​On the bitter cold winter night of December 16, 1835 a fire caused by a burst gas pipe ignited by a coal stove broke out in lower Manhattan and burned for hours. The gale-force winds spread the flames rapidly across 17 city blocks. The frozen East River and Hudson River hampered the fire-fighting efforts. 

More than 600 wood frame buildings were destroyed. The Hudson River Brick Industry flourished during the rebuilding process as more durable brick replaced the former wooden buildings. Watch at www.hrmm.org/lecture-series for upcoming Follow the River Lectures in 2023 to learn more about the Great Fire and the Brick Industry. Come visit the brick exhibit at the Hudson River Maritime Museum.

​Listen as The History Guy gives more details.

Today, we're sharing the opening scene of the film - a dramatization of the sinking of the General Slocum, one of the worst maritime disasters in American history. Warning to sensitive viewers that this clip contains depictions of crowd panic, fire, and drownings. 

"Manhattan Melodrama" gained notoriety in the press not only for its fine acting, but also because famous gangster and bank robber John Dillinger attended the Chicago premiere and as he was leaving the theater was approached by federal agents, ran, and was shot and killed. 

The General Slocum disaster was one of the worst in American maritime history. Filled mostly with German-Americans from the Lower East Side of Manhattan on a church outing, the ship caught fire and its poor safety standards - rotted fire hoses, wired on lifeboats, untrained crew, etc. - combined with the fact that most of the passengers could not swim and the swift currents near Hell Gate in New York Harbor (where the fire had broken out) meant that the vast majority of the passengers were drowned or killed by the fire. Of particular horror were the fact that the crumbling cork lifejackets had been filled with iron bars to bring them up to standard weight. Children hastily bundled into lifejackets and tossed overboard by parents drowned instantly. Bodies washed up on shore for days afterward.

The General Slocum disaster clearly left an imprint on American and New York minds, judging by its feature in "Manhattan Melodrama" and other films and books, including James Joyce's Ulysses. The disaster had the highest civilian deaths in American history (over 1,200) until September 11, 2001. 

If you'd like to learn more about the General Slocum disaster, join us this Wednesday, June 8, 2022 at 7:00 PM EST for a virtual lecture by Edward T. O'Donnell, author of the book Ship Ablaze: The Tragedy of the Steamboat General Slocum​. 

You can also learn more from the New York Public Library's article, "​The General Slocum Disaster of June 15, 1904."

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

Editor's Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article written by George W. Murdock, for the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman newspaper in the 1930s. Murdock, a veteran marine engineer, wrote a regular column. Articles transcribed by HRMM volunteer Adam Kaplan. For more of Murdock's articles, see the "Steamboat Biographies" category.

No. 3- Isaac Newton
The “Isaac Newton" was built for William H. and Curtis Peck in 1846 (sic). The hull was of wood, constructed by William H. Brown, and her engine was a product of the Allaire Iron Works. Her original length was 38 feet but she was rebuilt in 1885 and was thereafter 405 feet in length.

The intentions of the owners were to use the new boat as a dayliner and to name her the “George Washington,” but while she was still on the ways she was sold to the People’s Line, who had her christened the “Isaac Newton” in honor of one of the principal owners of the line, who was a pioneer steamboat man.

The “Isaac Newton” had but two decks during the first nine years of her existence, but she was rebuilt in 1885 by John Englis of Greenpoint, and a third tier of staterooms was added, thus making her the second three-decker to appear on the Hudson river; the first being the “New World,” which had a third deck added the previous year. The “Isaac Newton” and the “New World,” when rebuilt into three-deckers were the most beautifully furnished and numbered among the celebrated steamboats of the world.

​The two upper decks, aft of the engine trunk, were arranged in the form of large apartment galleries, and the ceiling of these decks sported enormous glass chandeliers, lighted by gas. The effect of this decoration was pronounced the most beautiful that had been conceived and the novel arrangement was copied not only on many paddle-wheel boats but on large ocean steamships as well.

​The “Isaac Newton” met her fate December 5, 1863. She left the foot of Cortlandt street at 5 o’clock in the evening, carrying 150 passengers, and when passing Fort Washington point, her starboard boiler exploded, sprinkling the deck with hot coals, and enveloping her from stem to stern with raging flames. The towboat “Herald” of Rondout, with Captain Harry Barber in command, was instrumental in saving many lives at this disaster. In all, 10 passengers lost their lives. By most fortunate circumstances the others were rescued by small boats of the “Herald” and the “Daniel S. Miller.” Among the dead were two brothers who made their home in Troy, named John and James Hodgso. The rescued passengers and crew were landed in Yonkers. The steamer was totally destroyed.

​Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in the Hudson River Maritime Museum's 2017 issue of the Pilot Log.

The economic, military and social history of New York is inextricably linked to the role of its abundant waterways and deep harbors. The pervasive influence of shipping and naval defense in the development of the state over four centuries of Euro-American history is rarely recognized.  Historians have investigated some of its highlights, such as the pioneering efforts of Fulton and Livingston in the development of steam propulsion, New York’s role in the development of scheduled packets, and the state’s contributions to the clipper ship, but far less is known about the workaday ships, boats and barges that built and sustained the economy and security of New Yorkers well into the twentieth century.  Even less is known about the highly skilled individuals who made their lives building and operating these craft or the communities of sailors and mariners that they formed. Underwater archaeology is a relatively new avenue of inquiry that can offer new and important insights into this history.

New York State’s extensive waterborne navigation and trade inevitably led to accidents and sinkings.  The state’s numerous waterways, and cold fresh waters have in many instances preserved these ships, their cargoes, and their people.  It is estimated that there may be 10,000 shipwrecks in New York.  At least 300 have been observed through remote sensing in the Hudson River alone. The State’s bottomlands represent one of the greatest maritime museums in North America.  As such, this extensive collection of shipwrecks and all they contain must be managed and interpreted for the benefit of all.

​While not as immediately accessible as our brick and mortar museums, wreck sites offer direct and unbiased evidence of the past, including both familiar and unfamiliar episodes. Documented shipwrecks and submerged battlefields have provided dramatic insights into New York’s role in the French and Indian War, the naval defense of the Hudson River and Lake Champlain during the Revolutionary War, and the Battle of Plattsburgh Bay during the War of 1812. As expected, well-preserved canal boats have been found in deep water in the Finger Lakes and Lake Champlain and larger carriers under steam and sail have been documented in the approaches to New York harbor and in lakes Erie and Ontario. The physical and archaeological integrity of New York’s shipwrecks comes as a surprise to many. In the cold deep waters of the Great Lakes, sailing ships are often physically complete with masts still erect, as if someone placed a plastic ship model in an aquarium.  Some contain human remains and the personal effects of those who perished.  Canal boats in the Finger Lakes have been seen with window glass in the cabins and household items scattered inside.  In the Hudson River, sunken sloops are sometimes protected by deep accumulations of sediment and still contain undelivered freight such as a deck load of brick or a hold full of intact earthenware -- virtual time capsules of life and industry in the nineteenth century.

Unexpected wreck sites have also appeared. Often, these challenge our understanding of the past.  In recent years, our underwater museum revealed the presence of a fantastic, multi-faceted French and Indian War gun battery fitted with gunports and propelled by sweeps; forensic minute-by-minute evidence of evolving ship formations during the Battle of Valcour Island in 1776; alternatives to the pivoted centerboard in commercial sloops and schooners; sailing canal boats with hinged masts for transit through canal, river and lake; and cargoes of commodities and manufactured goods reflecting the evolving economy of the Empire State.  Imagine the insights to be learned when, in the future, we discover the wreck of a seventeenth-century sloop engaged in trade between New York, Albany and perhaps the West Indies?

Challenges
 All museums face challenges in keeping the lights on, caring for and preventing the loss of collections, establishing appropriate climate control and finding new educational approaches to engage with ever-changing audiences.  New York’s underwater museum is no different.  There is little public money available to help.  The artifacts in this museum are constantly under threat of theft and vandalism, and there is no hope of meeting museum climate control standards.  Perhaps the biggest challenge is indifference.  For all but few, shipwrecks are truly ‘out of sight, out of mind’.  As a consequence, state and federal agencies have been slow to address the much needed management and protection of these resources.  Progress in this area is further complicated by the fact that no single New York State agency is responsible for managing archaeological properties on the state’s bottomlands.  A series of state agencies[1] have tangential jurisdictions and policies related to shipwrecks and underwater lands, but without unified leadership, new and more effective policies and approaches are unlikely to emerge. 

The underwater museum is also beset by a long list of myths and misconceptions spread by fiction writers, treasure hunters and hucksters.  The actual laws relating to shipwrecks and cultural resources are virtually unknown.[2] Many falsely believe that shipwrecks are primarily important for the gold they may have and that the principle of “finders-keepers” is valid, allowing divers to take whatever they want from historic wreck sites.  Some believe that newly discovered wreck sites may be “arrested” by salvors for private enrichment, setting the stage for negotiations with the state over what may be taken and what may be given back to the state.  In New York State, disturbing historic shipwrecks for anything other than permitted archaeological investigation is prohibited.  Unfortunately, the theft of archaeological materials is difficult to investigate and rarely a priority for law enforcement.  In addition, many fail to appreciate that most materials submerged underwater for long periods of time cannot survive removal from the water without laboratory treatment.  Many ‘would-be collectors’ have discovered this the hard way when their prized wooden souvenirs turn to dust and are lost forever.

Those wishing to visit the underwater museum may inadvertently damage its collections through carelessness.  Unlike brick and mortar museums which provide staff and are able to greet visitors as they enter and leave, our underwater lands are unstaffed and unable to ask patrons to refrain from handling the exhibits or maintaining buoyancy control. Over time, divers can damage fragile wrecks by anchoring boats to wrecks, climbing onto and into wrecks, and handling or snagging fragile elements such as rails, tillers, wheels and small parts. The practice of dragging an anchor until it snags a wreck is particularly damaging. Eventually, it destroys the wreck. An especially well-preserved canal boat in Seneca Lake was ruined some years ago when a dive boat anchor pulled her fragile cabin off and left it upside down in the mud. Dive preserves with independently anchored mooring buoys effectively prevent this kind of damage and must be expanded throughout the state.
 
​History has stirred the imagination of others who would remove entire wrecks and place them on land for exhibit.  In all but a handful of attempts, these projects have underestimated the long-term cost of recovering and conserving a shipwreck, and overestimated the public funding and gate receipts available to finance these projects. This is a recipe for defeat and destruction. Failed recoveries in New York State in the early twentieth-century included a French and Indian War sloop in Lake George, the Revolutionary War gunboat Duke of Cumberland and the armed Revolutionary War schooner Royal Savage. The poster child for all that can go wrong with such projects is the Great Lakes schooner Alvin Clark in Michigan. The intact 1847 schooner was raised by enthusiastic amateurs in 1969 and after being pumped out actually floated on her own keel. Full of determination but with little appreciation of the costs involved and no realistic plan for conserving the ship or financing the operation, the project quickly soured, ruining the schooner and the project’s chief promoter. The sinking, rotting and collapsing schooner was dragged onto land where she was bulldozed only 25 years later. Successful recoveries are rare. They require a publically compelling ship, a science-based plan for long-term conservation, and a sober budget with realistic sources of continuing revenue. The Swedish warship Vasa, Henry VIII’s flagship Mary Rose, the Confederate submarine Hunley and the turret from the U.S. ironclad Monitor are among the very few success stories to date.
 
Environmental conditions present challenges as well. While in-situ preservation, the equivalent of “do no harm” in medicine, is often the best available option for most wreck sites, chemical degradation including oxidation, biological agents including mussels and worms and natural forces including erosion and moving debris all play a role in the gradual deterioration of shipwrecks. These forces are greatly lessened in deep, cold fresh water, but are still present.  The advent of invasive species such as zebra mussels represents a new and growing threat. Mussels rapidly colonize wrecks, hasten the degradation of iron fasteners and add considerable weight to fragile structures.
 
Historic wreck sites may also be damaged through dredging, the remediation of contaminated bottomland soils, and the construction of pipelines, cable conduits, bridges, marinas and bulkheads. While these undertakings are reviewed and licensed by state and federal agencies[3], the destruction of archaeological resources typically proceeds if alternatives are found to be impractical. Attempts are made to offset the destruction through recordation and, in some instances, the salvage and conservation of some artifacts.

Opportunities
New York’s rich and extensive collection of historic shipwrecks provides a rare educational opportunity to re-examine the past and to gain fresh insights into how this state evolved into the Empire State.
 
In order for shipwrecks to become meaningful to the public, they must first become much more accessible. Scuba diving is not for everyone and not all wreck sites are or should be visited by divers due to depth, hazardous conditions or fragility. For divers, historic shipwrecks throughout the state that are safe and interesting should be identified and designated as submerged heritage preserves and equipped with anchored mooring buoys and orientation signage.[4] Submerged heritage preserves support tourism and have positive economic impacts for host communities. Divers and their families spend money on lodgings, restaurants, local retailers and other area attractions in addition to air fills and boat charters.  For non-divers and divers alike, wrecks can be made virtually accessible on land through imaginative interpretation. Traditional museum interpretive techniques including photography, graphics, sonar images, conserved artifacts, models and touch screen monitors that encourage topical exploration have an important function. New techniques such as shore-side information and signage, underwater video footage, virtual tours and real-time monitoring should also be explored in order to further enhance these experiences.
 
Sound museum practice requires shared goals, a well-defined management structure and accountable leadership in order to protect the public’s interest and the future benefits of collections. Incidentally, these are the same elements required in protecting our land and water resources. As codified by the federal Abandoned Shipwrecks Act of 1987, historic shipwrecks are in most instances public resources that must be managed by each state for the educational and recreational benefit of the public. In spite of the efforts of dedicated civil servants, educators, and technical experts over more than three decades, New York State government has yet to create the coherent management structure anticipated by the Act. Until it does so, the state cannot fully tackle the needs of these resources nor fully realize their potential benefits. In the interim, our brick and mortar maritime museums can help by convening interested individuals, supporting surveys, establishing inventories, creating exhibits and engaging the public in the continuing quest to learn, conserve and promote preservation and strong diving ethics. We must also educate our elected representatives and agency officials on the important role they can play in supporting this work through improved management, law enforcement and grants to not-for-profit organizations.        

Harris Nelson woke up on a normal day in January, 1906 not knowing he, his son, and fifteen others would be swallowed by the earth just after lunch.

Harris was a merchant in the small but prosperous town of Haverstraw, located approximately 60 miles south of the Hudson River Maritime Museum in New York’s Rockland County. The day Harris Nelson died the town boasted around 6,000 residents, with a population nearly double that today. Inventively called “Bricktown” more often than not, Haverstraw in 1906 was still benefiting from the Hudson River brick industry boom following the great New York City fires of 1835 and 1845, which left hundreds of wooden structures destroyed and a huge demand for brick as a less flammable building material. The Hudson River Valley, with its abundance of clay deposits left behind in the wake of post-glacial lakes nearly 12,000 years ago, stood up to answer the demand. Including the one in Haverstraw, over 40 brick factories cropped up along the Hudson, and where there were factories, there were often mines. 

​During most of the 19th century, clay was extracted from beneath Haverstraw until its residents lived and worked on hollow ground. The eventual and somewhat inevitable partial collapse of the mine began without fanfare, a slow cracking of the ground that some Haverstraw residents paid no mind. When it was evident homes and lives were in danger, it was too late for Harris and Benjamin Nelson, both of whom were either crushed in the collapse or killed by the ensuing fire, sparked by the toppled stoves of destroyed homes. The initial disaster took twelve lives, the additional five lost by men and women rushing to the aid of their neighbors.  

​Adding fuel to the literal fire was the frigid weather, which discouraged residents from leaving their homes, as well as a water main break that prevented fire-fighters from dousing the flames. It seemed that residents were attacked on several fronts by forces that merged to make the clay pit disaster an incredibly deadly one. And yet, Haverstraw’s residents carried on in its wake, and managed to rebound from the landslide of 1906 to continue as a place worthy of the name “Bricktown.” Remembering this dark spot in Hudson River history is not merely a cautionary tale in resource depletion; Haverstraw’s ability to carry on and grow into the diverse and history-rich village it is today also serves as a needed reminder that there’s a tomorrow after even the worst of times.