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. 
​
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.

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

Back in 1929 when I was a deckhand on the steamer “Albany” of the Hudson River Day Line, I thought maybe I’d like to go quartermaster on one of the boats of the Saugerties Evening Line.
 
I walked from the 42nd Street Pier of the Day Line down to Pier 43, North River, at the foot of Christopher Street—where the Saugerties boat would be tied up during the day.  I wanted to talk to an old friend of my brother’s from their days on the “Onteora.’’  He was pilot on the steamer ‘‘Robert A. Snyder” and his name was Harry Grough.
 
As we sat in the Snyder’s pilot house talking and looking out over the harbor, we could hear all kinds of steam whistles from all sorts of floating equipment— including  tugboats, ferries, ocean liners and sidewheel steamboats.  I told him I thought I would like a quartermaster’s position if one was open.

Captain Absent
He said I would have to see, the captain, Richard Heffernan. The captain, however, was not aboard that afternoon as he had gone downtown to get the boat’s papers renewed, and would not be back until just before sailing time.
 
Harry said to me, “If I were young like you, Bill, I would go over to Jersey and get a job on the railroad tugs.  That’s where the business is.  This business is dying out every day.”
 
Then, we went down on the freight deck.  Harry said, “Look, here it is almost 3:30 p.m. and we only have a few boxes and bags on board.  A few years ago at this time, this deck would have been piled right up to the carlings with all kinds of freight.”
 
Harry continued, “Tonight, we’ll be lucky if we have a half dozen passengers.  The passengers used to start to come on board at 2 p.m. and, by now, the staterooms would be sold out.  Tonight, you could take your pick of almost anyone you’d want.  This Line can’t go on like this very long.  When the company doesn’t make a dollar, then we don’t have a job either.  No, Bill, you will be better off going on the tugboats.”

He Was Right
Over the years, I found out for myself Harry was right.

The Saugerties Evening Line boats were the ‘‘Robert A. Snyder’’ and the ‘‘Ida.” Every night, one would leave Saugerties, sail out Saugerties Creek and make landings at Tivoli, Barrytown, Rhinecliff and Hyde Park on its sail to New York.

When the “Snyder” and “Ida” were operating back in those long ago days, every night at about 7:30 of 8 p. m. one would hear one or the other blow three long whistles for the Rhinecliff landing to take on freight and passengers.  Between 1 and 2 a.m. in the lonely morning hours the up boat would be heard blowing her whistle for Jim Conroy, the dock master at Rhinecliff, to take its lines.

To the tugboatmen, the night boats were like old friends.  During the long night and early morning hours, it was indeed pleasant to see the night boats approaching in the distance and hear the slap, slap of their paddle wheels in the stillness of the night. 

A Glittering Crown
Then, as they passed by, they would often blow a low salute on their whistle.  As they faded into the night, their deck and cabin lights would blend into a glittering crown of light reflecting on the water.

I remember on several occasions Dan McDonald, the pilot on the “Osceola,” telling me how he would be coming down river with a large tow off Germantown, and on a clear night look down the river at about 3 a.m. and see one of the Saugerties boats coming up off Crugers Island; then turn and show her green starboard light as she went into Saugerties Creek.  He would remark how nice it must have been at that hour to get tied up and go to your room in the pilot house block and sleep until you felt like getting up and then look out on the quiet and peaceful dock at the fine little village of Saugerties.  No worries about morning fog, how the tow was going to follow, or old leaky brick or stone scows in the tow.

The “Robert A. Snyder” was layed up for good in 1931 at her dock on Saugerties Creek.  As there was only enough business for one boat, the “Ida,’’ since she had a steel hull and was the younger boat, continued for one more year.  Then in 1932 she was quietly layed up.
​
Strangely, the Saugerties Evening Line, serving Saugerties and small villages on the upper Hudson, outlasted all the other night lines on the river except the big night boats to Albany.  The Central Hudson Line, serving Kingston, Poughkeepsie and Newburgh went out in 1929 and the last boat of the Catskill Evening Line stopped for good in 1931.  Finally, in 1932, the automobile and the Great Depression took their tolls of the last night boat from Saugerties.

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 ​ December 30, 1973.

Fog, that natural phenomenon so prevalent on the river in the fall and spring when the seasons change, has constantly been a problem to boatmen.  Obviously, there is always the danger of collision or grounding.

Today, the electronic marvel of radar has done much to lessen the danger of the boatmen’s old foe.  Prior to World War II, however, there was no radar.  Then, the boatmen had nothing to rely upon except their boat’s compass, the echo of their boat’s whistle off the river bank, and their own knowledge of the river with all its tricks of tide, wind and twisting-channels.  Few people on shore, unless they at one time had worked on the river, ever realized how extensive and uncanny this knowledge was. 

Years ago, probably the best men on the river in fog were the captains and pilots of the Cornell Steamboat Company’s big tugboats - the tugs that pulled the big tows of that era, sometimes with as many as 50 or 60 barges and scows in a tow.  They had to be good.  A steamboat pilot could almost always anchor.  But on the big tugs, when the fog would close in with the tide underfoot with a big tow strung out astern and no room to round up and head into the tide, they had no choice but to keep going.  

One time, back around 1930, there was a company in New York harbor that specialized in the towing of oil barges.  Their tugs would push oil barges up the Hudson River and through the New York Barge Canal to cities like Utica, Syracuse and Buffalo. 

One day one of their tugboats was pushing an oil barge up the river, destined for Buffalo, when off Tarrytown it began to get very foggy.  At the time they were overtaking a big Cornell tow in charge of the tug "J. C. Hartt.” As the fog was getting thicker, the captain of the small tug pushing the oil barge went up to the tail end of the Cornell tow and put a line from the oil barge on to the last barge in the ‘‘Hartt’s” tow.  He held on until the fog cleared up near Bear Mountain and then let go and went on his way. 

About two weeks later, when the canal tug and its oil barge got back to New York, the tug captain’s boss came down to the dock and said, “Cap, were you holding on a Cornell tow about two weeks ago?” The tug captain was sort of flustered and sputtered, "Why, why when?”

“Well,” replied the boss, “we've got a bill from Cornell here for $65 for towing from Tarrytown to Bear Mountain,” and he then mentioned the times and the date. 

The oil barge tug’s captain knew his boss had the goods on him, so all he could say was, “Yes, that’s right.  I was caught in fog off Tarrytown when they were going by.  And you know those Cornell men know the river in fog better than anybody.  I knew I'd be safe hanging on and sailing along with them. 

The boss said, “Well, I guess we'll have to pay it, but don't do it again.”

I am sure many other canal tugs did the same thing, some getting away with it and some not.  As they used to say along the river, the men on Cornell's steady pullers were the best compasses on the river. 

Now, those able boatmen, men like Ira Cooper, Al Hamilton, Ben Hoff, Sr., Jim Monahan, John Sheehan, Jim Dee, Albert Van Woert, John Cullen, Dan McDonald, Barney McGooey, Larry Gibbons, Howard Palmatier and a host of others, have long since steered their last tugboat through a fog.  And those big, powerful steady pullers, tugboats like the “J. C. Hartt,” “Geo. W. Washburn,” "John H. Cordts,” “Edwin H. Mead,” “Pocahontas,” “Osceola” and “Perseverance” have all towed their final flotilla of scows and barges.  Gone forever are the big tugboats with their red and yellow paneled deck houses and towering black smokestacks with their chrome yellow bases. 
​
The only thing that remains constant is the River with its changing tides.  And the fogs of spring and autumn.

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