With dismantling now almost complete, little that is recognizable remains of the once noted Hudson River steamboat "Berkshire", latterly "USA 1000". Wrecking operations on her superstructure have been in progress at Philadelphia since last fall when the vessel was towed from Norfolk by her present owners who purchased her from the Navy. Soon nothing will remain of what was once the world's largest river steamer, and one of the largest sidewheelers ever built.

In 1906, with plans by J.W. Millard & Bro. completed, the contract for "Berkshire's" construction was given by the People's Line to W. & A. Fletcher Company, of Hoboken. They sublet the hull work to the New York Shipbuilding Corp. and made plans themselves to build the engine. Joiner work was placed with C.M. Englis.

The People's Line at that time was part of the Consolidated Steamship Company controlled by C.W. Morse, and several other vessels, notably "Yale" and "Harvard", were being built for the same interests. It is said that Mrs. Morse suggested naming the new vessels after colleges. In any case, the steel hull of the new People's Line vessel was launched at Camden, N.J. 21 September 1907 as the "Princeton", a name she never carried in active service.
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Shortly after launching, the hull was towed to Hoboken where the engine was installed. Work stopped when the panic of 1907-8 brought about the downfall of the Consolidated Steamship Company, and "Princeton" lay at the Fletcher Docks for at least two years. She was then towed to a point on the Hudson River near Saugerties where she remained until 1912 when work was resumed. Early in 1913 construction was completed and the magnificent new steamer commissioned "Berkshire". She made her trial trip 20 May 1913, and two days later went into regular service on the Hudson River Night Line between New York and Albany. The Company advertised that she had cost $1,500,000.

"Berkshire's" dimensions and accommodations caused much comment in the newspapers and the marine press. She definitely was impressive, measuring 4500 tons, with an over-all length of 440 feet. Her breadth was 88 feet over guards, and her depth of hold 14 feet 6 inches. She had five passenger decks above the hull, designated main, saloon, gallery, upper gallery and observation. Her dining room on the main deck aft was nearly 100 feet long and had French windows opening out onto the deck where tables were sometimes placed in good weather. Her 450 staterooms and additional berths provided accommodations for nearly 2000 passengers, and the capacity of her freight "hold" on the main deck forward was enormous.

The vessel's engine, one of the largest of its type ever built was a single cylinder surface condensing beam engine of 5000 horsepower. The cylinder was 84 inches in diameter and the stroke 12 feet. Paddle wheels were 30 feet in diameter each having 12 curved steel buckets. "Berkshire" was capable of a speed of 18 – 20 miles per hour..

The year 1914 saw "Berkshire's" only serious accident. On 9 August she was forced to anchor off Dobbs Ferry on the down trip because of fog. Near her, also at anchor lay "Rensselaer" and "Frank Jones". Suddenly out of the fog loomed the southbound "Iroquois (a) Kennebec of the Manhattan Line. Too late, her pilot saw "Berkshire's" stern dead ahead, and a moment afterward she crashed into the latter's dining room and two decks above. Fortunately, "Berkshire's" hull was undamaged, although her steering gear was put out of commission. "Iroquois," in sinking condition, was pulled loose by "Rensselear" and "Frank Jones" after about two hours work and convoyed down river. "Berkshire" remained at Dobbs Ferry until her rudder could be repaired, after which she proceeded to New York. Despite her damaged condition, she went back into service the next day.

"Berkshire" ran regularly for the Hudson River Night Line through good years and lean. She usually alternated with "C.W. Morse" (b) "Fort Orange" until that steamer was retired in 1930. Later she ran opposite the smaller "Rensselaer" and "Trojan", and in the last few years of her career had "Trojan" alone as consort.
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With the Night Line stumbling from one financial difficulty to another in the 1930's, "Berkshire's" trips became more and more irregular. Finally, after 1937, she was tied up at Athens and "Trojan" carried on alone for a couple more years. "Berkshire was finished. Residents along the river had heard her deep whistle for the last time. No more would they signal for an answering flash from her big searchlight, nor watch her pass through the narrow reaches of the upper river, her tiers of decks and giant smokestacks towering above everything along shore.

Early in 1941, "Berkshire" was sold by Sam Rosoff, final owner of the Night Line, to the U.S. Government as a floating barracks. In February she was towed through the ice to Hoboken by the Coast Guard cutter "Comanche". Nothing further was done with her until June when two Moran tugs took her in tow for Bermuda. Arriving there, she was anchored in St. George's Harbor, painted a dull green, and put to use as a powerhouse and barracks for workers at Kindley Field Army Air Base.

The war over, "Berkshire" returned to the United States at the end of a towline late in 1944. There were rumors that she was to be placed in service again, but these were soon disproved when an inspection at Norfolk revealed that her superstructure had been badly damaged by heavy seas on the return trip. She was sold to Bernard Maier and towed to Philadelphia for scrapping.
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The world will probably never see another vessel like "Berkshire", but she will be long remembered for having been the largest river steamboat in the world.

When steamboating was in its heyday, anyone living in Rondout, Ponckhockie, Sleightsburgh or Port Ewen never needed a clock or a watch.  They could always tell what time it was by the steamboat whistles.
 
First, there was the huge steam whistle on the Rondout Shops of the Ulster and Delaware Railroad that boatmen always said came from the big sidewheel towboat ‘‘Austin.”  There would be one long whistle at 8 a.m., 12 noon, 12:30 p.m. and 4:30 p.m., telling the men at both the U. and D. shops and the Cornell Steamboat Company shops to start work, eat their noon meal and to stop for the day.
 
When the U. and D. shops were torn down in the early thirties, this whistle was then installed on the Cornell shops.
 
Three Long Blasts
 
Then, every afternoon at 3:25 p.m. three long blasts of a steam whistle would be heard along Rondout Creek as either the ‘‘Benjamin B. Odell,” “Homer Ramsdell,’’ ‘‘Newburgh” or “Poughkeepsie” of the Central Hudson Line prepared to leave their dock on Ferry Street for the start of the evening trip to New York.
 
During the summer, on Saturday mornings at 10:55 a.m., one would hear the wonderful whistle of the “Benjamin B. Odell” as she prepared to leave Rondout.  Then in the evening could be heard the ‘‘Homer Ramsdell” as she came in the creek.  She would blow at about 8 p.m. just as she was passing the gas plant at Ponckhockie.
 
Every summer Sunday morning, the “Homer Ramsdell” would leave Rondout at 6:30 a.m. on an excursion to New York.  The three long blasts on her whistle at 6:25 a.m. sounded twice as loud in the still morning air.
 
From May until early October one always heard the Day Line boats blowing for the landing at Kingston Point.  The one long, one short, one long blast of the down boat’s whistle was always heard just before 1 p.m.  Then shortly before 2:30 p.m. would be heard the landing whistle of the north bound steamer.  Phil Maines of Rondout, the former mate of the “Mary Powell,” was then the dockmaster at Kingston Point.
 
From the ‘Tremper’
At about 10:30 a.m. on alternate days, one would hear the “Jacob H. Tremper” coming in Rondout Creek on her way to Albany.  Then the next day, she would blow for Rhinecliff at 2 p.m. and by 2:45 p.m. she would be coming in the creek and blow again for Rondout. |
 
In the evening about 8 p.m. one would hear three long whistles out in the river.  One would be the Saugerties Evening Line steamer “Robert A. Snyder” or “Ida’’ blowing for their landing at Rhinecliff on their sail to New York.
 
Before World War I, the finest sound of all was the mellow whistle of the ‘‘Mary Powell” as she prepared to leave the dock at the foot of Broadway in Rondout at 6 a.m.  Then in the evening would be heard her whistle out in the river on her return from New York, just before she entered the creek.  Also, all during the day at 10 minute intervals, except when stopped by ice, could be heard one short whistle from the ferry ‘‘Transport.”

On August 17, 1807, Robert Fulton launched the "Steamboat" in New York City, bound for Albany, NY. Funded by founding father Robert Livingston (whose estate at Clermont became the home port of the steamboat), the "Steamboat" made the voyage north in 32 hours. Learn more about the background behind this first voyage below.

Although Fulton was not the inventor of the steamboat, or even the first to launch a successful steamboat, he and Livingston were the first to turn a profit making passenger runs. Therefore it was Fulton's sidewheel design that would go onto dominate designs of Hudson River steamboats and others for decades to come. 

If you'd like to see a scale replica of Fulton's North River Steamboat, visit the Hudson River Maritime Museum to see our newly-acquired, six-foot-long model in the East Gallery. 

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published August 27, 1972..

When I was a boy of nine, my father took me to spend a weekend on the steamboat “Onteora" on which my older brother, Algot, was the mate.  The visit was made during the last weekend of August 1920 and made a tremendous impression on me.  I kept notes on the trip, and made a list of every steamboat I saw.  At that time, the "Onteora" made a round trip daily between 125th Street, New York, and Bear Mountain — and was in her first year of excursion service.  She previously had been a night boat of the Catskill Evening Line. 

We crossed Rondout Creek from Sleightsburgh on the old chain ferry "Riverside," better known as the "Skillypot," which was still in service awaiting the opening of the then new Rondout Creek bridge.  From Rondout we took the open trolley car to Kingston Point where we talked to Phil Maines, the dockmaster, who had formerly been the mate of the “Mary Powell" when my father was her ship's carpenter.  While waiting for the down Day Boat, my father remembered he had left his cigars in Jacobson’s store on the Strand and hurried back on the trolley to get them.  I thought sure we would miss the boat, but he got back just as the “Robert Fulton” was landing. 

As we were passing Esopus Island, I saw the wreck of the steamboat "Point Comfort" on the north end of the island where she had piled up the previous September. 
South of Crum Elbow, we passed the "Hendrick Hudson” of the Day Line on her way to Albany and after leaving Poughkeepsie, down off Camelot, we passed the “Benjamin B. Odell” of the Central Hudson Line going to Poughkeepsie. 

River Activity
Down at Newburgh, I remember seeing the steamboats "William F. Romer” and “M. Martin” in the process of being broken up.  Off West Point, we passed the Cornell tugboat "George W. Washburn” going up with a large tow and the tugs "W. N. Bavier" and "Hercules" helping her.  The ferry "Highlander" was crossing the river to Garrison. 

When we approached Bear Mountain, the steamboats “Mandalay,” "Seagate" and "Sirius" were lying at the pier to be used by the “Robert Fulton.” They all pulled out into the river so the "Fulton" could land.  The other pier at Bear Mountain was also crowded with steamboats and, as a little boy, I could not take my eyes off them.  At the spiles [sic] that had been put in specially for the "Mary Powell” during her last years in service, lay the "Onteora.”  I thought what a wonderful boat she was.  It was the first time I had ever seen her.  At the pier were the steamboats “Grand Republic,” "Trojan," “Highlander,” “Clermont” and "Monmouth.”  There were hundreds of people all around and bands playing on some of the steamers.  It was a sight never to be forgotten. 

Then we went aboard the "Onteora" and met my brother.  The way he looked to me in his uniform, I thought he was greater than the President of the United States!

When we left Bear Mountain that night on the "Onteora" at about 7:30 p.m. all of the other steamboats had already departed.  Later, as we were down off Haverstraw, eating our supper in the dining room, my brother said, "Look out there, Bill."

When I looked out the starboard windows, there was the Day Liner "Albany" passing us, the big walking beam reaching, reaching and reaching, her white paddle wheels splashing the water — a truly wonderful sight to my boyish eyes.  I still can remember Mike Rafferty of Kingston, the mate, standing in the gangway and waving his hand. 

As we were nearing Yonkers, I must have fallen asleep on the leather upholstered locker in the pilot house because the next thing I remember we were tied up at the 125th Street pier.   Ike Schermerhorn, the pilot, let us have his room in the pilot house block on the top deck but I slept hardly a wink all night. The 125th Street ferries running back and forth to Edgewater would blow their whistles as they left their slip right next to our pier and kept me wide awake.

The next morning how good that breakfast tasted to me. My brother let me get down and have my breakfast in the deckhand's mess hall with Henry Emmick and Horace Lehman, two of the deckhands from Kingston. Then he took me across the pier to see three of the Coney Island boats of the Iron Steamboat Company that were tied up there — the “Cepheus,” “Perseus” and “Taurus.”

I can remember the “Washington Irving," the flagship of the Hudson River Day Line, landing at the end of the pier on her way to Albany. Next came the “Trojan” of the Hudson River Night Line landing at 132nd Street on her Sunday trip to Newburgh. Then came my pride and joy, the big "Benjamin B. Odell,” to land at the end of the pier for her Sunday excursion to Highland Falls, Newburgh, Beacon and Poughkeepsie.
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I could see the lookout come out and hook open the pilot house door, so Captain George Greenwood could stand outside the pilot house to ring bells to the engine room to land her. After she left with a full load of people, in came the "Mandalay” and did the same thing.

Feeling Important
Next, the “Albany" came in on her way to Poughkeepsie.  I can remember I was standing in the "Onteora’s” pilot house, my brother having told me to stay there.  I suppose he was afraid I would get lost among all the people.  I hollered over to Mike Rafferty, the mate, who was standing in the “Albany's” gangway.  When he hollered back,”Hello, William, are you having a good time?” it made me feel very important.  Ike Schermerhorn, the “Onty’s” pilot, said, “How do you know him?" — and I answered, “I go over on her in the winter when she is tied up in Rondout Creek.  My father does the carpenter work on her."

Next came the "Poughkeepsie,” but she did not stop and went right on by.  A few minutes later we were blowing to let go and started for Bear Mountain.  As we were leaving, the “Grand Republic” was coming up the harbor, getting ready to land at 132nd Street on her way to Bear Mountain. 

As we were passing Fort Washington Point, I saw the Cornell tug “Eli B. Conine” coming down light, probably on her way to Edgewater.  Later off Tarrytown we passed the tugboat “J. C. Hartt" with the down tow, the Cornell tugs “J. G. Rose” and “Ellen M. Ronan” helping her.  The “Hartt” blew one long, one short and the “Onteora” answered with one long and two short blasts on her whistle.  The captain of the “Onteora” was Ben Hoff, Jr. and his father, Ben Hoff, Sr., was captain of the “Hartt.”

When we arrived at Bear Mountain, the “Mandalay” was already there as was the “Seagate,” the “Seagate” having an excursion from Poughkeepsie.  That afternoon, my father said, “Well, Bill, I guess it’s about time to go home.” So we boarded the West Shore train at Bear Mountain for the trip to Kingston.  As we passed over the bridge that spans Popolopen Creek, just above Bear Mountain, there was the replica of the “Half Moon” that had been used in the Hudson-Fulton Celebration of 1909, snuggled between the high hills bordering the creek.
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And, so, a great time for me came to an end, one I shall never forget.  

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.

Known by rivermen as a “hard luck steamboat,” the “Saratoga” plied the waters of the Hudson river for 33 years, and during that time was responsible for some loss of life as well as doing a great deal of damage to the vessel itself. She played a foremost part in the coincidences which labeled steamboats whose names began with the letter “S” as “hard luck vessels.”

John Englis and Son of Greenpoint, N.Y., built the wooden hull of the “Saratoga” in 1877. Her keel was 285 feet long with an overall measurement of 300 feet, the breadth of her hull was 56 feet (over the guards she was 70 feet), and she was listed for 1,438 gross tons and 1,281 net tons. Her vertical beam engine came from the “Sunnyside” and was a product of Secor Iron Works of New York city- built in 1866. The cylinder diameter measured 56 inches with a 12 foot stroke. She had two steel return tubular boilers, and her wheels were 32 feet in diameter with 26 buckets to each wheel with a dip of 30 inches.

The "Saratoga" and the "City of Troy" ran in line between New York and Troy, forming the Citizen’s Line; the “Saratoga” having replaced the steamboat “Neversink” which had seen service on this route for a year, having replaced the “Thomas Powell” which was discarded in 1876. The month of June, 1877 makes the first trip of the “Saratoga” to Troy, sailing under the command of Captain Thomas Abrams, with Abram Parsell as chief engineer [editor's note - Abram Parsell was a relative of Rondout Lighthouse keeper Catherine Murdock]. She boasted sleeping accommodations for 550 people, a large freight carrying capacity, and a speed of 16 miles per hour. She was built at a cost of $175,000.

​The first accident recorded in the history of the “Saratoga” occurred on September 29, 1886. She left Troy on Monday evening, bound for New York with 230 passengers and 80 tons of freight aboard. About 2 o’clock in the morning, when the “Saratoga” was a mile south of Tivoli, she suddenly came in contact with something with such force that her joiner work was cracked and the vessel halted. It developed that her pilot had miscalculated his whereabouts and had run at full speed on the flats between Little Island and the tracks of the Hudson River railroad. Soundings showed that the steamboat was embedded in the mud in only five feet of water- and it was not until October 11, 1886 that she was floated again.

On March 26, 1897, the “Saratoga” left her wharf at Troy for New York at 7:30 o’clock. Upon turning around she refused to obey her rudder, with the result that she smashed into the Congress street bridge at Troy. The river was high and the current swift, and she was thrown against the pier on her starboard side, carrying away much of her upper wood-work. Distress signals were immediately displayed which brought the steamer “Belle Horton” and a tugboat to her aid, and she was towed to the dock where she was later repaired.

July 29, 1897, the “Saratoga,” while steaming up the river bound for Troy, collided with a large steam yacht, the “Hermonie.” She almost went to the bottom on this occasion- the accident occurring near Stony Point. The “Hermonie” struck the “Saratoga” on the starboard side, destroying her barroom, injuring one passenger and tossing many sleeping passengers from their bunks.

​​Other accidents are recorded in which the “Saratoga” was a factor, but she continued on the New York-Troy line until sunk in a collision with the steamboat “Adirondack” on Friday, October 12, 1906, off Crugers Island, 60 miles below Troy. She was carrying a large number of passengers when this accident occurred, and was running in a light fog. Two lives were lost and several were injured. Clarence Sherman, an oiler on the Saratoga, was crushed to death, and George E. Horton, a freight clerk on the “Adirondack,” was knock overboard and drowned. The “Saratoga” was struck on the port side, being torn up from a point just aft of the wheelhouse almost to the stern. The port boiler was torn from the guards and dropped overboard. The “City of Troy” came along at this time and took off the passengers before the “Saratoga” went to the bottom.

​The “Saratoga” was raised, repaired, and sold, and was then taken to the Jamestown Exhibition (1907), where she was used as a hotel during the summer. The “City of Troy” burned in 1907 and her boilers were installed on the “Saratoga” which was then placed on the route between New York and Albany (the summer of 1908), as an opposition vessel in line with the steamboat “Frank Jones” and running under the banner of the Manhattan Navigation Line. The “Saratoga” plowed the waters of the Hudson river until the fall of 1910 when she was deemed worn out and dismantled. Her hull was purchased by Charles Bishop of Rondout, in 1911, and taken to Port Ewen and broken up.

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On June 15, 1904 occurred one of the worst steamboat disasters of all time.  On that sunny June morning, he New York harbor excursion steamer “General Slocum” caught fire and burned in the East River with a resulting loss of life of 1,021 people. 

The “General Slocum” was built in 1891 at Brooklyn to run between New York City and Rockaway Beach.  She later ran as an excursion steamer on the Hudson River and Long Island sound, and — at the time — was the largest excursion steamboat out of New York.  From time to time, she was chartered by local Ulster County groups and carried excursions out of Rondout Creek. 

On the day of the disaster, the “General Slocum” had been chartered by the Sunday School and members of the congregation of St. Mark’s German Lutheran Church of New York for an excursion to Locust Grove on Long Island.  The vessel left a pier at the foot of East Third Street, Manhattan, shortly before 10 a.m. and proceeded up the East River.

A Cabin Ablaze
Off 97th Street, some of the deckhands on the lower deck observed wisps of smoke coming from the forward part of the vessel.  Instead of notifying the captain, they tried to find the cause, apparently thinking they could put out the fire if there was one.  They went below and found a cabin ablaze.  Coming back on deck, they got the mate who immediately sent word to the captain and started to fight the fire.  By this time the fire was beginning to gain momentum and spread. 

The East River, at the point where the fire was discovered, is deep and filled with treacherous tidal currents.  The captain, William H. Van Schaick, thought his best course would be to reach shallow water and ordered the pilot to head at full speed for North Brother Island, approximately a mile ahead. 

The fire, unfortunately, spread rapidly, fanned by a breeze blowing from the north and the steamer’s  speed through the water.  Many passengers became panic stricken as everyone tried to crowd to the rear of the vessel away from the burning forward part of the steamboat.  To add to the dire chain of events surrounding the tragedy, the steamer — on reaching North Brother Island — grounded forward.   Her stern, however, where all the passengers were crowded, was still in water 30 feet deep.  Many passengers, thinking the entire steamer was in shallow water, jumped overboard and were drowned.
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Due to the huge loss of life, the disaster naturally caused a great public furor and led to several investigations.  There was strong criticism of the adequacy of the life saving and fire fighting equipment aboard the steamboat.  As a result of the investigations, Captain Van Schaick was sentenced to prison.  Almost all boatmen felt the captain was unjustly made a scapegoat for the resulting tragedy, instead of the owners of the steamer or the effectiveness of the life saving and fire fighting equipment then required — and the inspections of it by government inspectors.

Suffered Injuries
Captain Van Schaick was severely burned as a result of the fire and his eyesight was permanently damaged by the intense heat of the flames as he vainly sought to direct efforts to combat the holocaust. 

When he was sentenced to prison, he was sent to Sing Sing at Ossining.  At that time, the State was building what is now Bear Mountain Park operated by the Palisades Interstate Park Commission.  Some of the inmates of Sing Sing were used for cutting down trees, and other work.  

Al Walker, who later was a captain of Cornell tugboats, was then captain of a little steamboat used to carry prisoners back and forth between Sing Sing and the new park.  Captain Van Schaick was one of the prisoners who was sent to the park to do what he could.  Al told me he would always take Captain Van Schaick into the pilot house and let him steer or do whatever he wanted to do as, like all other steamboatmen of that day, he felt Captain Van should never have gone to prison. 

Captain Van Schaick eventually was pardoned by President Taft and later died at the Masonic Home at Utica in 1924.  Several members of his family were also steamboatmen.  A brother was a captain of steamboats of the Iron Steamboat Company, the steamboat line that ran from New York to Coney Island until 1932.  Captain Arthur Van Schaick, who I believe was a nephew of the “General Slocum’s" captain, was a pilot and later captain of the "Chauncey M. Depew’’ of the Hudson River Day Line. 
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On the ‘Sirius’
Before Captain Van Schaick became captain of the "General Slocum," he had been captain of the steamer “Sirius” of the Iron Steamboat Company.  Jack Dearstyne, Sr., who was later captain of a number of Hudson River steamboats, was at that time first mate of the ‘‘Sirius."
Captain Dearstyne later told me that Captain Van Schaick always used to say his one wish was to be captain of New York’s largest excursion steamer.  Well, he got his wish and, as it turned out, to his great regret.

Learn more at the June 8, 2022 lecture by author Edward T. O'Donnell "The 1904 General Slocum Disaster: New York's Deadliest Day before 9/11"

On Saturday, May 19, 1928, in the early afternoon of a beautiful spring day, a collision occurred off Rondout Lighthouse between the ferryboat “Transport” and the steamer “Benjamin B. Odell” of the Central Hudson Line.
           
At the time, I was deckhand on the steamer “Albany” of the Hudson River Day Line, helping to get her ready for the new season after her winter lay up at the Sunflower Dock at Sleightsburgh. On Saturdays, we knocked off work at 11:30 a.m. As I rowed up the creek in my rowboat to go home, the big “Odell” was still at her dock at the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue at Rondout.
           
At 12:25 p.m. the “Odell” blew the customary three long melodious blasts on her big whistle, high on her stack, as the signal she was ready to depart.
           
At home, eating lunch, I heard her blow one short blast promptly at 12:30 p.m. as the signal to cast off her stern line.

From the Porch
Following a habit of mine from a young boy, I went out on our front porch to watch her glide down the creek at a very slow pace past the Cornell shops, Donovan’s and Feeney’s boat yards, and the freshly painter [sic] “Albany.”  The “Odell” looked to me like a great white bird slowly passing down the creek. At the time, I thought how in less than two weeks we would probably pass her on the “Albany” on the lower Hudson on Decoration Day, both steamers loaded with happy excursionists on the first big holiday of the new season.
           
As the “Odell” passed Gill’s dock at Ponckhockie, I went back in the house to finish lunch. A few minutes later I heard the “Odell” blow one blast on her whistle, which was answered by the “Transport” on her way over to Rhinecliff, indicating a port to port passing. Hearing steam whistles so often in the long ago day along Rondout Creek was something one took for granted, assuming they would be heard forever. Then I heard the danger signal on the whistle of the “Transport” followed by three short blasts from the “Odell’s” whistle, indicating her engine was going full speed astern. Shortly thereafter, I could hear the “Transport” blowing the five whistle signal of the Cornell Steamboat Company of 2 short, 2 short, 1 short, meaning we need help immediately.
           
I ran down to my rowboat tied up at the old Baisden shipyard, and looked down the creek. I could see the “Transport” limping in the creek very slowly, her bow down in the water, and her whistle blowing continuously for help. I also noticed several automobiles on her deck.
           
Looking over the old D. & H. canal boats that were deteriorating on the Sleightsburgh flats, I could see the top of the “Odell” stopped out in the river. After a few minutes, she slowly got underway and proceeded on down the river, her big black stack belching smoke, so I figured she was not hurt. 
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Decision to Beach
           
As the “Transport” approached the Cornell coal pocket, her captain, Rol Saulpaugh, decided to beach her on the Sleightsburgh shore. Nelson Sleight, a member of her crew, asked me to run a line over to the dock a the shipyard in the event she started to slide off the bank.
           
I took the line and ran it from where the “Transport” grounded to the dock. In the meantime, the Cornell tugboat “Rob” came down the creek, from where she had been lying at the rear of the Cornell office at the foot of Broadway, and pushed the ferry a little higher on the bank.
           
After taking the line ashore, I went back and asked if there was anything else I could do. Captain Saulpaugh asked me if I would row up to the ferry slip and get Joseph Butler, the ferry superintendent, and bring him over to the “Transport,” which I did. On the way over, Butler told me he had already called the Poughkeepsie and Highland Ferry Company to see if he could get one of its ferries to run in the “Transport’s” place. The afternoon about 5 p.m., the Poughkeepsie ferryboat “Brinckerhoff” arrived in the creek and began running on the Rhinecliff route.
           
When we got back to the “Transport,” mattresses and blankets had been stuffed in the hole the “Odell” had slicked in the over-hanging guard and part of the hull. When she was patched, the “Transport,” with the “Rob’s” help, backed off the mud and entered the Roundout slip stern first - and the cars on deck were backed off. Then, the “Rob” assisted the ferry to make her way up to the C. Hiltebrandt shipyard at Connelley for repairs. There she was placed in drydock, the damage repaired, and in a week she was back in service on her old run.

A Flood Tide
           
The cause of the mishap at the mouth of the creek was a combination of a strong flood tide, a south wind and a large tow. Out in the river, the big tugboat “Osceola” of the Cornell Steamboat Company was headed down river with a large tow.
           
She had just come down the East Kingston channel and at that moment was directly off the Rondout Lighthouse. When there is a strong flood tide, there is a very strong eddy at the mouth of the creek. The tide,  helped by a south wind, sets up strong and when it hits the south dike, it forms a half moon about 75-100 feet out from the south dike and then starts to set down.
           
As the “Odell” was leaving the creek and entering the river, the “Transport” was passing ahead of the tow, around the bow of the “Osceola.” The “Transport” probably hit the eddy caused by the flood tide. In any event, she didn’t answer her right rudder and took a dive right into the path of the “Odell.”  The “Odell” couldn’t stop in time and cut into the forward end of the ferry about 6 or 8 feet. No one was hurt and there was no confusion on either boat. The “transport” bore the brunt of the bout; the only damage to the “Odell” being some scratched paint on her bow.
           
I heard later from the Dan McDonald, pilot on the “Osceola,” that there would be the lawsuit as a result of the collision - and he had been served with a subpoena to appear as a witness. He never had to appear, however, as Captain Greenwood of the “Odell” later told me the case was settled out of court.

The next year the Central Hudson Line, because of the inroads made by the automobile, went out of business. The “Benjamin B. Odell”, however, continued to run on the river for another company until February 1937 when she was destroyed by fire in winter lay up at Marlboro. The “Transport” continued running on the Rhinecliff ferry route until September 1938 when she was withdrawn from service. She was later cut down and made into a stake boat for the Cornell Steamship Company for use in New York harbor. 
​

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 “Chauncey Vibbard” was a wooden hull steamer built by Lawrence and Foulkes of Brooklyn for dayline service running between New York and Albany. When constructed in 1864, her original length was 265 feet, but after two seasons on the river she was hauled out of the river, cut in two, and lengthened 16 feet which gave her a hull span of 281 feet. At this time her 55-inch cylinder was replaced with a 64 ½ inch cylinder.

​Destined to become one of the famous river boats, the “Chauncey Vibbard” began her passenger-carrying career on June 20, 1864, and her appearance was the cause of a great deal of comment concerning her graceful proportions and beauty of structure. While running at high speed she portrayed a dignity and grace which was almost unseen up to that period, and scarcely a wave broke from her stem to the paddlewheels. She was for years the pride of the late Commodore Van Santvoord who spared neither time nor money in his efforts to make the “Chauncey Vibbard” second to none of the steamboats plying the waters of the Hudson. In 1864 she made the run from New York to Albany in 6 hours and 21 minutes- fast time for a steamboat of that period.

In 1880 the “Chauncey Vibbard” was rebuilt. Her two boilers located on the guards were removed and three new boilers were placed in the hold of the vessel with three smokestacks going up from the center of the vessel- an operation which altered the appearance of the vessel considerably. Thus she ran for seven years, then giving way to the steamer “New York.”

Following her retirement from regular service, the “Chauncey Vibbard” was held in reserve as the “Daniel Drew” had been, but her territory was soon shifted and her last years were spent away from the Hudson river. In 1895 she was sold, going to the Delaware river for service between Philadelphia and Lincoln Park, being used both on regular runs and for excursions. During the peace jubilee in 1899 directly following the Spanish-American War, she joined the naval parade - and this was the beginning of the end for the once-proud vessel. Crowded with passengers celebrating the return of peace, the “Chauncey Vibbard” began leaking and was run on a sand bar to prevent disaster. She was later towed to Cramer’s Hill and there dismantled as late as 1902 where the wreck of her hull remained for many years.

​One noteworthy fact in the career of the “Chauncey Vibbard” was her clean slate- no disaster or accident until her last trip to the sand bar. During her quarter-century activity on the Hudson river she carried millions of travelers from all over the world who viewed with delight the wonderful scenery of the highlands of the Hudson from the deck of one of the finest steamboats ever to ply the waters of the Hudson river- the “Chauncey Vibbard.”

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(p. 40)   The North America is splendidly fitted up and furnished; the cabinet work very handsome; the whole establishment of kitchen servants, waiters, and cooks, all people of colour, on a great scale.  *** 

(p. 41)   We had breakfast and dinner in the steam-boat.  The stewardess observing, that we were foreigners, gave notice to my wife some time previous to the (p. 42) breakfast-bell at eight, and dinner-bell at two, so that we might have it in our power to go to the cabin, and secure good places at table before the great stream of passengers left the deck.  Both meals were good, and very liberal in point of quantity.  The breakfast consisted of the same article that had been daily set before us at the city hotel, with a large supply of omelettes in addition.  The equipage and whole style of the thing good.  The people seemed universally to eat more animal food than the British are accustomed to, even at such a breakfast as this, and to eat quickly.
                The dinner consisted of two courses, 1. of fish, including very large lobsters, roast-meat, especially roast-beef, beef-steaks, and fowls of various kinds, roasted and boiled, potatoes and vegetables of various kinds; 2. which is here called the dessert, of pies, puddings, and cheese.

                Pitchers of water and small bottles of brandy were on all parts of the table; very little brandy was used at that part of the table where we sat.  A glass tumbler was put down for each person; but no wine-glasses, and no wine drank.  Wine and spirits of all sorts, and malt liquors, and lemonade, and ice for all purposes, may be had at the bar, kept in one of the cabins.  There is a separate charge for every thing procured there; but no separate charge for the brandy put down on the dinner-table, which may be used at pleasure.  The waiters will, if desired, bring any liquor previously ordered, and paid for to them, to the dining-table.

p. 43      Dinner was finished, and most people again on deck in less than twenty minutes.  They seemed to me to eat more at breakfast than at dinner.  I soon afterwards looked into the dining-room, and found that there was not a single straggler remaining at his bottle.  Many people, however, were going into and out of the room, where the bar is railed off, and where the bar-keeper was giving out liquor.
              The men of colour who waited at table were clean-looking, clever, and active, -- evidently picked men in point of appearance.

              We had observed a very handsome woman of colour, as well dressed, and as like a female of education, as any of those on board, on deck.  My wife, who had some conversation with her, asked her, when she found that she had not dined with us, why she had not been in the cabin?  She replied very modestly, that the people of this country did not eat with the people of colour.  The manners and appearance of this lady were very interesting, and would have distinguished her anywhere.
                James Stuart.  Three Years in North America.   Vol. 1.   Edinburgh, 1833.

Happy New Year! And what a year it has been. To ring in 2022, we thought we'd celebrate with an old tradition involving Hudson River steamboats.

For years, Pratt Institute in New York City celebrated New Year's Eve by taking a collection of steam whistles, including many from historic Hudson River steamboats, hooking them up to the steam plant that heats the campus, and blowing them all at midnight. Check out the cacophony in the video below, from the 2012 celebration.

The whistles were from the collection of steam engineer and steam historian Conrad Milster, who worked for decades as the steam plant engineer for Pratt. Unfortunately, the celebrations came to a halt in 2015, but Milster continues to work in Pratt's steam plant, which is one of the oldest in the world. 

Milster worked in the engine rooms of Hudson River Day Line boats as a young man, and has worked continuously at Pratt since 1958, although in recent years there have been efforts (unsuccessful) to force him into retirement. To learn more about Conrad Milster, his work at Pratt, and his extensive collections, check out the short documentary below (2019, Long Island Traditions). 

To learn more about Milster's drive to collect recorded sounds, including Hudson River steamboat whistle and engine sounds, check out this audio interview with Sound & Story:

And whether you're ringing in the new year with the Times Square ball drop, attending a party, or going to bed early, play a steam whistle for us and we'll see you in 2022!

​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!​