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 volunteers Carl and Joan Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published March 19, 1973.

To a boatman, particularly a steamboatman, there was always something special about getting ready to go into commission in the spring of each year.
​
In the days of long ago, all steamboats and most tugboats would be layed up for the winter season as the river froze over in December.  In spring, when the days got longer and the ice broke up, the boats would get ready to go back into operation.  Then, it was a new season — you knew spring had really arrived.
 
On a tugboat, the crew would report aboard in the early morning.  All the new lines, supplies for the galley, mattresses, blankets and sheets and other supplies for the new season were brought aboard.  The cook would be rushing around getting the galley ready and cooking the first meal, which usually had to be prepared quickly.  Generally, he would go over to Planthaber’s on the Strand in Rondout and order his supplies for the first few days.  When these came down to the dock, they always looked as if they would last a month.

​Coaling Up
 
Then the tug would go down to the coal pocket and coal up.  The smell of dryed [sic] new paint in the fireroom and on top of the boilers, the soft hiss of the steam, and the pleasant aroma of the soft coal smoke made one so hungry, he could eat almost anything that was put before him.
 
Outside, the freshly painted cabins and coamings, the big shiny black smokestack with its yellow base, the glistening nameboards, and the new pennant on the jackstaff gently waving in the clean spring air suddenly made everything right with the world. 
 
Then when the tug started away from the dock for the first time, to feel and hear her softly throbbing engine, and the gentle wake of the water around her bow and stern were all sounds a boatman never forgets.
 
Down off Port Ewen, the tug would generally blow a series of salutes on the whistle.  It seemed there was always someone in the crew from Port Ewen.  Often you could see someone on shore or from the upper window of a house waving back with a towel or maybe even a bed sheet.  How clear and pleasant the whistle would sound in the early spring evening.  It was great to be back in commission!

That First Meal
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And the first big meal— generally steak.  The table would be set with a fresh red and white checked table cloth and the cook would be wearing a big white apron—probably the cleanest it would be all year! The meal never tasted better.
 
And then to go to sleep on the first night in a comfortable bunk with nice, clean fresh sheets and blankets in a newly painted cabin was indeed pleasant.  Of course, after a hard day of getting lines and equipment all aboard, I am sure one could have slept soundly on a bed of hard rock!
 
It was much the same on the steamboats.  All the clean white paint, the fire and boat drills, old friendships renewed among returning crew members, the freshness of it all.  Somehow on that first day she went into commission — for that one day at least — if you were a deckhand you would completely forget all the white paint you would have to scrub, all the brass you would have to polish, all the decks you would have to wash down, all the lines at all the landings you would have to handle, and the thousands of deck chairs you would have to fold up and stow before the new season would come to its end in the fall.

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Need a break from the snow and cold? Take a virtual tour of the Hudson River in 1949!

Featuring the historic Hudson River steamboat Robert Fulton, this 1949 film by the The Reorientation Branch Office of the Undersecretary Department of the Army, discusses the reorganization of the Hudson River Day Line Company briefly, before diving into a film version of what a trip up the Hudson would have looked like at that time. Lots of beautiful shots of the boats themselves as well as the Hudson River Day Line Pier in Manhattan. Sights seen include the New York skyline, George Washington Bridge, Palisades, the Ghost Fleet, a visit to Bear Mountain State Park, Sugar Loaf Mountain, West Point, Storm King Mountain, Bannerman's Island, Newburgh, Poughkeepsie, taking the bus to FDR's home in Hyde Park, Sunnyside, and back again.

The Robert Fulton was built in 1909 in Camden, New Jersey by the New York Shipbuilding Co. for Hudson River Day Line. It operated from 1909-1954. In 1956 it was sold for conversion to a community center in the Bahamas.

Many thanks to the Town of Clinton Historical Society for sharing this wonderful film. 

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In this "Featured Artifact" post, we're examining two cloth items in our collection - a pair of hat bands from the Hudson River Day Line.

Much like Naval ships, steamboat crews wore formal uniforms and there was a hierarchy of crew within each department. Of the two hatbands, one is a more general one that simply reads "Day Line," indicating the crew member worked for the Hudson River Day Line steamboat company.

​The other hatband, reading, "2nd Mate," indicates the rank of the bearer. Second Mates are usually third in command of a vessel (behind the Captain or Master and First Mate) and usually act as watchkeeper, ensuring crew rotate through four hour watches and managing vessel safety and security. Sometimes they also serve as navigator. 

Both of these hatbands date to the 1930s, a time when the Hudson River Day Line was at its height. 

In this photograph of Hudson River Day Line senior staff of the steamboat Peter Stuyvesant, from 1947, you can see the uniforms and the clear ranks on their hats. The captain (Frank Briggs) wears a white hat to differentiate him from other officers. His hat band insignia is larger and clearly reads "Captain."

Although difficult to read in this image, the other officers are also wearing hatbands clearly denoting their ranks. To the left of the captain is the Chief Engineer, and to the left of him, the First (1st) Mate. To the far right, seated, is the Purser, the man responsible for ticketing and purchases aboard the ship. Can you tell what the other hat bands say?

Note also that the senior officers wear double-breasted jackets, and the junior officers single-breasted jackets. 

Unfortunately, only Captain Frank Briggs is identified in this image. If you recognize any of these men, please let us know! 

By the 1960s, all crew hats were changed to white, but the uniforms were changed and, depending on the department, became less formal.

​Did you or anyone you know work aboard a Day Line vessel? What was their role? Tell us in the comments!

​For a number of years prior to World War I, the Hudson River Day Line always layed up the “Mary Powell” and the “Albany’’ for the winter at the Sunflower Dock at Sleightsburgh on Rondout Creek.  At that time, Mr. Eben E. Olcott was president of the Day Line.
 
During the winter of 1917, both the ‘Powell’’ and the ‘Albany’ were, as usual, layed up at the Sunflower Dock.  Across the creek on the Rondout side, both Donovan and Feeney had boat yards. 
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Both shipyards had built canal barges and launched them in the ice.  Also, they were loading the new barges with ice to ship to New York when navigation opened again in the spring.  And, where they had taken in the ice, there were various channels cut in a multiplicity of different ways.  Anybody not knowing this and trying to walk over the ice at night would be necessarily taking his life in his own hands.

Snow and Sleet
On the night I am writing about, it started to snow and sleet about 6 p.m.  And, at that time, Phil Maines of Rondout was the ship keeper on the ‘‘Mary Powell.”
 
About 11 p.m. Phil thought he would take a walk around to see if everything was all right before taking a nap.  As he started up the companionway, he thought he heard someone walking on the deck above and trying to open the doors.  He knew he had left one door unlocked, so he went up on deck and stood in the dark behind the unlocked door, waiting for whoever it was to come in.
 
After a while the door slid back and a man walked in.  Phil, standing in the dark, said, “Stick up your hands! Who’s there?”
 
The reply came back swiftly, “It’s Mr. Olcott, Phil, only me.  I thought I’d drop around and see if everything was all right.”
 
He was Lonesome
So, together, they went down to the winter kitchen, which was on the main deck for the keeper’s use in winter, and had a cup of coffee.  Mr. Olcott said he was staying over night in Kingston, had gotten a little lonesome and so thought he would come over and see Phil for awhile.  After he had stayed for about 15 minutes, he said he was tired and thought he’d go back to his hotel and get some rest before morning.  Phil took him back across the creek, this time with a lantern.
 
How Mr. Olcott ever got over to the “Powell” without falling through the ice in the many ice channels was not only a streak of good luck for the president of the Hudson River Day Line, but something of a miracle in itself.

​                                                    A Surreptitious Christening
The centuries-old tradition of christening a ship with champagne or similar liquid was carried on by Thomas S. Marvel at his shipyard in Newburgh - or at least it was until Saturday morning, March 31, 1906, when the magnificent steamer Hendrick Hudson was launched for the Hudson River Day Line. Thomas S. Marvel would not launch a vessel, no matter how small, without this ritual - nor would he willingly launch any hull on a Friday.
 
Eben Erskine Olcott (“E.E.”), the President of the Day Line, was a strict teetotaler, and he decreed that the new steamer would be christened with a bottle of Catskill Mountain spring water. It might have been a fitting ritual for a Hudson River steamboat, but not quite what Captain Marvel had in mind. On the day of the launching, the sponsor, Miss Katherine Olcott, E.E.’s five-year-old daughter, and the invited guests stood upon the sponsor’s platform. There were assembled Miss Olcott, her mother and father, other members of the Olcott family and many dignitaries. Among the latter were S.D. Coykendall, President of the Cornell Steamboat Company and Stevenson Taylor, then Vice President of the W. & A. Fletcher Company (the prime contractor for Hendrick Hudson and builder of her engine and boilers) and later President of the American Bureau of Shipping.
 
At the first movement of the slender, red lead-painted hull, Miss Olcott broke the bottle of spring water over her stern, proclaiming, “I christen thee Hendrick Hudson.” And in that manner the new steamer was well and truly baptized, or so it appeared from the vantage point of the sponsor’s party. However, the bottle of spring water, ornamented with white ribbon and sterling silver, and suspended by a white cord, was not the only christening fluid used that day, nor was Katherine Olcott the only sponsor.
 
Eschewing his rightful position among the dignitaries on the platform, Thomas S. Marvel attended to a much more important task. He dispatched one of the yard workers to a nearby saloon on South William Street for a bottle of champagne. Upon the messenger’s return with the flask of the best French bubbly, the seventy-two year-old shipbuilder took up a position far aft and well out of sight of the devoutly dry Olcotts. When the massive hull began to move, he christened the vessel in a manner more appropriate to shipbuilding-but with no festive ribbons, no formality, simply a shower of champagne and broken glass that would assure good fortune for the new Day Line flagship. Thomas Marvel retreated quickly to safe ground once his task was completed. The Marvel family claimed that his escape from the massive oncoming structure was perilously close.
 
E.E. Olcott apparently never knew of the second christening, but Hendrick Hudson, her good fortune assured, went on to a successful forty-five year life on the river.

In 2004 the Steamship Historical Society of America produced the documentary film, "Steamboats: On the Hudson." Featuring footage from rarely seen private collections and from public archives, including scenes of the famous Robert Fulton, the last Hudson steamboat powered by a walking-beam engine. Historian Roger Mabie of Port Ewen contributes his first-hand knowledge of Hudson River steamboat history, and noted steam expert Conrad Milster offers perspective on the machinery that drove the era. The film also features Hudson River Maritime Museum Curator Emerita, Allynne Lange. 

In April, 2020, the Steamship Historical Society of America shared this documentary film on their YouTube channel, which allows us to share it with you!

For over 150 years steamboats ruled the Hudson River, carrying passengers and freight between Albany and New York, and the many river communities in between. This program looks back at the golden age of steam, when spit and polish, and elegant surroundings marked a style of travel that has now disappeared.

The Hudson is where steam navigation began, and it is where the American river steamer reached its ultimate expression, with enormous paddle-wheeled vessels carrying over 5,000 passengers. 

Featuring still photographs, historic film footage, and interviews, "Steamboats: On the Hudson" documents the evolution of steam vessels on the Hudson, from the early 1800s up to the final trip of the steamer Alexander Hamilton​ in 1971. 

​We hope you enjoy this engaging and informative documentary film. 

​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: Hudson River Maritime Museum is pleased to feature this post by William Stewart Lindsay. He describes his introduction to the museum: "Having listened to your Museum’s interesting podcast interview with the Mariner’s Mirror (https://snr.org.uk/the-mariners-mirror-podcast/) , I am writing to you with details of a journey up the Hudson River, from New York to Albany, in October 1860, by my ancestor William Schaw Lindsay MP." Thank you, Mr. Lindsay, for accepting the museum's invitation to share this article.

Lindsay was on a tour of the Northern States to discuss potential improvements to the Navigation Laws. Born in Ayrshire, Scotland, and brought up in relative poverty, he spent nine years at sea. He became a successful ship’s broker in London, and owned one of the largest shipping companies in the UK at the time. He was elected MP for Sunderland, and advised the government on Maritime matters. He wrote extensively, and twenty or so of his journals are now housed in the National Maritime Museum in London.
​
He was greatly impressed with his trip up the Hudson River. He wrote to his brother-in-law Robert Stewart…
I think that the sail from New York to Albany is one of the finest of its kind in the world; and it is greatly enhanced by the size and beauty of the boats on which you make the trip, and the conveniences, and luxury, of their apartments. The view of the great city on a fine bright morning is in itself, with its domes and spires and busy hum of life, a sight of considerable interest.
 
Then with Jersey City on the opposite shore and Staten Island in the distance, studded with beautiful villas, it forms altogether a most attractive scene. Sailing rapidly past the almost interminable streets, and wherein there lay moored fleets of great ships, towering steamers, and river craft of various kinds, we soon reach the “Palisades”, precipices which rise in some places 500 feet above the river in an almost straight line from their base, richly wooded on their summits, and extending full 20 miles along the Southern shore of the Hudson.
 
From thence to Sing Sing which is 33 miles from New York, there is a succession of charming country residences. Here the river Croton joins the Hudson, and 2 miles further on the aqueduct which carries its clear water to the Metropole, commences. Perhaps no city in the world has a better or longer supply of water than New York, and should it ever reach London in size the Croton River will be far more than sufficient for all its wants.
 
Lindsay then continues, praising the building of the aqueduct. He says that it reminds him of the great work that his bother-in-law Robert carried out, bringing water to the City of Glasgow in Scotland, from Loch Katrine. Robert was Lord Provost of Glasgow at the time, and had to overcome many objections from his colleagues to enable the project to go ahead.
 
Lindsay explains to Robert that the rough weather has prevented him from writing more on this part of the journey. He proceeded up the river on the Persia, one of the Cunard Line ships. He continues…
 
There is no easing in the Cunard line. They have got their works to do in a given time and they go to it full steam ahead right against any gale and clean through the waves so that the green seas in a solid body wash right on the forecastle head when the ship is driving against a gale of wind and are only prevented from washing right aft by the “driving boards” – strait planks stretching across the ship on the fore part of the main deck.
 
As the gale still blows from the Westward and the ocean swell is coming from the Eastward the sea is consequently very confused, and even the Persia is rolling and pitching and at times bobbing up and down with heavy thumps or swaying like a great Yankee rocking chair. I hope we are not going to have a gale from the East for though an old sailor I hate a gale of wind at sea especially when it is right ahead. Everybody in the shape of a passenger is sick and even the sailors look like drenched scarecrows. Then, as the water in sheets of spray flys [sic] over the deck, there is no chance of breathing fresh air unless at the expense of a ducking. So I cannot get out, and here I sit jammed between the sofa and the table with a portfolio before me and an ink stand that every now and again makes a start as if it was determined to fly to the other side of the ship. It is most unpleasant and the only consolation that one gets is the announcement from one of the mates to one of the stewards “that we are going have a regular sneezer* right ahead.” [*A sneezer was an ancient sea term for a gale of wind]. I hate “sneezers right ahead” for they not only disturb one’s equilibrium and stomach and temper but they set everything cracking and jaunting and  splashing, so that I took the liberty of telling the mate that if he’d no better news to give us he would better hold his tongue.

However I shall endeavour to banish all these unpleasant feelings, by going back in imagination to the South waters of the Hudson and endeavour to make more progress with my log of an idle hour than I did yesterday, in spite of the increasing gale.

Conspicuous from the river, and within a mile of Sing Sing, where the waters of Croton commence their artificial course to New York, may be seen the great prison of the State. I was told that the building for the male prisoners was about 500 feet in length with accommodation for 1000 persons, and that for the females three fourths as large. The whole, with outbuildings and yards (for there are no walls round the ground) within the circle of the sentry’s march, occupying about 130 acres.
 
Passing various pretty towns and villages we next reach Caldwell’s landing at the foot of the Dunderberg mountains a very fine and extreme range from which I was informed the view is truly grand and also beautiful. Amidst these mountain ranges the river Hudson forces its course smooth and placid in some parts and at others writhing and rushing in abrupt courses, as if struggling to be released from its iron bound limits.
 
The Hudson here in my opinion far exceeds in grandeur and in beauty any part of the Rhine, Though there are no views of Feudal castles to diversify the scene, there are the modern villas of the merchants of a great and free country – objects to my taste much more interesting that the emblems of a dark and barbaric age which only remind us of the despots who were once their lords and by their reminiscences cast a gloom over earths finest regions.
 
Here Lindsay discusses his impressions of American River Steamboats. He was very impressed with them as he explained…
 
In the midst of this mountain range stands West Point the celebrated military school or college. Here the Daniel Drew stopped to land and embark passengers, the first berthing place since we started from New York from which it is distant 54 miles. We arrived there at 8.20am and had performed the journey in 2 hours and 12 minutes, for I timed it, or at the rate of 25 miles an hour with the wind somewhat ahead of us and a slack tide neither for or against the steamer. I never was in a boat that steamed at anything like her speed and I afterwards learned that the Daniel Drew, American built and engines, was the fastest vessel in the world.
 
I had no idea of her fame when I stepped on board and indeed I had not previously heard of her. She was very much in appearance like the other ordinary passage boats on the Hudson. Her saloon on deck was light, roomy, and elegant – and her form was graceful with a very fine wedge like bow and remarkable clean stern. She moved through the water with great ease and hardly any motion, and her speed, as she passed the various points of land and vessels anchor, more resembled that of an express railway train than a steamer.
 
Her easy and swift motion attracted my attention and, learning that her builder was on board, I soon made the acquaintance of Mr Thomas Collyer of 43rd Street New York. I found Mr Collyer to be a plain sensible man; and the appearance of the Daniel Drew and her performance sufficiently testified to his abilities as a builder of great skill and knowledge. From Mr Collyer I ascertained her dimensions and follows:
Length over all                                             250 feet
Breadth without the usual platform            30½ ditto
Depth from main deck to flat of floor          9½ feet

Lindsay then continues with his description of his journey…
 
I have I fear detained you too long at West Point but the performance of the Daniel Drew induced me to make the remarks I have done in regard to the speed and comfort of our sea going steamers. I must now ask you to accompany me to Albany.

Leaving West Point, which in scenery and in its association is one of the most attractive spots on the Hudson, we pass Crescent, one of the finest of the mountain groups and reach Storm King the last of the range of these Highlands.
 
We then meet scenery if not as grand, quite as beautiful, and from the numerous villages  and well-kept lawns, and magnificent clusters of trees,  interspersed with rocks of sparkling granite, more picturesque. From thence we see the pretty town of Undercliff, pass swiftly on the Island of Pollepel and thereafter the bay of Newburgh around which are the graceful villages of New Windsor, Cornwall, Fishkill and Newburgh.
 
A few miles further on we come to the Town or “City" of Poughkeepsie, entertaining a population of 15000 and situated 75 miles from New York. Five miles further on we reach the village of “Hyde Park” on the Eastside of the river, and in the midst of a country of great fertility studied with handsome villas, and apparently thriving homesteads.
 
From this point to the base of the lofty range of hills known as the Catskills, the scenery is exceedingly beautiful and very interesting. Nor is it much less so from thence to Albany, as we pass a member of thriving towns and pretty villages amongst which may be noted Athens and Stockport,  and various other places the names of which I now forget.
 
Albany is situated 145 miles from New York and the rapidity of the Daniel Drew’s passage gave me close upon five hours to spare before the train started for Niagara. I employed the spare time at my disposal in strolling through the Town or rather “City” as that is the name given to any place in America containing more than 10,000 inhabitants. I think they are all either villages or corporate cities.
 
Albany is an old and somewhat aristocratic city containing 65,000 inhabitants, and it is the capital of the State of New York. It is pleasantly situated on high ground rising from the Hudson and carries on a considerable trade with the West and North by means of the Erie and also the Chaplain canals: and it is besides, the point from which many important lines of railway diverge. The streets are wide and in many cases lined with trees, and the houses are well built, and to all natured appearances very clean. In the vicinity of the State Capital, which is an imposing building, there are many very handsome mansions.
​

​Here, Lindsay ended his description of his journey on the Hudson River. Many years later, in 1876, he published a comprehensive reference entitled ‘The History of Merchant Shipping and Ancient Commerce’ in four volumes. For many years it was a reference that many interested in shipping, turned to. In this work, he praises Robert Fulton, whose early steamer, the Clermont, on the Hudson River, paved the way for passenger steamers. He devoted several pages to Fulton. (see History of Merchant Shipping, Lindsay, Vol 4 pages 48-59). He felt that Fulton’s innovation had been overlooked.
 
His comments were also published in The Pall Mall Gazette, 26 December 1874…
 
Mr. Lindsay is deliberately of opinion that the Marquis of Worcester is the first person who ever constructed a steam engine; and that though Papin, Savery, Jonathan Hulls, the Marquis de Jouffroy, Bramah, and others, helped forward very materially the knowledge of steam as a motive power, to Fulton is due the credit of having put former discoveries and his own improvements to practical use by running a steam-boat regularly for purposes of trade. This pioneer vessel, destined to have myriads of followers, was the Clermont, which as the year 1807, only two years after Nelson had fallen at Trafalgar, plied regularly between New York and Albany, and made an average speed of five miles an hour.
 
We agree with Mr Lindsay in his strong reprobation of Rennie and other engineers who have not scrupled to call Fulton a charlatan and a quack because he made use of other men’s discoveries.
 
Lord Worcester was the first man to make a steam-engine; Watt was the first man to show how such an engine could be used to propel ships; Fulton was the first man to propel ships with steam-engines. Surely, when we reflect what steam has done for the commerce, the civilization, the happiness of the world, we can do equal homage to that triumvirate of genius without disparagement to either.
 
Poor Fulton was neither so prosperous nor so happy that we need grudge him his fair share of fame. Persecuted by jealous rivals, oppressed by the State which he had benefited, he died poor and broken hearted; but he has left behind him an enduring fame and an everlasting stigma on those who nicknamed his undertaking “Fulton’s Folly”.
 
I can’t end mentioning Fulton without this cutting. It was among Lindsay’s papers:-
 
ADVENTURES, NATIONAL CUSTOMS, AND CURIOUS FACTS.
 
FULTON'S FIRST STEAM VOYAGE,
BY R. W. HASKINS.
Some years since, I formed a travelling acquaintance, upon a steamboat on the Hudson River, with a gentleman, who, on that occasion, related to me some incidents of the first voyage of Fulton, to Albany, in his steamboat, the Clermont, which I never met with elsewhere. The gentleman’s name I have now lost, but I urged him, at the time, to publish what he related; which, however, so far as I knew, he had never done. -
 
"I chanced," said my narrator, "to be at Albany on business, when Fulton arrived there in his unheard-of craft, which everybody felt so much interest in seeing. Being ready to leave, and hearing that this craft was to return to New York, I repaired on board and inquired for Mr. Fulton. I was referred to the cabin, and there found a plain, gentlemanly man, wholly alone, and engaged in writing.
 
'Mr. Fulton, I presume?’
 ‘Yes, Sir?’
 ‘Do you return to New York with this boat?’
 'We shall try to get back, Sir.'
 `Can I have a passage down?’
 ‘You can take your chance with us, Sir.'
 
"I inquired the amount to be paid; and, after a moment's hesitation, a sum, I think six dollars, was named. The amount, in coin, I laid in his open hand; and, with an eye fixed upon it, he remained so long motionless that I supposed there might be a miscount, and said to him, 'Is that right Sir?

This roused him, as from a kind of reverie; and, as he looked up at me, a tear was trembling in his eye and his voice faltered, as he said, 'Excuse me, Sir, but memory was busy, as I contemplated this, the first pecuniary reward I have ever received for all my exertions in adapting steam to navigation. I would gladly commemorate the occasion over a bottle of wine with you, but really I am too poor, even for that, just now; yet I trust we may meet again when this will not be so.’
 
"Some four years after this, when the Clermont had been greatly improved, and two new boats made – making Fulton's fleet three boats regularly plying between New York and Albany - I took passage in one of these, for the latter city. The cabin in that day was below; and as I walked its length to and fro, I saw I was closely observed by one I supposed a stranger. Soon, however, I recalled the features of Mr Fulton; but without disclosing this, I continued my walk, and waited the result. At length, in passing his seat our eyes met, when he sprang to his feet, and eagerly seizing my hand, exclaimed, ‘I knew it must be you, for your features have never escaped me; and although I am still far from rich, yet I may venture that bottle now.’ – It was ordered; and during its discussion Mr Fulton ran rapidly but vividly over his experience of the world’s coldness and sneers, and of the hopes, fears and appointments, and difficulties that were scattered through the whole career of discovery, up to that very point of his final, crowning triumph, at which he so fully felt he had at last arrived.
 
‘And in reviewing these,’ said he, ‘I have again and again recalled the occasion and the incident of our first interview, at Albany; and never have I done so without its renewing in my mind the vivid emotion it originally caused. That seemed, and still does seem, to me, the turning point in my destiny – the dividing line between light and darkness, in my career upon earth; for it was the first actual recognition of my usefulness to my fellow men.’
 
Such, then, were the events coupled with the very dawn of steam navigation – a dawn so recent as to be still recollected by many; and such as Fulton here related them, were causing a revolution in navigation, which has almost literally brought the ends of the earth into contact.
 
Having read this, all I can say is how lucky you are that your Museum is associated with such a fine pioneer. I am sure that you serve him well. He deserves it.

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 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. 

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.  

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 volunteers Carl and Joan Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published December 16, 1973.

​In today’s jet age of airplane travel, and human nature being what it is, some people seem to take a perverse delight in recounting incidents where their flight — because of adverse weather conditions — was diverted to an airport other than that of their original destination, or now of delays encountered because of the energy crisis.  In the simpler age of steamboat travel, there were also on occasion unforeseen delays.
​ 
In that long ago era before the advent of the automobile and the airplane, virtually every trip of more than a few miles was made either by railroad or, if the destination was adjacent to navigable water, by steamboat.  Travel by steamboat was generally leisurely and delightful.  However, you always didn’t get to where you were going when you expected to. 

One such incident was related to me years ago by Captain Ed Van Woert of the Cornell tugboat “G. C. Adams.” In December 1913, Captain Van Woert had to go to New York to testify in a lawsuit being held there pertaining to damage to a schooner that occurred while being landed at Hudson some months before.  He thought he would take his wife along for the trip.

On this particular day, Captain Ed left the ‘‘Adams” at Athens and went home to get ready.  That evening, he and his wife boarded the steamer “Onteora” of the Catskill Evening Line at Athens, expecting to be in New York the following morning. 

After going aboard the “Onteora” and getting their stateroom, they had a leisurely supper in the steamer’s dining room. 

After eating, Captain Ed said to his wife, “I guess I'll go up in the pilot house awhile and talk to my friend the pilot.”’ At this point, the “Onty” was approaching the landing at Cheviot and a snow storm had set in. 

On leaving Cheviot, the "Onteora" headed for County Island to get over in the main channel.  The snow storm had increased in intensity and visibility had decreased almost to zero.  The pilot held her on the west course a little bit too long and she went hard aground just north of County Island, with her bow in about five feet of water and her stern in deep water.  They backed and backed, but she wouldn’t come off.

The tide was falling and at daybreak the next morning the "Onteora" was still hard aground.  Captain Van Woert and his wife got off in a small boat and after being rowed to shore, walked through two feet of snow to the nearest railroad station to catch a train for New York.  The “Onteora” got herself off on the next high tide and was back on her run — although nearly 12 hours late — none the worse for her mishap.

Another incident that took place about the same period, although this time during the summer, was related to me by my old friend George W. Murdock, an old time Hudson River steamboat engineer who died at his home in Ponckhockie in 1940, well into his eighties. 

On a Saturday summer’s afternoon, Mr. Murdock boarded the “William F. Romer” at her New York pier for the run to Kingston.  At that time, the “Romer" of the New York to Rondout night line regularly would leave New York on Saturday in the early afternoon and arrive at Rondout in the early evening.  Mr. Murdock’s brother-in-law, Joel Rightmyer of Ponckhockie, was the “Romer's" pilot.  On this particular trip, the “Romer” was bucking a strong ebb tide from the time she left her New York pier.

The wind, like it so often does during the summer, was blowing straight up river out of the south.  Worse yet, what breeze there was was blowing at about the same velocity as the “Romer’s" speed through the water, so that while underway the “Romer’s” flags hung limp on their poles.  Underway, it was hot, humid, virtually airless and, because of the strong ebb tide, the steamer was running later and later with each passing hour. 

Past the Palisades and up through Tappan Zee and Haverstraw Bay, the “Romer” plodded her way up river.  It wasn’t much of a day for steamboating.  Finally, the "Romer" reached the Hudson Highlands and as she approached the landing at West Point, Mr. Murdock noticed a West Shore passenger train chuffing away from Highland Falls.  He decided to leave the steamer and catch the train for the rest of his trip to Rondout,

As he was leaving the steamboat, Mr. Murdock said to his brother-in-law, “Joel, I don’t think you'll get to Kingston by nightfall." Replied Pilot Rightmyer, “Well, George, if we don’t get there today, we’ll get there tomorrow.”

Mr. Murdock boarded the train at West Point, thinking he’d get home well ahead of the steamer.  However, as luck would have it, there was a freight train stuck on the West Park hill where the tracks make their incline from the river and head inland.  His train, on the same track as the freight, stood on the tracks for what seemed like an eternity in the hot summer air. 

Finally another locomotive was sent down from Kingston and got the freight train ahead moving.  Eventually, Mr. Murdock got to Kingston and took the trolley car for Rondout.  As he was walking up Abruyn Street to his home in Ponckhockie, he glanced over his shoulder — just in time to see the top deck of the “William F. Romer” gliding past on her way in Rondout Creek to her berth on Ferry Street!
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During the 1950’s the Cunard Line had a great slogan — “Getting there is half the fun.”  Generally it was.  Sometimes, though, as it is in all forms of travel, the fraction was wrong.

​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!​​

                                                            No. 92- “New York”       
Many of the homes of this area contain a picture of a large steamboat- a colored picture showing a magnificent white passenger vessel against the background of a green towering mountain. This picture shows the steamboat “New York,” one of the vessels of the celebrated Hudson River Dayline, whose career was cut short after 21 years of service by a fire which burned her to the water’s edge.
              
The steel hull of the “New York” was built by Harlan & Hollingsworth at Wilmington, Delaware, in 1887. W. & A. Fletcher Company (North River Iron Works), of Hoboken, New Jersey, built her engine. Her hull was 301 feet long with an overall length of 311 feet, a breadth of beam of 40 feet 4 inches which widened to 74 feet over the guards, depth of hold measuring 11 feet 2 inches. Her gross tonnage was listed at 1,552 with a net tonnage rating of 1,091. The vertical beam engine of the “New York” had a cylinder diameter of 75 inches with a 12 foot stroke, and she carried three 33 foot boilers with a shell diameter 9¼ feet and front width measuring 11 feet. Her wheels, of the feathering type, were constructed of steel with 12 buckets measuring 12½ feet long by 3 feet 9 inches in width. In 1897 the “New York” was lengthened, 34 feet being added to the length of her hull making her 335 feet long and increasing her tonnage rating to 1,921 gross and 1,751 net tons.
              
The “New York” replaced the steamboat “Chauncey Vibbard,” which had been in service for years on the Hudson River Dayline. She was the second steel-hulled vessel built for the Dayline, and combined speed, luxury and beauty to surpass in elegance and appearance any marine craft built for the Hudson river up to that period.
              
The construction of the “New York” was somewhat different from the usual methods of steamboat construction, thus giving her a bit different appearance from the usual Hudson river boats. Instead of placing the shaft forward of the cylinder as in most beam engines, the cylinder was placed forward of the shaft.
              
On August 14, 1907, the “New York” made the run from New York to Albany in six hours and 13 minutes, an indication of the speed which the steamboat possessed, and together with her consort, the “Albany,” she formed a combination which was unquestionably the finest river day boat passenger steamers in the world.
              
October 1908 marked the event which indirectly led to the destruction of the “New York.” The tugboat “William Flannery” crashed into the “New York” in the North River off West 13th street, damaging the dayline steamer to such an extent around the guards, that she was taken to the Thomas Marvel Shipbuilding yards at Newburgh for repairs. On the morning of October 16, 1908, as she lay in the yards in Newburgh, fire was discovered in the after hold of the “New York.” Captain A.H. Harquart and the crew of 73 men were asleep in their berths but were aroused in time to get ashore safely. The fire gained headway so quickly that in less than five minutes from the time the alarm was sounded, the after end of the magnificent steamer was in flames. Captain Harquart realized that it would be impossible to save the vessel and ordered the crew ashore, but soon after they had landed it was discovered that four colored (sic) waiters were missing. A search of the shipyards was unsuccessful- and later it was found that the four men had been trapped below the decks by the flames and had perished.
              
The “New York” was completely destroyed and later the engine was taken from the smoke-blackened hull, rebuilt, and placed in the new steamboat “Robert Fulton,” which is now in service under the banner of the Hudson River Dayline.