at about 11 p.m. the steam steering gear broke.  The men in the pilot house immediately shifted to the big hand steering wheels. 

How Wheels Worked
The steam gear had a small pilot wheel at the front of the pilot house which the pilot could turn with ease with one hand.  This small pilot wheel was in turn connected to an auxiliary steam engine which actually turned the rudder.  The hand steering wheels, on the other hand, were huge affairs located in the middle of the pilot house to be used in times of emergency.  They were connected directly the the rudder and when in use were turned by brute strength. 

The engineers, unfortunately were unable to make repairs to the steam steering gear, the usual means of steering the steamer, and the pilots took her all the rest of the way to New York steering her by the hand gears.  It took four men to constantly man the two big hand steering wheels and, except on straight courses, they had to run dead slow in order to get the rudder over. 

The sharp turns in the river at Magazine Point, West Point and Anthony's Nose were particularly troublesome.  In order to make the sharp turns, the “Berkshire” had to be backed a couple of times to get the rudder over so the turns could be made.  When she finally got to New York they had to get tugboats to put the “Berkshire” in her slip.  There the repairs were made to the steam steering gear and she was able to leave on her regular up trip as usual. 

The “Berkshire” also had a close call on her very last trip down river from Albany.  The year 1937 was the “Berkshire’s” last season in service and her final sailing from Albany for New York was made on the night of Labor Day.

Hazy Weather
All the way down the river the weather was hazy.  When the “Berkshire” was off Esopus Island, fog set in thick.  At Crum Elbow they could hear a bell being run [sic] rapidly at minute intervals, meaning something was anchored ahead.  On the “Berkshire” they were running slow on time courses and sounding her whistle. 

Suddenly, through the fog, the pilot house crew of the “Berkshire” dimly saw two white lights high in the air dead ahead, which they realized was a large anchored ship.

They passed the ship so close the guards of the “Berkshire” rubbed along the ship's side.  Since it was ebb tide and because of his position, Captain Chapman was afraid to back down because he thought his steamer might back across the bow of the anchored ship.  So what could have been a terrible accident, turned out all right for the mighty “Berkshire” on her last trip down the Hudson under her own power. 

The “Berkshire’s” career on the Hudson River from the time she entered service in 1913 until her final season of 1937, in general, was a placid one and relatively uneventful.  Her beginning and ending, however, were a little unusual. 

Launched in 1907
The huge steamboat was launched on September 21, 1907 from the yard of the New York Shipbuilding Co. at Camden, N.J. with the name “Princeton” painted on her bows.  Launched  in the midst of the panic of 1907, funds apparently were not available for her completion.  With engine and boilers installed but with no superstructure, the uncompleted vessel was layed up and not completed until six years later.  When finally completed, her launching name of ‘‘Princeton” had been changed to “Berkshire.”

The “Berkshire” arrived at Albany on her first trip on the morning of May 23, 1913.  The very next day, the “Washington Irving,” the new flagship of the Hudson River Day Line, arrived at Albany on her inaugural trip.  Thus by a turn of fate, the largest night boat ever built for service on the Hudson River and the largest day boat ever built for service on the Hudson both made their first trips to Albany within hours of each other.  It was a big weekend for big steamboats at Albany. 
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After the ‘‘Berkshire’s” final trip in 1937, she was layed up at Athens.  With the coming of World War II, the big steamer was acquired by the federal government and at the end of January 1941 was towed by the Coast Guard through the ice to New York harbor.  In June, she was towed to Bermuda where she was used as a floating barracks for construction workers engaged in the building of U.S. World War II bases on the island.  After the war was over, the “Berkshire” was towed back from Bermuda to Philadelphia where she was finally broken up.

The Hudson River steamboats of the past were expected to refrain from racing each other.
But when a boat was shiny and new, its officers could be expected to wonder how fast their modern beauty would go — especially if it was pitted against other steamers on the river.  And what better way to settle the matter than a friendly little “go.”
 
When the “Clermont’’ of the Catskill Evening Line arrived on the scene in 1911, Francis “Dick” Chapman of New Baltimore was pilot of the new steamer.  And one group of officers on the ‘‘Clermont’’ were convinced she could trim anything on the river.  One Saturday morning, as the “Clermont’’ was dead-heading to New York to come out on the evening run to Catskill, the “Benjamin B. Odell” of the Central Hudson Line (also new that same year), was lying at Poughkeepsie in anticipation of leaving.  Aboard the ‘‘Clermont,” officers looked upon this fact as a good chance to test out their steamer as “No. 1.”  So, on the “Clermont,” they took it a little easy to give the “Odell” a chance to get out in the river and let go.
 
As the “Odell” slowly left the dock, the crew on the “Clermont” could see by the way the black soft coal smoke was coming out of the “Odell’s” smokestack, that the crew on the “Odell” also had ideas of making ready to “have it out.”  And it took very little time for the “Odell” to show which steamboat was master of the river as far as any race between these two was concerned.
As the “Odell” landed at Newburgh, the “Clermont” was just passing Roseton.  And so ended any idea that the “Clermont” could trim the “Benjamin B. Odell.”
 
Another Challenge
 About two weeks later, as the “Clermont” was passing Newburgh, the tugboat ‘‘George W. Washburn” of the Cornell Steamboat Company was leaving to run light to Tompkins Cove to start a stone tow to New York. They could see on the “Clermont” that the “Washburn” was going to see what she could do against the new steamboat, and the “Washburn” was one of the fastest tugboats on the river.
 
Down through the Highlands, the “Washburn” was astern of the “Clermont.”  Below West Point, the chief engineer of the “Clermont” thought he would tease the “Washburn” a little and around Conns Hook he let the “Washburn” get alongside.
 
As the chief engineer of the ‘‘Clermont’’ opened her up, he found he could not shake the ‘‘Washburn.”  By this time, the “Washburn” appeared to be pushing the whole river ahead of her.  On reaching Anthony’s Nose, the “Washburn” had the inside of the turn and eased ahead of the “Clermont,’’ the great new “‘Clermont’’ doing the best he could against the lowly tugboat.
 
Going down to supper that night, pilot Dick Chapman said to the chief engineer, “Well chief, I guess she is not as fast as some will have us believe.  First the “Odell” beat us and now the tow boats are even walking by us.  What’s next?” The chief engineer replied, “You mind your business and I’ll mind mine,” and after the incident never again spoke to the pilot for years.
 
With Her at End
 Two years later, Dick Chapman left the “Clermont” and went to the Hudson River Night Line where he later became a captain.  Nearly thirty years later, in 1943, Dick Chapman went back on the “Clermont” as captain and stayed on her until she was layed up for good in 1948.
 
By this time, the “Clermont” was an excursion boat running from New York to Bear Mountain.  All during this time, from the day she entered service until she ended her career — some 37 years — the “Clermont’’ had but one chief engineer.  I never got a chance to ask Dick Chapman how he and the chief got along after he returned and if the chief had ever gotten over his losing bouts with the ‘‘Benjamin B. Odell” and “George W. Washburn.”

By William O. Benson as told to Ann Marrott
SLEIGHTSBURGH – The Benjamin B. Odell was named after a former governor of New York State. Gov. Odell served two terms, prior to which he was a member of the assembly and the state senate. Before that he was the treasurer of the Central Hudson Steamboat Company. He could have been President, but he wouldn't accept the nomination.

Along with a few other men, he started the Central Hudson Steamboat Company in 1897; they acquired all the lines south of Kingston – the Romer and Tremper, Poughkeepsie Transportation Company and the Ramsdell Transportation Co. Their main office was in Newburgh.

Well, the "Benjamin B. Odell" was built in 1911 in Wilmington, Delaware, built for the Central Hudson line to operate between Kingston and New York as a year-round night boat.

When she came out they said she could do 22 or 23 miles an hour. The "Mary Powell" was always a fast boat. But a couple of times, when the "Odell" had to run down the river, she had to run slow for something or another and the "Mary Powell" would pass her. Of course, the crew on the "Mary Powell" kidded the crew of the "Odell" – the "Mary Powell" was fifty years old and she can still beat the new "Odell." That rankled in the minds of the "Odell" crew.

So it seems that in the fall of 1911, the "Mary Powell" had a late excursion out of Kingston to New York. She left New York at about 5 o'clock in the afternoon and the "Odell" left right behind her. But the "Powell" had to land at 129th St. and the "Odell" had to wait for the "Powell" to get out of there so she could land. Well, the "Odell" landed and the "Powell" stopped at Yonkers, but when she was leaving, the "Odell" was about a mile behind her. Nate Dunn, the chief engineer of the "Odell" had at one time been on the "Homer Ramsdell".
Now, the "Homer Ramsdell" was a smart boat, too, but she couldn't run with the "Mary Powell." It always rankled Nate Dunn – he'd like to be on a boat that could beat the "Mary Powell."

So he thought, "This is the day to try it." If we can't catch the "Powell," nobody would be the wiser." He told the fireman, "Stoke her up. We're gonna overtake the "Powell" if we can today.
Well, away they went up through Tappan Zee,, Haverstraw Bay. The "Odell" was creeping up on the "Powell" – slowly and slowly. By and by, just before they got below Bear Mountain, the "Odell" was right abreast of the "Mary Powell" and the "Odell", she was going. She flew the big flag of the Central Hudson Steamboat Co. behind her pilot house. And the black smoke foaming out of her stacks. She passed the "Mary Powell" of course, that night. The Newburgh Evening News came out that day: "Central Hudson Line Captures Queen of the Hudson."

From that day on, when the captain of the "Mary Powell," Captain Anderson, would meet Nate Dunn on the street in Kingston, (he knew him very well), he'd turn his head the other way. He wouldn't speak to Nate.

Of course, there's more to the story than that. My father was always a "Mary Powell" man, and he was ship carpenter on her at the time. He always said, and Phillip Maines, the made on her, told me the same thing, that the "Mary Powell" had a load of women and children that day from some of the churches here in Kingston. And Captain Anderson went down and told the chief engineer, "Don't you run this boat wide open. She's getting too old and we're not going to race. If the "Odell" wants to go by, let her go by."

But when the "Odell" did pass the "Mary Powell" her swell washed right up on the "Mary Powell's" gangway and even got the peoples' feet wet. Of course, as others said at the time, the "Mary Powell" was 50 years old and the "Odell" was just fresh from the builders. They always said that if the "Mary Powell" was 30 years younger, the "Odell" would never have caught up with her.

The "Odell" every Sunday and holiday had a big excursion out of New York. Sometimes she'd have 3,000 people on her.

When Governor Benjamin B Odell died in 1926, the Central Hudson Line was running on hard times and they went into the hands of receivers. They operated until 1929, when they were sold at a receiving sale.

Then the "Odell", as part of the new Hudson River Steamboat Co., was running in opposition to the big Albany night boats. In the winter of 1934, when the temperature in Kingston and the Hudson Valley was between 25 and 30 degrees below zero, the "Poughkeepsie" and the "Odell" operated the whole time from Kingston to Albany.

The "Odell" had the most melodious whistle. Today, that's on a boat that runs between New Bedford and Nantucket Island. When the whistle was put on the "B.B. Odell" in 1911, Nate Dunn told me it cost $500. That was a lot of money in those days. When that whistle blew, you could hear it from 5 or 6 miles away.
​
But the "Odell" was laid up in winter quarters in Marlborough in 1937 and she caught fire and burned up.

Back in 1938, the tugboats “Winthrop” and “Brimstone’’ of the Hedger Transportation Company were coming down the Hudson River with a tow of canal boats.  Off Evesport, north of Saugerties, they ran into heavy fog.

Feeling their way along in the fog, the tow started to pull to the eastward towards Tivoli.  But, the tow didn’t get very far before it fetched up on the mud flats on the east side of the channel.  Before long, some of the barges started to leak and two of them sank.

When the barges were pumped out and raised, it was discovered that their bottoms were cut by deep gashes.  The gashes looked as though they had been made by heavy steel obstructions and not by rocks on the river bottom.  At low tide, an inspection, made by divers for the insurance company in the area just north of where the tow had run aground, disclosed the remains of a boiler and engine bed of an old steamboat wreck.  The wreck was about nine feet under water and close to the flats.

Was it the ‘Reindeer’?

Because of the location of the old steamboat wreck, it was generally thought the wreck on the river bottom was that of the old steamboat “Reindeer” which had burned and gone under at that location way back in 1852.

The ‘‘Reindeer” had originally been built in 1846 for service between New York City and New Brunswick, N.J. on the Raritan River.  She later ran between New York and New Haven, Conn. — and on this run her ability to travel at high speed was soon noted.  Because of her speed, in 1851 she was placed in service on the Hudson River in the then highly competitive service between New York and Albany.
On September 4, 1852, the “Reindeer’’ was proceeding up river for Albany with between 300 and 400 passengers aboard.  She had just made her landing at Bristol, now called Malden-On-Hudson, when her boiler blew up.  The smoke stack fell, demolishing the pilot house and upper deck.  Steam from the bursted boiler flooded the lower cabin where many passengers sat eating dinner.  Some 31 persons lost their lives in the accident.  She caught fire as a result, but the flames were apparently extinguished.

Three days after the accident, fire broke out again and got out of control.  The ‘‘Reindeer’’ was cut loose from the Bristol dock where she had been secured, and the remains of the steamboat drifted aflame to the east side of the channel where the fire burned itself out.  What was left of the “Reindeer” sank on Green’s Flats, just north of where the red flashing Beacon No. 38 is now standing.

So in 1938 — 86 years after her fatal accident — the “Reindeer” came back to plague boatmen of another era in another century.  At that time, stories were again told of her feats of speed and races she had engaged in against other steamboats — an age when the first steamboat to reach a landing got the waiting passengers.

Of all the holidays, Christmas is the one that seems to be most closely related to thoughts of home and hearth.  If it is at all possible to do so, almost everyone would like to spend the holiday at home.  Boatmen are no exception. 

Many, many years ago, navigation on the Hudson River would virtually cease when the river would freeze over, generally in mid or late December.  Then, since most of the boats had wooden hulls and the ice would cause damage to the wooden hulls, the river steamboats and tugboats would lay up until the river ice went out in March.  Most of the boatmen would be layed off.  Some who had saved part of their summer earnings looked forward to this period at home, while many others would gain winter employment harvesting the annual crop of ice at the many ice houses along the upper Hudson. 
As time went on, the steamboat companies began to feel the increasing competition from the motor trucks using the new roads being built along the Hudson's shores.  In order to keep their vital freight business, some of the steamboat lines tried to run all winter.  One of these in the late 1920's was the old Central Hudson Line, running to Newburgh, Poughkeepsie and Kingston.

Two in Operation
During the winters of 1927-28 and 1928-29, the Central Hudson Line operated their steamers “Poughkeepsie” and “Newburgh” between Kingston and New York.  Just before Christmas of those two winters, the crews — knowing they would have to work on Christmas — decorated their boats with Christmas trees.  On each vessel a Christmas tree was installed on the bow, another on the flag staff in back of the pilot house, and a third one on the after mast. 

As they came in or left Rondout Creek during the Christmas season, how nice they looked! This was especially so at dusk when their red and green side lights and white lights around the cabins and decks would sparkle in the clear winter air. 

I particularly remember the old “Newburgh” on one occasion.  It was at the twilight hour and a light snow was falling.  She had on her after deck a sky light with colored glass over the passenger cabin.  The lights from her cabin, through the colored glass of the sky light, showed up very bright through the falling snow.  This, together with her port and starboard running lights, white deck lights and the snow settling on her Christmas trees, made for a near perfect Christmas card setting.  Somehow, Rondout Creek never looked nicer.  All that now belongs to the long, long ago. 

Her Last Trip
During the same period, Christmas Day 1928, the tugboat “J. C. Hartt” of the Cornell Steamboat Company was bound north with a tow for Clinton Point through drift ice and a snow storm.  It was her last trip of the season and after landing her tow, she was to proceed on to Rondout and lay up for the winter. 

On another Christmas several years later, I was talking to Barney McGooy, the pilot of the “Hartt” on the long ago Christmas day. 

He said that when they were opposite Buttermilk Falls, south of Highland Falls, they sat down to eat their Christmas dinner. 

Barney said to me, “What do you suppose we had for Christmas dinner?” I answered, “Turkey." “No,” he said, “we had stew!”

Wanted Regular Dinner
Barney said to the cook, “It’s bad enough we have to work on Christmas.  I think the least you could have done would be to have a regular Christmas dinner.”

The cook, however, said nothing.  The captain also said nothing.  Both the captain and the cook were getting on in years and had been together for many long seasons on the Catskill Evening Line steamers “Walter Brett,” “City of Catskill," “Kaaterskill” and “Onteora." Because of their long association together and having known each other since childhood, I suppose the captain said to himself, “Let it slide, it's Christmas.”
​
Today, this is all changed.  There are no more steamboats.  The tugboats all have steel hulls and high powered diesel engines.  Because of the demand for fuel oil and gasoline and since construction projects no longer cease due to cold weather, the tugs run all winter long pushing the oil and cement barges through the ice.  The one unchanging factor is the boatman’s desire to be home for Christmas.  Most companies recognize this and rarely are boats in operation on the Holy Days.  

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer.  This article was originally published ​ October 7, 1973.​

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

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM Contributing Scholar Carl Mayer. This article was originally published July 17, 1977.

​In the long ago days of Hudson River steamboating, almost every city and larger village along the river had its own steamboat line to New York. Each line would have at least two boats to maintain daily service —each boat going down one day and back the next.
 
The steamers of the lines north of Newburgh were known as night boats, since they usually departed in the late afternoon or early evening and arrived at their destination in the early morning. All would carry freight on their main decks, and on the deck above were staterooms which offered sleeping accommodations for passengers.
 
Generally, travelling on the night boats was an extremely pleasant way to make a journey to or from New York. The river was always attractive in the evening and almost always one could count on a good night's sleep. The exceptions were when the steamer ran into fog and the pilot had to blow the boat's whistle, or if one had a stateroom right next to the paddle wheels.
 
Saugerties was one of those towns that had its own steamboat service. The company's name was the Saugerties and New York Steamboat Company and it was operated by mostly hometown men. During its last 20 years or so of service it was promoted (and known) to the travelling public as the Saugerties Evening Line.
 
Shortly after World War I, the outfit had two small, smart sidewheelers named Ulster and Ida. On one particular trip the Ulster left Pier 43, North river, in New York at her regular time. She had freight for all her landings, which in those days were at Hyde Park, Rhinecliff, Barrytown, Ulster Landing and Tivoli. She ended her journey at Saugerties. Most of her staterooms were also occupied.
 
She made very good time until she reached Crum Elbow, just south of Hyde Park, when it started to get foggy. At the time, she was overtaking the Catskill Line freighter Storm King. Of course, the fog signals had to be sounded on both steamers. A Cornell tow was  also on its way down the river, blowing the one-long-and-two-short whistle signal indicating they had a tow underway. The helper tug back on the tow, as a matter of courtesy, was also blowing its whistle, since it was back a good 500 feet from the towing tug.
 
What a racket of steam whistles that must have been in those early morning hours off Hyde Park! I suppose Franklin D. Roosevelt, if he was at home, the Vanderbilts and the great naturalist John Burroughs were awakened by all those steamboat whistles. Then, on top of all that, the big night boats out of Albany and Troy came along, sounding their whistles in the fog.
 
The passengers on the Ulster sure had a tough time trying to sleep. Some were up complaining about all the whistling. Others just stayed in their staterooms and put up with it. Then, a short while later after things got reasonably quiet again, came the landing at Rhinecliff with the organized confusion of unloading freight. There would be the sound of the hand freight trucks going on and off the gangplank, and the mate sounding off to the freight handlers to get the freight off so they could get out on time.
 
After leaving Rhinecliff, all was serene for a few moments except for the periodic blowing of the fog signal. However, off Astor's tunnel they met a canal tow which was crossways in the channel and this caused more whistle blowing. After the tow was cleared came the landing at Barrytown with the noise of the freight trucks and an argument between two freight handlers, which was brought to a stop by the authoritarian voice of the mate.
 
The Ulster then headed across the river to Ulster Landing. As was the custom on the night boats, a hallman would knock on the door of the stateroom of a passenger getting off at a particular landing about 10 minutes before docking, and announce the landing. Sometimes, a passenger would have to listen pretty closely, for some of the hallmen were like some of the conductors on the old West Shore Railroad — they had an odd way of pronouncing the names of the stations or landings.
 
In any event, the hallman knocked on the door of the stateroom of an Ulster Landing passenger and called out, "Ulster Landing, Ulster Landing." A lady passenger bound for Saugerties, in a stateroom or two away, also heard the knocking and the announcement "Ulster Landing." After all the whistle blowing since Hyde Park and the noise at Rhinecliff and Barrytown, she in all probability had been sleeping fitfully and in her half-awake state thought the knock was at her door.
 
When the lady heard the announcement "Ulster Landing," she may have reasoned that she was on the Ulster, and if the steamer was landing it was time to get off. In any event, she got up, got dressed and when the steamer ghosted through the fog. into the dock at Ulster Landing, she was at the gangway. As soon as the gangplank was put out, she walked ashore.
 
There was very little freight for Ulster Landing, so the gangplank was taken in and the Ulster was on her way for Tivoli in but a few moments. As the steamer disappeared into the fog, it must have come as a rude shock to the lady to find herself virtually alone on a river dock before dawn. It sure wasn't Saugerties!
 
After the Ulster left the dock, there was only one kerosene lantern for light and everything was so dark and still. The only other person around was the dockmaster who was an elderly man and very hard of hearing. He got all shook up with this well dressed lady alone in the freight shed. Finally, she got him to understand the mistake she had made. The dockmaster then got a chair for her to sit in until daylight, when he got a friend of his with a horse and wagon to take her on to Saugerties.
 
I often wondered if she ever made the trip to Saugerties again by steamboat.

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