In 1865, after four years of service to New York City, the steamboat Mary Powell decided to move to a new pier. Previously docking at the Jay Street pier, the influx of freight vessels loading and offloading from the same pier made it difficult and sometimes dangerous for passengers to get to and from the Mary Powell.
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Nearly every street along the Manhattan waterfront throughout the 19th century used to end in a pier. As an island with no bridges until the completion in 1883 of the Brooklyn Bridge, water was the main method of transportation for people, animals, and freight, so these piers became incredibly important. As trains and automobiles overtook boats and ships as the primary mode of moving people and goods, the piers became less and less important. The map pictured below was created in 1867 and illustrates the importance of piers to the “business portion” of lower Manhattan. 

On April 1, 1865, The World (NYC) published this short article:
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“In consequence of the immense freighting business which has accumulated at the Jay street pier, rendering it almost impassable and certainly unsafe for any one, especially ladies, to pass along the same on their way to or from steamers, Captain A. L. Anderson, of the steamer Mary Powell, has made arrangements to arrive and depart from the fine new pier No. 40 North River, foot of Debrosses street, built for the day line of Albany steamers Daniel Drew and C. Vibbard, where the nuisances and dangers are not tolerated.  Ladies can there step from carriages and passing railroad cars upon a substantial and smooth plank walk, without fear of injury to their persons or damage to their dresses.  A great reform is needed in the construction of our piers, by which passengers can be protected from the risks and annoyances they now encounter.”

The Jay Street pier was named after the street that connected Hudson Street and West Street and continued out toward Pier 32. All that is left of Jay Street today is a stretch of street one block long between Hudson and Greenwich Streets. Where Pier 32 once lay is today partially filled in and open water just to the north of Stuyvesant High School. The park area between West Street and the river as well as the land on which Stuyvesant High School now stands did not exist in the 1860s. It has been completely filled in, likely right on top of the old piers that once lined the Manhattan waterfront.

​Period newspapers lamented the state of the city piers in the 1860s. On April 13, 1865, the New-York Daily Tribune published “Our Piers, Reform Is Needed,” transcribed below:
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“Something ought to be done by our city authorities in the way of affording better arrangements for the accommodation of the thousands of passengers who daily arrive in and leave the city by steam vessels.  Most of the piers and approaches thereto, are in a most filthy condition, while others are so incumbered by freight of every description, carts, wagons, &c., that it is oftentimes, almost unsafe for a man to steer his way among the vehicles, boxes, barrels, &c.; while ladies, in order to avoid being left behind, the ruin of their dresses, or personal injury are left the only alternative of hiring a carriage at exorbitant rates to convey them a few hundred yards.  It is contended by many Captains of steamers which ply to and from tis port, that in consideration of the high rates they pay for dock privileges, they ought to have better accommodations provided them.  This could be done by the construction of piers with flat coverings or roofs, upon which persons could pass to and from the steamers by means of stairs at convenient points.  The subject is at least certainly worthy the consideration of our City Fathers.  The annoyances are [sic; "and"] serious inconveniences to which passengers are subjected, have done much toward driving the People's Line, the Albany day line, and the Norwich and Worcester line of steamers up-town, and now it is understood that Capt. A. L. Anderson of the steamer Mary Powell has resolved to follow suit, and accordingly made arrangements for the season to land at and depart from pier No. 40 N. R., foot of Debrosses st., which has been planked by the leasees, and will be kept free from incumbrances of every kind, so that ladies, while on their way to or from the steamer need not feel any apprehension as regards their personal safety or ruin of their dresses.”

​The Desbrosses Street pier would remain Mary Powell’s Manhattan landing site for the rest of her career. In the 1900s, the Hudson River Day Line company headquarters also operated out of the Debrosses Street Pier for several decades. Today, the Desbrosses Street Pier is no more. 

​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 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 August 6, 1972.

​One Saturday afternoon back in August 1926, the Cornell tugboat “Edwin H. Mead” relieved the tug “George W. Washburn” of the down tow off Yonkers. The “Washburn” was to run back up river light to the Cornell shops at Rondout to lay in and have some repairs made to her guards.
 
While the “Washburn” was running slow to pull in her towing cables, Jim Dee, her captain, and John Osterhoudt, her chief engineer, noticed the “Homer Ramsdell” of the Central Hudson Line steaming up river on her regular Saturday afternoon run to Kingston. The “Washburn’s” captain and chief decided to have some fun.
 
Chief Osterhoudt said to his firemen, “Get her hot. I want to show Howard Eaton, the chief of the ‘Ramsdell,’ what the old ‘Washburn’ can do.” The “Washburn” had exceptionally fine hull lines for a tugboat and was probably the fastest tug in the Cornell fleet.
 
When the “Washburn” hooked up, the “Homer Ramsdell” was almost a half mile ahead. Evidently Jess Travis, captain of the “Ramsdell,” and Howard Eaton, her chief, could see what the men in charge of the “Washburn” had in mind and they, too, decided to join in the fun and maintain their lead. The “Homer Ramsdell” was a fine steamboat and no slouch when it came to speed.
 
Up through Tappan Zee the “Washburn” chased the “Ramsdell,” neither gaining or losing ground. North of Tarrytown, Chief Osterhoudt of the “Washburn” decided to try some “strategy.” As used to be the case on all coal burning steamboats, the fires in the boilers had to be periodically cleaned and the ashes removed. When this would take place, the steam pressure would drop and then after the first were cleaned the steam pressure would build up again.
 

​Chief Osterhoudt said, “I’ll wait until Chief Eaton of the ‘Ramsdell’ cleans his fires at Rockland Lake. I’ll let mine go and then we’ll get alongside of her.” By watching the ‘Ramsdell’s’ smokestack and when he saw the grayish white dust coming out, he knew the ‘Ramsdell’ was cleaning fires. He then opened up the ‘Washburn’s’ throttle a little more and the “Washburn” began to gain.
 
On the “Washburn” they could see Chief Eaton of the “Ramsdell” come out in the gangway and look back to see if the “Washburn” was gaining, the chief of the “Ramsdell” thinking the “Washburn” would clean fires also, which she didn’t.
 
When they were just north of Haverstraw, the “Washburn’s” bow was even with the “Ramsdell’s” stern. That is the way they stayed for nearly 10 miles – past Stony Point, around Jones Point, and past Iona Island, Anthony’s Nose and Conn’s Hook. Finally, the “Homer Ramsdell” had to slow down for the landing at Highland Falls and the “Washburn” sped by.
 
It must have been quite a sight, the “Washburn” hanging just off the “Ramsdell’s” stern, the “Ramsdell” belching black smoke from the soft coal she burned and the “Washburn” trailing the bluish haze from her stacks from the anthracite she burned during that period. It was a sight to bring joy to the heart of any boatman. Two old timers of the Hudson having it out through the Highlands in the twilight of their lives, all forgotten about now except by aw few who remember the days gone by and never to return.
 
This incident was related to me by Fred Parslow, a long time Hudson River tugboat pilot and captain, in 1931. At the time of the “go” he had been pilot on the tugboat “Hercules” and was sailing to Rondout on the “George W. Washburn” as a passenger.
 
The “Homer Ramsdell” left the Hudson River in 1930 after the Central Hudson Line went out of existence and went to Boston. At Boston she was renamed “Allerton” and used as an excursion steamer, running to Nantasket Beach until the early 1950’s. The “George W. Washburn” continued her towing career on the Hudson River until the mid 1940’s. Both vessels were broken up, the “Washburn” in 1950 at Staten Island and the “Ramsdell” at Bordentown, N.J. in 1953.
 
(In [this] article, "Ramsdell and Washburn Have Some Fun," the chief engineer of the "George W. Washburn” was given as John Osterhoudt.  It should have read Harold (Zeke) Herdman of Kingston.)

Sometimes you run across history when you least expect it. In selecting today's steamboat biography, chosen on a whim for the name, we unexpectedly encounter steamboat captain Samuel Schuyler. Schuyler was a Black steamboat captain based in Albany operating in the 1840s and, as you'll see from the article below, a shrewd and savvy businessman. His sons later took over the family towing business. You can learn more about the Schuyler family in one of our past blog posts "Exploring the History of the Black Hudson River Schuylers."

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

The “Rip Van Winkle” was built for the Hudson river, to run between New York and Albany as a day boat. The career of this vessel forms one of the most interesting chapters in steamboat history on the river which carried the historic “Half Moon” in her quest for a short route to India.

George Collyer built the wooden hull of the “Rip Van Winkle” in 1845, and her horizontal half-beam engine was built by W.A. Lighthall. She was 242 feet, three inches long with a breadth of beam of 25 1/2 feet. She was rated at 640 tons. Her cylinder was 50 inches with a 10 foot stroke, and she carried two iron boilers on the guards, each boiler being 28 feet long with a 7 1/2 foot shell diameter.

When she first appeared, the “Rip Van Winkle” was a wonder both in performance and appearance, and she was dubbed the “steam yacht.” She was placed on the Day Line in opposition to the Troy boats, “Niagara” and “Troy,” but she failed to make the time required and was hauled off the route.

Staterooms were added to the “Rip” and she then became a night boat competing with the old People’s Line and with the famous steamboat “Belle.” The “Express” was running with the “Rip Van Winkle” at this time- making three different night lines running out of Albany in 1845. Towards the end of this season, the People’s Line bought the “Rip Van Winkle,” and in 1846 she was sent to the Delaware river to run between Philadelphia and Cape May.

​In the fall of 1846 the “Rip” was returned to New York by the People’s Line and was placed in service in opposition to the “Belle,” the only opposition vessel to the People’s Line during that period.

One morning when the “Belle” arrived in New York, her captain, Samuel Schuyler, found the “Rip Van Winkle” berthed in the slip at Park Place. Old Captain Schuyler was incensed at this action and posted bills that he would continue to operate despite all opposition, and would carry passengers to Albany free of charge [editor's note - to undercut the "Rip Van Winkle" and drive them out of business]. This was the only time in the history of the Hudson river that passengers were regularly carried on river vessels for no charge, although in later years various opposition lines did charge as low as 25 cents per person. The result of this move on the part of the foxy old captain was the retirement of the “Rip Van Winkle” from the field, leaving the “Belle” to run the balance of the season alone.

​The following year Captain Schuyler purchased the “Rip Van Winkle” and ran her in opposition to the People’s Line until 1851 when he sold her to Daniel Drew and retired from passenger traffic, devoting his time to the towing business. Daniel Drew rebuilt the “Rip Van Winkle” and during the year of 1852 ran her to Albany. Then he sold her to Captain Jacob H. Tremper who placed her in service between Rondout and New York. Later the “Rip” worked out of New York as an excursion boat, and then in 1859 she returned to Hudson river traffic, running out of Coxsackie. In 1865 she was placed on the Troy route, running in line with the “C. Vanderbilt.” She remained on this line under the direction of Captain O.T. Simmons, until 1867 when she again went to New York for excursion purposes.

During 1870 the “Rip Van Winkle” ran to the Fishing Banks, and then in 1871 she was purchased by Thomas Cornell of Rondout. In the spring of 1872 she was chartered to the Citizen’s Line, taking the place of the “Thomas Powell.”

On April 16, 1872, while on her way from Troy to New York, the “Rip Van Winkle” ran into the Maiden Lane bridge at Albany, carrying away her starboard wheel and shaft, and seriously damaging her engine and hull. No lives were lost in this accident, but the “Rip” was taken to Port Ewen and laid up until 1879.
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In the fall of that year, the “Rip Van Winkle” was towed to Rondout where her boilers and engine were removed. Back she went to Port Ewen, and there her hull was broken up by Daniel Bigler in the year 1880. Today the bell of the “Rip Van Winkle” can be seen by local residents, hanging in the tower atop the Cornell Shops in Rondout- a reminder of the once fine steamboat which sailed the waters of the Hudson.

​The following text is a verbatim transcription of "Rivals of the Hudson" published in the New York Herald on August 5, 1881. Many thanks to volunteer George Thompson for finding and transcribing this article.

Rivals of the Hudson. The Mary Powell and Albany as Speedy Travellers.
It is not a new thing for steamboats on the Hudson, in their eager competition for popular favor, to try to outrival each other in speed. This keen rivalry has been a source of endless entertainment to the denizens of the romantic banks of the American Rhine, and it has been useful at least in this, that it has given to the wayfarers in search of the beauties of the noble river the advantage of travelling on what are undoubtedly the fastest steamers in the world. No one who has travelled on the Kaiser Wilhelm or any of the others of the so-called palace steamers of the Rhine will for a moment compare them in point of speed to the Albany, the Vibbard or the Mary Powell.  But still they are not happy — the people along the Hudson River. Fast steamers they know they possess, but they want to know which is the fastest. They want a steamboat race. Though many are supposed to be of Dutch extraction, and therefore presumed to be of that staid and sober temperament opposed to the pleasure of excitement, there is no doubt that a genuine steamboat race would be one of the greatest delights of their placid lives. Life in the Hudson River towns and villages is rather dull and news is scarce. There are a number of weekly papers in the Hudson River settlements which, whenever the news budget becomes slim, immediately reopen the favorite popular topic — i.e. the steamboat race. Anything on that subject is as sure to be read with the greatest avidity as the British government is sure to pay the interest on its consols. It stirs up a ripple of excitement in the whole region, is copied from one paper into another, and soon the banks of the Hudson, from Tarrytown to Albany, reverberates with the eager question, "When will it take place?" There is something very homelike and affectionate in the staunch adherence of the people to their favorite boat. As one of the captains expressed it the other day, travel on the Hudson boats seems like a "family affair." People get into the habit of riding on a certain boat, and go by it year after year unless, indeed, their boat allows itself to be "beaten" in too transparent a fashion. There is a great deal of room for "fine figuring" on the question of comparative speed, as no formal contest has yet taken place, and it is wonderful to hear with what accuracy and precision the friends of each boat will figure out by how many revolutions of the wheels and quarter lengths the one boat has the best of the other.

The Two Rivals.
The two great rivals just at present are the Albany, of the Albany day line, and the Mary Powell, running to Kingston, both guaranteed by their owners to "whip the universe" for velocity. Each boat has a host of friends who back the opinions of respective owners and captains with the most enthusiastic positiveness as to the vastly superior swiftness of the one against the other. That there has been no formal race  — for, of course, every day that the boats are running they are trying to outdo each other  — is a source of infinite disgust to those sanguine friends of the Mary Powell and the Albany. A number of times has the contest been projected, and immense excitement along the river has been the result from the moment the race has been on the tapis. Everyone, more or less, has been wanting to bet on the result from $10,000 down to a white hat. And after a ripple of excitement the fever of anticipation has subsided into keen disappointment when it has been ascertained that there would be no race after all, and that all bets were "off.” A few people have been found, to be sure, who have been old fashioned enough to declare that it was a very good thing that no race was to take place and that no one was to be blown up, but these were outvoted by a large majority and declared to be "old fogies." The man whose heart is bent on seeing a race, and particularly such a unique contest as a race between two great palace steamers, each noted for very remarkable speed, wouldn't mind a little playful diversion like that.

Is It to Take Place?
More recently, however, reports that a race was projected and was definitely to take place as soon as the busy season was over have assumed such a tangible shape that it was thought worth while to sift these rumors, and with this view, the captains of the two boats have been sounded, and the results of the interviews are here given. It will be soon seen that though both sides think there is no comparison to be made as to the speed of each other's steamers the matter of the race is still left somewhat dubious. The engineer of the Mary Powell remarks that should a race take place, a man who could charter all the available New York Central trains to follow the boats and charge $25 a seat (or $5 more than even the extortionate Patti is reported to expect in this American El Dorado) would make his fortune. But it requires no very lively imagination to picture to one's self the scene which such a race would call forth. The two steamers, followed by a perfect cloud of craft, from the biggest ferryboats to the smallest rowboat and trains and carriages  and buggies and vehicles of every description lining the two shores and trying to keep up with the two gigantic racers for as long a time as possible. It was the universal opinion of all those whose views were sought on the question that more money would changes hands than probably at any horse race that has ever taken place in this country. It is certain that if the latest project again falls through there will be manifest disappointment, not only in betting quarters, but among many who are usually not interested either in racing or betting, but who would like to witness a trial of speed between the two steamers claiming to be the fastest in existence. And now the readers of the Herald will probably be interested to learn what the leaders of the rival hosts of steam boatmen may have to say on the subject.

Captain Anderson, of the Mary Powell.
Captain Anderson, of the Mary Powell, is a fine specimen of an old captain. He is a veteran in the service to which he has devoted over thirty years of his life. The Captain has a kindly shrewd face, but the most marked feature is an expression of predominant caution. There is a wary look out of his eyes, and his venerable gray mustache adds to this expression. One could very soon gather, even after a scant observation of the man, that however much the reputation of the Mary Powell might be dear to him, and though he would, no doubt, like to establish her superior speed as against that of the hated rival, he would still think more of the solid popular belief in her safety, which, he fears, might be endangered by such a devil-may-care proceeding as a race. When he spoke of the Mary Powell as being too much of a "family boat" for such a reckless procedure one could see that the proud glistening of his eyes, as he pronounced the words, spoke well for the safety of the lovely mothers and darling infants which are so numerously placed under his care on every trip. Of course, as will be seen later on in an interview with the Captain of the Albany, the latter sneers at this noble regard for the "family boat" feeling and pooh-poohs it, declaring that the Albany is just as much of a "family boat," and that he, nevertheless, would be perfectly willing to consent to a race. But, for all that, the "family" feeling will probably be on the side of Captain Anderson, and future generations will be grateful to him for not having exposed them in their present tender state of babyhood to the ignominy of having been conveyed up or down the river in what Captain Anderson gravely fears might be forever after dubbed a "racing boat."

How the Albany's Model Was Spoiled.
"What about the proposed race between your boat and the Albany?" the captain was asked.

"Well, I have heard a great deal about it," the good Captain replied with a smile.

​"The weekly papers along the river have made a great outcry about it of late, but then they always do it when news gets scarce."

"Do I understand you, Captain, that it is only talk then, and that no race will be arranged?"

"Oh, I really can't tell you anything definite," the Captain replied.  "All I can say is that the Mary Powell is not afraid."

"You think she is really the faster boat of the two, Captain?"

That word "really" seemed to be a little too much for the Mary Powell's commander.

"Why, I know she is," he replied in energetic tone; "the Mary Powell is the fastest boat in the world.  She hasn't her equal anywhere."

"How about the Albany?"

"Well, the Albany is a good boat, too; but unfortunately she's ben spoiled. You see, her model is all wrong. She'd be a very fast boat and might catch up with the Mary Powell if she had not been built six feet too wide across. They ought to have modelled her after the Mary (this word the old Captain pronounced in a very affectionate tone) and then she would have been all right."

"What is the outlook for a race between the two boats, Captain?"

"Well, I have been pressed by a number of friends who travel by this boat to consent to a race, because they think they can make a pile of money out of it, and then they would like to see Captain Hitchcock's pretensions — you know, he's the captain of the Albany — silenced once for all."

Vast Sums to Be Bet.
"How much are they willing to bet?"

“Well, there is a certain party of capitalists who always travel by this boat who talk of putting up $50,000. Then there's another party wanting to bet $10,000. Oh, there's no lack of money," the Captain added with quite an exhilarated manner, being evidently warmed up by the subject.

"If the race comes off when is it likely to take place?"

"Oh, of course, it could only take place after the season, and then we'd take no passengers at all — that would be against the law."

"Would you consent to it, Captain?"

This was a "poser," but the Captain, after a little hesitation, said: — "Well, if my friends insist upon it perhaps I might, but then I'm opposed to it myself, and I'll tell you why. Not that there would be any doubt about our beating the Albany, there's another reason why I am opposed to it, and don't think I'd like to consent to it."

"And why is that's Captain?"

"Well, the Mary Powell, you know, is a family boat, and has always been a family boat. We carry in her all the time a great number of ladies and children, who go with us unattended. Why, they feel here as they would in their own homes. Every woman and child between New York and Kingston knows the Mary. Now, I would not like her to get the reputation of a racing boat. That is why I do not like to accommodate my friends who want me to race her against the Albany after the season."

The Albany's Faults Pronounced Hopeless.
“You have never had any actual contest, Captain?"

"No, except this. Everybody knows what time we make and that the Albany does not come anywhere near it. You ask anybody who has been travelling by the two boats and is not particularly friendly to either and they will tell you that. Well, last fall, after the season, the Albany, just to show what she could do, after all that had been said about the Mary Powell being such a superb boat, made a race against time up the river, and in the first nine miles up to Fort Washington she was five minutes behind the Mary's time."

"Hasn't she been doing better this season, Captain?"

"Why, no; she can't do any better unless they change her model and make her more like the Mary. Why, during that race against time her wheel made twenty-six and one-half revolutions to the minute to our twenty-five, and yet we go faster. That shows that there's something radically wrong with her."

"How fast are we going now, Captain?" was the final question asked, as the boat seemed to be under full headway and favored by tide and wind.

"About twenty-five miles an hour," the Captain proudly answered; “and that only with thirty pounds of steam, while we can carry fifty if we like. So you see what the result would be if we'd race with a boat like the Albany. Mind you, in whatever you say in the Herald, remember I have nothing to say against Captain Hitchcock or his boat; all I say is, that if he thinks he has as fast a boat as the Mary he is very much deceived; that's all."

What One of the Engineers Says.
One of the engineers of the Mary Powell was gently accosted; but he drew himself up, and in a serio-comic style, which would have done credit to an actor, said, "Well, now, we engineers have so often been misrepresented on this subject that, like other public men, we now decline to be interviewed." Presently, however, he became more communicative, and did not hesitate to give his views.

"Why," said he, "there can be no doubt as to which is the faster boat of the two. It takes the Albany three hours and twenty-five minutes to go to Newburg, and we make one landing more — Cornwall — and do it in three hours and twenty five minutes, beating her by five minutes.  What do you think of that?"

An expression of high approval greeted this complacent query and drew out further interesting statements bearing on the question.

"Last fall, when she made her race against time, from Twenty-second street to Poughkeepsie, making the trip in 3h. 13m., she ran behind time fully 2 minutes.  I'll show you how: — The Mary Powell left Twenty-second street at 3:34 and arrived in Poughkeepsie at 7:09, making the trip in 3h. 35m. Now, they only allowed us 2 minutes for every stop, but, as a matter of fact, it takes us 5, and counting only 4 minutes for each of the six stops, or 24 minutes in all, we did it in 3h 11m. and beat her by 2 minutes, didn't we? And then she carried forty-five pounds of steam and we carried only thirty-four, and they had her all cocked and primed for it, while we were not prepared in the least."

Why a Race Will Not Take Place.
"Do you think a race will take place?"

"Well, I don't know; I think it doubtful."

"Why."

“For several reasons," and here the engineer smiled and his eye gave a merry twinkle.

"Just name one."

"Well, you see one of the boats would have to be behind, and that would be quite a damper on he business for the future.  That's the principal reason."

"Do people, then, care so much whether the one boat reaches her destination a couple of minutes sooner than the other?"

"I should think they did! Why, this is our fast week, when we have the tide in or favor.  Next week, when it is against us and we'll be five minutes later, a great many of the people riding with us this week will go up to their homes by the Central. This is a fast age.," the engineer added sententiously.

"Do you think that a race would create much excitement?"

"There never was anything like the excitement you'd see. The man who would charter all the trains in the New York Central to follow the boats and charge $25 a seat would still make his fortune. More money would change hands than at any race that has ever been held in this country. Why, it would be the greatest thing known!"

"By how much would you beat the Albany, do you think?"

"Oh, it's hard to say."

"Take a race to Poughkeepsie; would you beat her by fifteen minutes?"

“Oh, no; we'd do well to beat her by a few lengths. But, then, as I said before, I don't think you'll see a race. I know that if I had the two boats I wouldn’t consent to it. Now, each boat has her friends and is considered the fastest by them, while the race would put a damper on one of the two. And then you can't always tell what might be happening on a certain day. The water might not work well in the boiler or a journal might become hot; some mishap might happen and the reputation of the boat might be jeopardized, while she might really be the faster of the two."

Captain Hitchcock "Ready for ‘Em.”
"We're ready for 'em!" Captain Hitchcock, of the Albany, stoutly exclaimed when approached on the subject yesterday. The Captain is also a weather-beaten veteran, like his rival of the Mary Powell.

"I'm told your model has been tried and failed?" was the next query.

"Why, I know they told you that on the Mary Powell, and of course they did.  They  think there never was a model like hers."

"I'm also told you ought to have fashioned the Albany more after the model of the Mary Powell to have made a really fast boat of her."

"I'll never make the Albany like the Mary Powell, because then she'd be completely spoiled. Why, the man who made the Mary Powell's model told me that Captain Tallman, of the Daniel Drew, came to him and told him to spoil her, and that he cut her away so as really to have spoiled her; and Captain Anderson tells you that the Mary Powell is the better model? Well, that's rich, I must say."

“Captain, I am very much perplexed," the interviewer appealed, "by the conflicting statements I have heard about the two boats. Now tell me, please, which is which?"

“Why, there's no comparison. We had the Mary Powell some years ago, and if she had been such a superior boat don't you think we'd have kept her?"

"But since then it is claimed she has been remodelled."

"Remodelled?  A few old rotten timbers taken put and a few new ones put in their places," the Captain responded, with an expression of unmistakable disgust stealing over his face. "I tell you just all there is about the Mary Powell. The Mary Powell is a wonderfully good boat when she's got a tide like a millrun and a regular gale of wind blowing in the right direction — then she'll make first rate time. But the Albany is the only boat in the world I ever saw that could make time against tide, wind or anything else, and always does make time!"

"But isn't your boat six feet too wide?"

"Oh, Captain Anderson told you that too, did ne? Why, if she was twelve feet wider than his boat she'd still be faster. I really wish the Albany were five or six feet wider than she is!"

The Money Behind the "Albany."
"The Mary Powell has a fifty thousand dollar pool behind her in case of a race, I'm told, Captain?"

"Fifty thousand dollars?  We can go that better and triple it," was the contemptuous reply. "Does Captain Anderson tell you he's got a party willing to bet $50,000 that the Mary Powell beats us?"

"That's just it, Captain."

"Well, I don't believe it — unless these are men who travel with him and he's filled them up with good things and deceived them. Now, mind you, I have nothing against Captain Anderson or his boat — all I say is that if he thinks he has a faster boat he is a very much mistaken man."

"We won't stickle at a few thousands, Captain, but do you really think that considerable money would be bet on the Albany in case of a race with the Mary Powell?"

"Do I?  Why, Joe Cornell, of the Citizens' Line, wants to take $20,000 right off, and John Chase, of the Hoboken Ferry, says to put him down for $10,000. Those are only two men. They'll get all the money they want — no trouble about that, my friend!"

"Would you consent to a race?"

"I'd like to see it.  It's really the only way to settle the question," the Captain added, in a firm decided — almost bitter — tone. "If Captain Anderson thinks he has the faster boat, why the only way to settle it is to put the two boats together.  It's the only way, and I'd like to see it done."

"What do you think the result would be?"

The Captain's answer was sharp and quick. "I don't think they'd go very far before they would go back," he replied, and he added vigorously. "I think they'd feel sick at their stomachs before they were out any long distance."

The Mary Powell Misproportioned.
"Why do you think so, Captain?"

"Why, the Mary Powell is all out of proportion. She wasn't made right. She was cut away too much, to begin with, and they she has a 72 cylinder, while her air pump, bed plate and condenser are made for only a 62 cylinder. Now, the Albany has a 73 cylinder and is proportioned for it throughout."

"What time are we making now, Captain?"

"About twenty miles an hour."          

"Five miles less than the Mary Powell?"

"Did they tell you she was making twenty-five miles and hour?  (In a tone of immense astonishment.)  Well, well!"

"How much pressure do you use?"

Here the engineer, who had heard part of the conversation, broke in, saying, "Don't tell him how little we use, or we'll have to bet even, and they won't give us any odds!" At which hilarious sally both captain and engineer gave a gleeful chuckle."

"Captain Anderson says he would not like to let the Mary Powell race because she is a 'family boat?'"

"Well, and ain't we a family boat?" the Captain spoke up, warmly. "Ain't we as much of a family boat as they are? Why, just go down to the cabin and you won't be able to step over all the babies that are about. Haven't we as many women and babies on board as they have?  Just look and see for yourself."

"Conceding that point, Captain, he also seems to be afraid that it might give the Mary Powell the reputation of a 'racing boat?'"

"That's all poppycock! Isn't she racing now every day as it is? She's got the reputation of a racing boat now, for they want to beat everybody else, and they say she can whip creation. I'll tell you what I'll do. If they don't want to bet I'll go for fun. Why, if she wins, it'll be the greatest feather in her cap, and I'll acknowledge the corn. (With a mock rueful air.) I'll tell you up and down than that I was a sadly, sadly deceived man."

"And in that case, Captain, would you model her after the Mary Powell?"

"Model the Albany after the Mary Powell? Do you think that's what I have been forty-nine years steamboating for? Not much!"

"But supposing you two were to come in bow and bow?"

"I'll guarantee against that. I'm not much of a betting man, but I'll bet $5,000 on that — myself!"

End of article, published August 5, 1881 in the ​New York Herald.

The Albany and the Mary Powell did eventually get their race. It was a short one, but considered a race nonetheless! On Wednesday, July 19, 1916, the Powell and the Albany were both headed south on the Hudson at approximately the same time. As the Mary Powell left the dock at Milton, the Albany was just a few minutes behind, and put on a burst of speed in an effort to past. The two boats went full steam ahead for Poughkeepsie, but the Mary Powell was the victor.  ​

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In the 1960s, historian, expert boat modeler, and former antiquities thief Forrest Van Loon Ryder published a column in the Greene County News called "Old Timers: Boats of the Hudson."

In this article, entitled "Steamer Redfield burns at Sandbar between Athens and Hudson on 1910-06-20," published on September 16, 1965, Van Loon Ryder recounts the history of the steam freighter William C. Redfield. 

Although not a sidewheeler, at the time of her appearance the WILLIAM C. REDFIELD was considered one of the most modern freight boats on the Hudson River. She carried one stack and had four large openings on each side of her housing for loading freight and also boasted a small saloon for passengers on the second deck. The vessel was named for a man who made historic contributions to steamboat navigation, William C. Redfield of Cromwell, Connecticut. At a time when frequent boiler explosions were creating a fear of steamboats, Mr. Redfield devised Safety Barges, built in the manner of steamboats, but without power and towed by a steam boat. These lavishly furnished barges were popular from 1825 to around 1830 when their favor diminished, due to lack speed, and to fewer boiler disasters which eventually restored the public's confidence in steamboats. Mr. Redfield, who was superintendent of the Swiftsure Towing Line, also suggested the system of towing lets of canal boats, rather than having one of two canal boats on either side of the towboat. Quite often he would have towboats towing as many as 40 or fifty canal boats and barges.

The REDFIELD was constructed for Commodore Alfred Van Santvoord for service between New York and Albany. After serving on this route five years she was sold to new owners who placed her in service between Stuyvesant, Coxsackie and New York as a freight and passenger carrier. Running in line with the THOMAS MCMANUS these two large propeller vessels were a familiar site on this route for many years. Eventually the Catskill Evening Line acquired title to the REDFIELD and MCMANUS, and the two steamers continued to run in line until August 27th, 1902, when the MCMANUS burned at her pier in New York.

Finally the REDFIELD was returned to the route for which she was originally built and in later years was used only as a freight carrier.  

The REDFIELD was destined for a fate similar to that of her old running mate, the MCMANUS. On June 20th, 1910, as the REDFIELD was being tied up at her Athens dock, a fire was discovered in her hold. In flames, she was towed to the Middleground, a sandbar between Athens and Hudson, where she burned to the waters edge and became a total loss.
​
STATISTICS: Lewis Minnersley, builder, East Albany, NY. Wood hull, 370 tons. Length 182 feet; beam 33 feet; depth 10 feet. Fletcher & Harrison No. 49, single cylinder engine having a 36 inch cylinder with 34 inch stroke.

An article from the Boston Globe dated June 21, 1910 recounts the accident:

ANCIENT STEAMER BURNED. 
Sidewheeler W. C. Redfield, Built in 1864, Destroyed on the Hudson at Athens. 

HUDSON, N Y, June 20 - The freight steamer W. C. Redfield, owned by the Catskill & New York steamboat company, was destroyed by fire this afternoon, while lying at Athens, across the river from here. Her crew escaped unharmed. 

The vessel was at her dock when the flames were discovered and buildings along the water front were endangered. A ferryboat towed the steamer onto the flats, where she burned to the water’s edge. 

The Redfield was a sidewheeler of 700 tons, built in 1864, and was for many years of her early usefulness in passenger service on the Hudson.

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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
​
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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Today's featured artifact is this electric lantern from the steamboat Mary Powell. The Mary Powell, built in 1861, underwent one of many overhauls during the winter of 1887-88. Several changes were made to the steamboat, including rearranging the interior accommodations. For instance, the main dining room was moved from the hull to the main deck, so passengers could see out the windows as they ate. The other major change was the installation of over one hundred electric lights, which made evening travel safer and more pleasant. 

This particular lantern was likely meant for use by the crew. Designed to either plug in to direct current lines or unplugged for use powered by an internal battery, this was likely used in the engine room. 

A similar lantern is held in the collections of the National Maritime Museum in London, UK, where it is listed as a "naval emergency lantern." 

Electric improvements continued aboard the Mary Powell in subsequent seasons. In the winter of 1893-94, two new private parlors were constructed, with electric call bells - presumably to call the steward or other staff for assistance. In 1905, an electric fire alarm system was installed. On May 10, 1905, the Kingston Daily Freeman reported on the improvement:

An electric fire alarm, the idea of Captain Anderson, is being installed on the Mary Powell by H. B. Legg and H. H. Buckbee.  Instead of sounding a large gong in case of fire, which would alarm the passengers, electric annunciators are placed throughout the boat notifying the crew where to report, thereby saving time.  The inspectors who were here Tuesday say the system is perfect and the first to be installed on any vessel.

Although historical record of these electric systems is limited, we can presume that the electricity was produced by a dynamo powered by the steam engines. 

If you would like to see the electric lantern in person, it is on display as part of the museum's "Mary Powell: Queen of the Hudson" exhibit. 

On March 16, 1893 the Saugerties Weekly Post​ recounted a freshet on Rondout Creek. Freshets are spring flash floods caused by quick melting of snowpack in the mountains. Usually, the quick thaw comes while there is still ice on the larger creeks and rivers, causing ice dams. The meltwater builds up behind the ice, until the ice finally breaks, and a wall of water with huge chunks of ice rushes down the creek.

Rondout Creek has an enormous watershed, draining most of the eastern Catskill mountains. Lower Rondout Creek also contains the entire watershed of the Wallkill River, which flows north from northern New Jersey, through Orange County up into Ulster County. Because of this, lower Rondout Creek was frequently plagued by floods.

Freshets were common in the 19th century, and caused much damage. In the 20th century, many tributaries and creeks were dammed for hydroelectric power. The upper ends of Rondout Creek are curtailed by the Rondout Reservoir, part of the Catskills Aqueduct system, as well as smaller dams left over from industrial mills, such as the Eddyville Dam near Lock 1 of the D&H Canal.

Two dams located near the confluence of the Wallkill River and the Rondout Creek greatly curtail the amount of water that flows naturally into the Rondout. Sturgeon Pool hydroelectric dam sits at the confluence of the two bodies of water. Just northwest of Sturgeon Pool, the Dashville Hydroelectric station was installed at the naturally-occurring Dashville Falls. Both hydroelectric stations are some of the earliest in the region, completed in the 1920s.

Combined with climate change, which has limited the buildup of snowpack in the Catskills, these dams have helped mitigate catastrophic flooding in the modern era. 

The Freshet of 1893 was a doozy, like other freshets in 1878 and more famously in 1936. Captain William O. Benson also recalled both the 1893 and 1936 freshets in his 1978 article. Catherine Murdock also recalled the Flood of 1878. 

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 February 18, 1973.

In days gone by, steamboat excursions were commonplace. Almost without exception, they were offered during the summer and occasionally in the late spring or early autumn. One highly unusual excursion - probably the only one of its type - took place in the dead of winter on Sunday, Jan. 29, 1913.

On that winter’s Sunday, the steamboat “Rensselaer” of the Hudson Navigation Company was chartered for an excursion by the Troy Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks, No. 141. From Troy down the river to Hudson and return. The story of that long ago excursion was related to me by the late Francis “Dick” Chapman of New Baltimore, one of the pilots of the “Rensselaer” the day of that wintry sail on the river.

Dick said the sky was overcast, and it was a day when the cold “would penetrate right to your bones.” About 10 a.m. it started to snow and the river was full of floating cakes of ice. They were scheduled to leave Troy at 12:30 p.m.

On the way down river, they were held up briefly at the first railroad drawbridge by a crossing freight train. When the bridge opened and the “Rensselaer” got in the draw, she lay there until the Maiden Lane Bridge, downstream, opened. She eventually passed the Night Line dock at Albany at 1:45 p.m.

Down at Van Wies Point, below Albany, the river was covered with ice from shore to shore and the “Rensselaer” had to make a new channel. As she was going through the ice her paddle wheels would throw the ice up against the steel lining of her wheel batteries.

It sounded like crashing thunder. One could hear the noise all through the streamer.

Although they were originally scheduled to go down river as far as Hudson, Dick told me the visibility was so poor and the ice so heavy, they decided to go only as far as Castleton. There, they turned around and went back up river to Troy. They steamed slowly on the return so as to give the Elks their full time afloat. Since the visibility left much to be desired, it was somewhat questionable if the excursionists would have been able to see any more of the river if they had gone all the way on to Hudson.

A few years later, the Night Line decided to try and operate year round service. The “Rensselaer” and her sister steamer “Trojan” were chosen for the operation. On one of the “Rensselaer’s” trips down river, she was passing a Cornell tow fast in the ice off Germantown. When the “Rensselaer” tried to pull out of the tracker and break into the solid ice to pass the tow, she sheared off right into the tow. The Cornell helper tug “George W. Pratt” - laying alongside the tow - couldn’t get out of the way and the guard of the “Rensselaer,” before they could get her stopped, went over the rail of the “Pratt” and shifted and damaged her deck house.

With damages like that to the “Pratt,” and - after every trip - having to make repairs to the paddle wheel buckets and required to put new bushings in the arms of the feathering paddle wheels, the Night Line soon found the project to be too costly. Side wheel steamboats were just impractical for operation in the ice.

During that short period when the “Rensselaer” and “Trojan” attempted to operate during the winter, old boatmen told me on a clear, cold night they could hear the “Rensselaer” or “Trojan” at Port Ewen when the steamers were up around Barrytown or on the up trip, as far away as Esopus Island. They would hear their paddle wheel pounding and breaking the ice and crashing the broken ice cakes against the steel paddle wheel housings.

The captains and pilots of the night steamers on the river deserved a tremendous amount of credit for their skill in operating those old side wheelers in all kinds of weather. Unlike the captains and pilots of the day steamers that usually operated during the daylight in the best months of the year, the night boats would run from early spring to late fall and encounter lots of fog, snow or whatever came their way.

The upper end of the Hudson in particular is very narrow, and the night boat men always had tows, yachts, and floating derricks and dredges to content with. Regardless of the weather, almost always they would bring their big steamboats into Albany on time. Those captains and pilots were, as they say, “right on the button.”

​The “Rensselaer” and the “Trojan” were cases in point. From the time they entered service in 1909 until the end of their service in the latter 1930’s, they rarely had a mishap. Probably the most serious mishap to the “Rensselaer” occurred on Sept. 27, 1833 when she was in a collision with an ocean freighter off Poughkeepsie. This incident will be the subject of a later article. 

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Editor’s note: This article contains racial slurs quoted as part of period newspaper articles and advertisements.

In the summer of 1881, the Kingston Daily Freeman ran a series of articles about what became known as “glee clubs,” made up of Black or “colored” crewmembers of the steamboats Mary Powell and Thomas Cornell.

The prevalence of singing aboard steamboats on the Mississippi is well-documented. Sea musician Dr. Charles Ipcar documented some of this history in “Steamboat and Roustabout Songs.” Roustabouts, also known as stevedores, were regular or short-term dock workers who primarily moved cargoes and fuel on and off steamboats. In the American South, these laborers were primarily Black, and coordinated loading by singing, keeping the freight moving to a rhythm – much like sailboat crews would coordinate hauling lines by singing sea shanties. When these songs were doubly coordinated with specific dance moves, they were known as “coonjine.”[1]

It is unclear whether or not Hudson River steamboats also had crews of roustabouts or stevedores who sang at their work. Most of the bigger steamboats were designed for passenger use, so the only cargoes were fuel and food for the trip, and passenger’s luggage. One newspaper article from 1890 indicates that Southern Black longshoremen did come north for work in New York Harbor, particularly after white longshoremen were organizing unions and strikes.[2] That same article also indicated that at least one “Mississippi roustabout” was leading a group in singing roustabout songs. But while it’s not clear that steamboat crew on the Hudson River sang regularly, references to Southern roustabouts and their songs did occur frequently in New York.
​
Roustabout songs were often among those included in minstrel shows - often performed by white musicians in blackface enacting racist caricatures of the Black Americans they purported to emulate. The popularity of minstrel shows and music date back to the 1830s, but during Reconstruction (1865-1877), many Black Americans saw career opportunities in taking control of the narrative and performing their own minstrel shows. Minstrel shows were among the most popular form of entertainment in 19th Century America. Many romanticized plantation life and depicted enslaved people as simple and happy with their enslavement. These depictions just as popular, if not more so, in the North than the South. Below are two examples from New York newspapers.

​The headline “Mississippi Roustabouts” is a racist account of visiting the Mississippi, published in the Buffalo Evening News, September 15, 1904. The second is an advertisement for the Glens Falls Opera House advertising the show “The Romance of Coon Hollow,” a popular show that opened on Broadway in 1894. Songs or scenes listed in the advertisement include "The Great Steamboat Race" and "The Jolly Singing and Dancing Darkeys." These are just two examples of how racial caricatures of Southern and Black life had entered the mainstream popular culture in New York in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

It is against this complicated backdrop that we encounter the “glee clubs” of the steamboats Mary Powell and Thomas Cornell.

Initially referred to as “colored singers” (the “glee club” title came later), our story begins on July 29, 1881, with a short article in the Kingston Daily Freeman called “Musical Talent on the Cornell” :

“The steamer Cornell’s colored boys are fast coming into prominence as good singers, and it is believed that in a short time they will organize themselves into a vocal club. Wednesday night when the famous vocalist Mrs. Osborn favored the Cornell people with some selections from her repertoire, the boys started plantation songs and Mrs. Osborn, as well as several gentlemen on the steamer who are good judges of music, stated that the singing was excellent. If they organize they will give the Mary Powell singers a challenge to prove which of the two clubs is better.”[3]

Four days later, the Freeman followed up with “A Challenge” :
​
“The Mary Powell Colored Singers Challenge the Singers on the Cornell.

“Last Friday evening the Freeman published an item commending the singing of the colored deckhands [dockhands?], cooks, etc. on the Thomas Cornell, and also said there was a prospect that they would organize themselves into a vocal club and then compete with the famous Mary Powell singers as to which is the better club. The Powell boys saw the article in the Freeman and are ready for the fray. They desire us to challenge the Cornell’s singers for a prize of $50, the contest to come off at any time the Cornell vocalists may select within the next two weeks; the place, judges and other arrangements to be mutually agreed upon. Several of the Powell crew have belonged to professional troupes, and they feel confident of outsinging their formidable rivals. One or two of them will stake $5 apiece on the contest. It is thought a good idea in the event of a match ensuing that some large hall be hired and that a small admission fee be charged, which will somewhat defray expenses. No doubt a large audience would witness the match. Come, Cornell boys, accept this challenge and show your prowess. You will have to work hard, though, for the Powell singers are very good.”[4]

It is unclear whether or not these groups were simply recreational clubs for employees of their respective steamboats, or if the groups performed while on the job. The Mary Powell did have a reputation for musical entertainments, but according to surviving concert handbills, these were usually orchestral performances of classical music. In addition, one photo of the Mary Powell orchestra survives, and this incarnation at least, from 1901, is all white.

Eight days after the Freeman suggested a formal singing contest, the Kingston reading public got just that. “Cornell-Powell Singers,” published on August 10, 1881, reads:

“A Prize Singing Match for $50 a Side to Come Off Within a Short Time.

“About three weeks ago the colored singers on the Thomas Cornell were lauded by the Freeman for their excellent vocal accomplishments and at the same time we proposed the starting of a singing match between them and the famous Mary Powell singers. The Powell boys saw our article and authorized us to challenge the Cornell singers for a prize singing match, which we did and as a culmination of arrangements toward such an end a committee from the Cornell waited upon the Powell men yesterday morning to accept the challenge. Accordingly some time within the next three weeks Kingston will witness a first-class prize singing match in either Sampson Opera House or Music Hall for a prize of $50. Each club is to select and sing its own songs. Both clubs are now organized for business under the title of the “Cornell Glee Club” and the “Mary Powell Glee Club.” Constant practicing from now until the match comes off will be in order on these two steamers and passengers will have a rare treat.”[5]

By renaming themselves as “Glee Clubs,” the steamboat employees were staking territory as professional singing groups. Originally created in 18th century England, glee clubs were small groups of men singing popular songs acapella, often with close harmony. Started on college campuses in the Northeast, glee clubs soon spread across the country, but remained primarily the domain of white men. By the end of the 19th century, many of these groups were regularly singing minstrel music and “Negro spirituals,” often in blackface.[6]

The two groups of steamboat employees may have simply decided that being a “glee club” was more descriptive than “colored singers,” or more respectable, or might raise more interest among the general public.

The last sentence of the above article is also an interesting one, implying that the groups planned to practice, if not perform, while at their work aboard their respective steamboats. The reference of the songs being “a rare treat” indicates that singing while working aboard was not a common occurrence.

By August 12, the date was set. The Daily Freeman reported that the match would take place on August 20, 1881. Tickets were “thirty-five cents for general admission, and reserved seat tickets will be sold at fifty cents.”[7] The Poughkeepsie Daily Eagle advertised the same.[8]

Two days after the concert took place, the Poughkeepsie Daily Eagle published a full account of the event, “Singing for a Prize: Mary Powell vs. Thomas Cornell” :

“We extract from the Rondout Courier’s account of the singing match at Music Hall, Kingston, Saturday evening, so interesting report of the contest between the colored employees of the Thomas Cornell and Mary Powell.
 
“Music Hall was a scene of most intense interest on the occasion. Our colored friends seemed to [own?] the whole town, and the great hall, although too large for the audience, as too small for them – Prof. [Jack?] Miner was Judge.
 
“As the Powell was late and the Cornell early, the Cornell Club was first on the stage. The stateroom [eight?] of the Cornell came upon the stage with determination written upon every brow. They are darker and sturdier than their competitors, looking more like plantation hands, as befits a freight boat [editor's note - the Thomas Cornell was a passenger boat, not a freight boat]. They had more depth of hold and breadth of beam, and there was more solidity about them. Their bass was very bass indeed, Mr. Lew Vandermark scraping the very [lowest?] of his lower notes, and the leader, Aug. Fitzgerald, kept steadily the main channel of his tubes. The marked [characteristics?] of the two clubs were brought out very distinctly when the Cornell Club, at the hint of George F. [?] sang, “Mary had a little lamb,” which had been previously rendered by the Powell boys. In this the “baaing” of the lamb is given, with variations.
 
“The Powell boys are of lighter build and complexion than their competitors. They sing out their notes with a sort of twirl, as if one had ordered 'broiled blue fish' or 'Spanish mackerel,' with Saratoga potatoes, while the Cornell boys came up with the mere solid beefsteak and boiled murphies of a 'stateroomer supper.'
 
“The members of the clubs were as follows:

"Cornell Glee Club – Aug. Fitzgerald, leader; L. Schemerhorn, Eugene Harris, [Dav.?] Johnston, George Dewitt, Lew Vandemark, Chas. Van [Gaasbeck?], Dennis Johnston, Miss [Lizzie?] Hartly, pianist.

"Powell Glee Club – I. P. Washington, leader; J. C. Washington, James Poindexter, Wm. McPherson, B. G. Smith, Robert Martin, Harry Coulter, Prof. John [Mougan?]. The latter also acted as pianist.
 
“The audience was a fair one. It thoroughly enjoyed itself, an after the crews got fairly warmed up it got considerably excited, and stamped and shouted and clapped in the wildest manner, winding up in a round of cheers.
 
“The Cornell Club mainly confined itself to pious tunes; “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” “Prepare Me Lord,” and the like, filling the programme, while the Powell boys had lighter pieces and evinced a strong preference for [fancy?] [selections?]. The Cornell crew sang “Sweet Ailleen” very prettily, and did better with the songs than the hymns.
 
“The audience was well pleased with “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and “Oh Them Union Brothers,” in which the Cornell crew caught the wild melody nicely. The Powell followed with “Hark, Baby, Hark,” sang very prettily indeed, and “Row the Boats,” in which the sweep of the melody is very sweet. The Cornellites came up smiling with their religious tunes, of which “Pray all along the Road” was the most noticeable. Then came one of the gems of the evening, “Night Shades,” by the Powell boys, which the audience was highly pleased with and “Old Oaken Bucket,” which they sang nicely. For an encore they dipped into the religious vein, which seemed to stir up the Cornellites, who retorted with “Mary had a Little Lamb,” with which the Powellites had previously brought down the house. The version was a little different, but both took with the house. The audience at this point applauded the Cornellites very heavily, which caused the Powellites to bring out their best and “Mary Gone with a Coon” was given.
 
“The programme was finally closed with the Powell boys singing “Good Night” when Geo. F. [Kjerstad? Kjersted?] brought forward Prof. Miner. He made a few remarks in which he said he had tried to perform his duty as Judge honestly, and then disclosed that the victory rested with the Mary Powell club, when there was great applause, and the audience died slowly out.”[9]
 
Here we finally get some details! We have names of the participants, for one, and details of the concert itself, including the songs.
 
Sadly, we also have a complicated blend of admiration and racism. Of the Cornell singers, the author writes, “They are darker and sturdier than their competitors, looking more like plantation hands, as befits a freight boat.” (Note that the Thomas Cornell was a passenger vessel build specifically to rival the Mary Powell, not a freight boat.) Whereas, “The Powell boys are of lighter build and complexion than their competitors. They sing out their notes with a sort of twirl, as if one had ordered ‘broiled blue fish’ or ‘Spanish mackerel,’ with Saratoga potatoes [potato chips], while the Cornell boys came up with the mere solid beefsteak and boiled murphies [potatoes] of a ‘stateroomer supper.’”
 
Here, the author conflates appearance with singing talent, implying that the more slender and lighter complexioned “Powell boys” sang with more delicacy and finesse than the darker complexioned “Cornell boys.” One wonders if the Mary Powell crew were specifically selected for employment due to their lighter skin tone, or if it was simply coincidental. Shades of blackness and whiteness were very important in the racial hierarchy of the United States, with lighter skinned people often receiving better or preferential treatment when compared with darker skinned people. The persistent use of the term “boy” to refer to Black adult men is also a racist microaggression, designed to imply inferiority when compared to white men.
 
Ultimately, the Mary Powell crew were declared winners, a result backed up by a single line in the New Paltz Times on August 24, 1881. Although many of the songs listed are unfamiliar to modern audiences, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” has persisted, as has “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” which was interestingly performed by both groups.
 
Preliminary search results for the members of the two glee clubs both before and after the concert resulted in few hits, although by 1903, a Lew Vandemark was part of a group called “Smith’s Colored Troubedours,” which gave a performance before the cakewalk at “Charley Conkling’s Masquerade” in Middletown, NY.[10] 

If you would like to assist us by researching these men (and one woman!), their names are as follows.
 
Thomas Cornell Glee Club members:

• Aug. Fitzgerald, leader;
• L. Schemerhorn,
• Eugene Harris,
• [Dav.?, probably David] Johnston,
• George Dewitt,
• Lew Vandemark,
• Chas. Van [Gaasbeck?],
• Dennis Johnston,
• Miss [Lizzie?] Hartly, pianist.

​Mary Powell Glee Club members:

• P. Washington, leader;
• J. C. Washington,
• James Poindexter,
• Wm. [William] McPherson,
• B. G. Smith,
• Robert Martin,
• Harry Coulter,
• Prof. John [Mougan?]. The latter also acted as pianist.

​I have found no further reference to either glee club, nor similar groups connected to Hudson River steamboats, but I hope that by sharing these stories we can discover more information about the club members and their work. 

If anyone would like to see original images of the newspapers, or has leads on any of the people listed above, other references to the glee clubs, or to other singing clubs associated with steamboats, please contact us at research@hrmm.org.