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. 

​The History Blog is supported by museum members and readers like you! Donate or join today!

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. 

The history of Black Americans is often purposely erased, so when conducting research for our new exhibit, “Mary Powell: Queen of the Hudson,” I was delighted to find several references to Black and African-American crew working aboard the Mary Powell.

One of the first clues we found was a photo of the crew, including a lone woman – Fannie M. Anthony [also spelled “Fanny”] – who was listed as the “stewardess” of the Mary Powell. Clearly Black or mixed race, I had to find out more about this intriguing woman. Although the research wasn’t especially easy, it was less difficult than I expected, because it turned out that Fannie was famous. 

Fannie M. Anthony was born on June 27, 1827 in New York City. Often listed in Census records as “mulatto,” according to a 1907 Daily Freeman article, “[h]er father was an East Indian, and her mother a full-blooded Indian of the Montauk tribe.”[1] In Census records, her father, Charles R. Smith is listed as “mulatto” and born in 1797 in New York (with his father listed as being born in Neris, Wisconsin and his mother in New York), and her mother, Mary Walker, as born on Long Island.[2]

It is certainly possible that her mother was Montauk, but it is unlikely that her father was East Indian. Few, if any East Indians emigrated to the United States before 1830. In the 1900 Census and her 1914 death record, her race is listed as Black.[3] Many people of African descent often concealed their heritage in an attempt to deflect the worst effects of racism. In addition, census takers and journalists were often subject to their own personal biases, conscious or unconscious, and assigned race accordingly.

Fannie’s husband was Cornelius Anthony, born in 1825 in New Jersey. Census records also list him as “mulatto,” and the 1880 Census lists him as a steward aboard a steamboat. [4] Sadly, it does not indicate which one, although his 1900 obituary lists him as working aboard “Albany boats.”[5] It would be kismet if he and Fannie both worked aboard the Mary Powell, but that cannot be confirmed. He is listed as a carpenter in the 1900 Census, but other information in that record, including the spelling of names and birthdates, is inaccurate.

Cornelius died on or before Monday, July 16, 1900. The following day, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle published his obituary. It read, “Jamaica, L. I., July 17 – Cornelius Anthony, aged 69 years, a negro, a well known and respected resident of this place, died at his home on Willow street on Friday. Deceased was for many years head steward on the Albany boats and was known as a caterer of considerable note. He was at one time sexton of the Methodist Church of Jamaica. He leaves a widow and many near friends and relatives. Internment was made yesterday, at Maple Grove Cemetery.”[6]
​
An 1894 article in the Brooklyn Times Union indicates that he was sexton of the Methodist Episcopal Church at that time. Although we do not know which vessels he worked on as a steward, he must have had considerable skill in his management of the dining rooms, as his obituary also notes his fame as a caterer.

It is unclear when Fannie began her work as the “chambermaid” of the Mary Powell, although sources (listed below) suggest a start date of 1869 or 1870. Her occupation in the 1880 Census, at age 52, is listed as “steamer chambermaid.” Identified alternately as “chambermaid,” “stewardess,” and “lady’s maid,” Fannie worked in the “ladies’ cabin” of the steamboat Mary Powell.

In a private home, a Victorian era chambermaid cleaned and maintained bedroom suites. Ladies’ maids assisted upper class women with dressing, cared for their wardrobe, and dressed hair. As a day boat, the Mary Powell did not have sleeping cabins, so it is likely that the “ladies’ cabin” was a “saloon” or public indoor space designed specifically for women, likely including toilet facilities, couches, and other private comforts.

Since the days of Robert Fulton’s North River Steamboat, a separate, private cabin for women was reserved, allowing delicate Victorian sensibilities to relax, knowing that white women were protected from the attentions of single men. Fannie Anthony likely would have cleaned and maintained this space and assisted female passengers with requests, much like the steward would do for the rest of the steamboat. In all likelihood, as a “stewardess,” Fannie’s role was probably similar to that of a housekeeper in a wealthy household. Her husband Cornelius, as a steward, likely had a job similar to a household butler. In particular, he would oversee dining facilities and public spaces, ensuring their cleanliness and smooth operation, and overseeing waitstaff, porters, etc.

One of the earliest newspaper articles about her is a very complimentary one. Published in the Monday, September 17, 1894 issue of the Brooklyn Times Union, it quotes the Newburgh Sunday Telegram. The article, titled, “Compliments for a Jamaica Woman” reads:
“A correspondent of the Newburgh Sunday Telegram speaks very pleasantly of Mrs. Fannie Anthony, for many years stewardess of the North River steamer Mary Powell. Mrs. Anthony is a Jamaica woman, and the wife of Cornelius Anthony, sexton of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Jamaica. The correspondent says:

“’Mrs. Fannie Anthony, the efficient and obliging stewardess on the steamer Mary Powell, is about concluding her twenty-fifth season in that capacity. Mrs. Anthony enjoys an acquaintance among the ladies along the Hudson River that is both interesting and highly complimentary to the amiable disposition and cheery manner of the only female among the crew of the favorite steamboat. Mrs. Anthony travels over 15,000 miles every summer while attending to her duties on the boat. She seldom misses a trip and looks the picture of health and happiness. Many are the compliments I have heard from Newburg ladies of the genial stewardess’ worth aboard the boat. Rich and poor are alike to her. Her smile and mien are as cheery on a stormy day as on one of sunshine. Every member of the crew pays the homage due her, and the Captain thinks the boat couldn’t run without the stewardess. She is the second oldest traveler now aboard the vessel, but this statement does not imply that Mrs. Anthony is by any means very old. She is well preserved and active, and in every way a credit to her sex and race. Good luck to her.’”[7]

Note that the “Jamaica” woman refers to Jamaica, Long Island – it does not connect Fannie to the Caribbean island of Jamaica. If she was finishing her 25th season in the fall of 1894, that gives her a start date of 1869.

This article is very respectful, particularly when compared with subsequent publications. Fannie is referred to as “Mrs.” and by her full name.

A 1902 New York Press article about her, when she would have been 75 years old, writes, “She looks as young as when she bustled about in the saloon in 1860, her chocolate complexion betraying no ravages of time.”[8] It is unlikely that Fannie started in 1860. For one, the Mary Powell was not even built until 1861. In addition to the Brooklyn Times Union reference, which indicates a start date of 1869, a 1907 article in the Daily Freeman indicates that she had been in service aboard the Mary Powell “for thirty-seven continuous years,” giving her a start date of 1870.[9] Regardless of when she actually started her work, by the turn of the 20th Century she was a Hudson River legend.

An issue of the Newburgh Register from sometime after August 12, 1900 reads, “Mrs. Fannie Anthony, who for the past thirty years has been employed as a lady’s maid on the steamer Mary Powell, is spending the summer at Kingston, her daughter having taken her position on the Powell.” But clearly, as subsequent articles indicate, Fannie did not retire in 1900 and no mention is made of which daughter may have ultimately taken her place.

She is mentioned again in the May 6, 1902 issue of New York Press. In a gossip column entitled, “On the Tip of the Tongue,” following a brief description of the Mary Powell, there is a whole section entitled “Fanny.” The article is transcribed verbatim:
“’Fanny’ is known to a majority of regular travelers on the Hudson as the stewardess of the Mary Powell, a billet she has held ever since the boat was launched. No one knows her age, but it must be 80. She looks as young as when she bustled about in the saloon in 1860, her chocolate complexion betraying no ravages of time. The multitudes that have been in her care never bothered to inquire about her surname, but accepted her as ‘Fanny,’ and ‘Fanny’ she is to all. This good woman and my old friend H. R. Van Keuren are the only two living of the early crew of the Mary Powell. ‘Van’ has just celebrated his fiftieth birthday. He resigned the stewardship of the boat in 1876, I think, and got rich in another business. Recently when he stepped upon the deck of the Mary, who should run up and throw her arms about his neck but faithful old ‘Fanny?’”[10]

In reality she was 75, not 80 years old. This article, like several that follow, speak of Fannie in a condescending way, consistent with the racism of the day. In addition, Fannie’s position as chambermaid or stewardess meant that she was likely treated as a servant, albeit an upper level one. Hence the passengers never bothering to “inquire about her surname.” A stark contrast to the earlier, more respectful article of 1894.

On Wednesday, July 24, 1907, The Kingston Daily Freeman published on page 8 an article entitled, “Fannie of the Powell: A Character and Fixture on the Steamer.” It reads:
“Almost everyone who has even been on the Mary Powell has seen the stewardess, ‘Fannie,’ says the Poughkeepsie Star. She has been on the boat for thirty-seven continuous years. Her name is Fannie M. Anthony. Her father was an East Indian, and her mother a full blooded Indian of the Montauk tribe. She has the shoes that her grandmother was married in, and a copper kettle one hundred years old. She is a very fine looking woman, and talks history with authority. She has met in her time thousands of people, the majority of whom have passed away. All the prominent men who travel shake hands with Fannie and have an old-time chat with her. She is exceedingly interesting and full of [maint?] humor. She hates a snob, and knows ladies and gentlemen at sight. Fannie is the pet of the public and the faithful and honored servant of the Powell.”[11]

This article reflects the changing times and a new veneration for elders who had lived through a history-making era. The references to the 100-year-old copper kettle, her grandmother’s shoes (perhaps Montauk), and all the people who have “passed away” is not only establishing her as someone who can “[talk] history with authority,” but also establishing her as a third-generation free American, distancing her from the possible taint of slavery. Her role in public service and her long tenure aboard the Mary Powell led to her fame and the fondness with which newspapers and general public spoke of her.

Fannie retired from the Mary Powell in 1912, at age 85. She died on May 26, 1914 in Queens, just short of her 87th birthday, and was buried May 28, 1914 in Maple Grove Cemetery, in Kew Gardens, Queens.[12] Her husband Cornelius was also buried in Maple Grove Cemetery.  

Like Cornelius, she received a formal published obituary, emphasizing her status and fame in the community. On Thursday, June 4, 1914, the Poughkeepsie Evening Enterprise published “Aunt Fannie, of the Mary Powell Dies:”
“Mrs. Fannie Anthony, who for 39 years was chambermaid in charge of the ladies’ cabin on the steamer Mary Powell, died at her home at Jamaica, Long Island, on Friday, aged 87 years. She was in active service on the Powell until failing health and advancing years compelled her to give up her work two years ago, when she was succeeded by her daughter. To the traveling public she was familiarly known as ‘Aunt Fannie,’ and hundreds of visitors on whom she waited during her service have pleasant recollections of her. She began under the late Captain Frost, and continued under Captain Absalom Anderson, Captain ‘Billy’ Cornell and Captain A. Elting Anderson.”[13]

Two days later, on Saturday, June 6, 1914, Fannie made front page news in the Rockland County Journal – “Aged Chambermaid of Mary Powell Dead” – a verbatim reprint of the above Evening Enterprise obituary.[14]

The nickname “Aunt Fannie” is a complicated one. On the one hand, it likely was used by most as a term of endearment. However, the use of the word “aunt” in relation to older Black women in the 19th and early 20th century, especially by white people, is often a derogatory honorific. By using the terms “aunt” and “uncle,” white people could avoid using the more respectful “Mrs.” And “Mr.” with elder people of color, maintaining the racial hierarchy of white supremacy. People of all races in service were often referred to only by their first name as a way of highlighting their subservient role. At the same time, the Evening Enterprise also refers to her as “Mrs. Fannie Anthony,” giving her the proper honorific.

Here we also have confirmation that she was, indeed, succeeded by her daughter, although we still do not know which one. An Ada Anthony, granddaughter of Charles R. Smith (and therefore probably Fannie and Cornelius’ daughter) is listed in the 1880 Census, born in 1862.[15] By the 1910 Census, Cornelius is dead and Fannie is living alone with her widowed daughter (listed as granddaughter in the 1900 Census) Mary R. Smith and a boarder.[16]

Newspaper searches for Ada and Mary have so far revealed no leads. The Mary Powell itself was taken out of service in 1917, just five short years after Fannie’s retirement.

Fannie M. Anthony walked a delicate balance in the 19th and 20th centuries aboard the steamboat Mary Powell. Although she occupied a service role, often one of the few avenues of employment open to Black people, it seems that through sheer force of personality, excellence, and longevity, she managed to overcome some of the obstacles that faced most women of color at the time. Like the steamboat Mary Powell herself, Fannie achieved a measure of fame not usually afforded ordinary people.
​
I hope that by sharing Fannie Anthony’s story, we can help bring more details of her life and her family to light. If you have any information about the Anthony family not featured here, please contact the Hudson River Maritime Museum. We will update this article with more information when possible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Editor's Note: These accounts are from the June 9, 1831 issue of The Evening Post (NY) and the National Gazette (Philadelphia, PA). The tone of the articles reflect the time period in which they were written.

June 9, 1831 The Evening Post (NY) General Jackson Boiler explosion – Lives Lost and Saved
The morning papers contain a few further particulars concerning the late steamboat disaster on the North River. Two other deaths in consequence of the explosion are to the added to the list which we gave yesterday. The name of one of the unfortunate victims is Mr. Marshall, a passenger, and the other was Mr. Brady, of this city, a carpenter, and a man of much talent and ingenuity. He was exceedingly skillful as an architectural, machine, and ornamental iron work draughtsman.

Among the persons severely, but it is hoped not fatally scalded, are Mr. John Glads, of Haverstraw, the bar-keeper of the boat, and Mr. Rathbone, of this city. Mr. Rathbone is a young gentleman of wealth, who was returning to New York from his country seat, on the North River, opposite Grassy Point. At the time of the disastrous explosion he was in the act of stepping on board the steamboat from his own boat. One of his arms was broken, and his leg dreadfully torn and shattered, so much so that amputation has, we learn, since been resorted to.

The Journal of Commerce relates the following instance of fortunate escape.
A singular circumstance is related to us of another gentleman, well known to the public as a zealous promoter of every good object, who had intended to come down in the same boat [General Jackson]. It appears that he was waiting, either at Peekskill or one of the landing-places lower down, when the Captain of a sloop, which was just getting under way, solicited him very earnestly to take a passage with him. No, he replied; he was waiting for the steamboat. The Captain still pressed the invitation, and withal manifested so much good nature, that the gentleman finally consented. [Money of course was no object with him, being independently rich.] The winds afterwards became less favorable, and he did not arrive in the city till after midnight. He then told his companion that he had been silly enough to go on board a sloop instead of taking the steamboat, and had got well paid for his folly, by being detained till that hour. What was his surprise when he learned that to this circumstance, under Providence, he was probably indebted for the preservation of his life.

June 9, 1831 The National Gazette (Philadelphia PA) Steamboat General Jackson’s Boiler Explodes near Grassy Point Dock on June 7, 1831 [From the N. Y. Com. Advertiser of Wednesday.]
Steamboat Explosion - The startling intelligence was received last evening, and spread rapidly over the city, that the Steamboat Gen. Jackson had exploded yesterday afternoon, some where in the neighborhood of Sing Sing, and that many lives had been lost. The accounts of this disaster given in the morning papers, are in substantial agreement, and we have selected that of the Mercantile, which is as follows:

Another Steamboat Explosion. – The steamboat General Jackson, Capt. Vanderbilt, that has plied daily between this city [New York] and Peekskill,  on her passage down burst her boiler with a terrible explosion. The accident occurred about 4 o'clock, while she was lying near Grassy Point Dock, a new landing in Haverstraw bay, about two miles below Stoney Point Light House, and thirty-five miles from the city. Captain Vanderbilt was on shore at the time, assisting in the landing of passengers and merchandize. Such was the force of the explosion that the boiler was blown entirely from its place, and fell in the river between the boat and the dock; a great part of the forward deck was demolished - the bows blown out, and in about 20 minutes, the boat sank, the stern only being visible above the surface of the water. When the accident happened, the steam boat Albany, Capt. Jenkins, on her passage down, was only a few miles from the scene of this terrible catastrophe, and in half an hour thereafter, Captain Jenkins was near enough to send his yawl onshore, to the assistance of the sufferers. Capt. Vanderbilt and six passengers returned to the city in the Albany last evening, and from their report we regret to state, that a man and a boy were killed, and when the Albany left the scene, a black man was on the point of death; about 15 others were wounded, some of them, including the engineer, so seriously that their lives were despaired of. The Gen. Jackson had on board about 40 passengers, but the short period that elapsed between the accident and the departure of the Albany, together with the confusion of the scene, render the particulars thus far received, rather imperfect. Whether any passengers were missing or not, was unascertained; nor did we learn that any cause could be assigned for the fatal explosion.

Since the above was prepared, one of the passengers in the Gen. Jackson has called to inform us, that the following persons are already dead; viz: - John Van Tine, Engineer; Oliver Mott, Fireman; - Morris, Waiter; Captain Van Wart, the Pilot; a colored man by the name of Smith, (the Cook;) and one of the hands, also a colored man, who died this morning. This is the second narrow escape of our informant, who was a passenger on board of the Washington, at the time of her late disaster. There was a countryman on board of the Gen. Jackson, who was blown to a considerable height, and fell into the river, where he was picked up with but little injury. He was ascending the gang-way from the cabin, at the time of the explosion; but he says he heard nothing of it, and while supposing himself just stepping on the deck, he was surprised to find people pulling him out of the water. The boat went down in ten minutes from the time of the accident.

P. S. Just as we were putting this paper to press, the following list of persons dead, or injured by the explosion, was handed to us, from which it appears that the pilot and engineer of the boat are not dead.

Captain Vanwart, pilot, badly scalded; John Vantine, engineer, a fireman, (a colored man) and a deck hand, all very badly scalded; Mr. Marshall, a passenger, dead; John Glass, of Haverstraw, very badly scalded; Miss Dow, dead; Rufus (a waiter) missing; the bar keeper had his legs badly scalded; Mr. Bradley, (architect) of this city, very much mangled, and not expected to recover.

The Journal of Commerce says: - The only additional fact which we have learned with certainty in respect to the explosion on board the steam boat Gen. Jackson, is, that among the sufferers is Mr. Rathbone of this city, a gentleman of wealth, whose country seat is nearly opposite Grassy Point, where the accident happened. His leg is dreadfully torn, the cords being all separated above the knee, and one of his arms broken. 

June 10, 1831 The National Gazette (Philadelphia PA); Further Details about the Explosion on the General Jackson
New York, June 9 Further particulars of the late Steamboat Disaster.
By the North America steamer last evening, the following additional particulars of the late melancholy disaster of the General Jackson, were received by the morning papers, from which it will be seen that the dead and wounded are more numerous than we had hoped, or than was first reported.
​
"In the [steamer] North America, (says the Mercantile,) the dead bodies of John Vantine, Engineer, Josiah R. Brady, architect, and Miss Dow, were brought to this city. John Glass, Esq. calico printer from Glasgow, who settled in Haverstraw a few years ago, and Mr. Mitchell, of Peekskill, are dead; and two it is said died while they were being conveyed to Poughkeepsie. Rufus, a waiter, is missing - as well as three or four others. Fourteen are badly bruised or scalded, of whom not more than three are expected to recover - among them are Mr. Edward B. Rathbone, merchant, of this city, whose arm was broken, and whose left leg was terribly shattered. Dr. Proudfoot, who was on tho spot, set the former immediately, and yesterday, amputated the latter, but Mr. Rathbone is in a very precarious situation. Smith, the cook; capt. Van Wart, the pilot; the barkeeper, the fireman, a colored man, and a deck hand, are severely scalded and not expected to survive - these are all the names that have come to our knowledge. The General Jackson is a complete wreck; save the deck, scarcely one plank remaining to another."

The remains of Mr. Vantine have been taken to New Brunswick for interment. Mr. Van Wart was not dead last evening, but was not expected to live through the night. Mr. Glass was found after the explosion, suspended by his neck-handkerchief -  dead. Dr. Proudfoot was conversing with Brady, at the time the latter was injured, and was himself unharmed.

The number of the dead is thus summed up: Five died at Grassy Point; two died on their way to Poughkeepsie; two no doubt were carried down in the vessel, as they were distinctly heard halloing for help, and how many more is not known. [Final death toll turned out to be 14 people.]

Editor's Note: This article was originally published on September 15, 1897 in the New York Times​. The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

​COLLISION IN MIDSTREAM
Steamboat Catskill Sunk by the Steamboat St. Johns in the North River.   

THREE PASSENGERS MISSING
Capt. Cooper of the Catskill Explains How He Signaled the St. Johns and How the Collision Occurred.

The steamer Catskill, Capt. Joel Cooper, bound for Catskill and way points with forty-seven passengers and freight, was run down and sunk in the North River at 7 o'clock P. M. yesterday by the excursion steamer St. Johns, Capt. Jacob Braisted, of the Sandy Hook Line.

Bertie Timmerman, the six-year-old son of Moses Timmerman, of Leeds, N. Y., was seen to jump from the Catskill, and is reported as being drowned. Mrs. Maria McDonald and Mrs. Susan Morris of Guttenberg, N. J. were unaccounted for last night after the rest of the passengers had been taken from the sinking vessel. Leonard R. Miller of 343 Garden Street, Hoboken, had his leg broken and was thrown overboard in the collision, but was picked up by a tug.

Met in Mid Stream.
The steamers met in midstream, when the sun was yet hardly below the horizon, and every craft afloat on the river was visible from either shore. The prow of the St. Johns crashed into the starboard side of the Catskill near the bow, cutting its way several feet into her and sending all of the deck structures amidships down to the decks. As the water rushed into the Catskill the wildest panic prevailed among her passengers, as they struggled and fought for life preservers. Four of the passengers, including the boy Timmerman, jumped overboard, and one was thrown over by the force of the shock. Many were dashed to the deck and stunned or bruised.

The collision occurred at a point in the river between Fifty-seventh and Fifty-eighth Streets, and was witnessed by many people on both shores. Within a minute after the collision there was a swarm of all kinds of craft heading from all directions to aid in the rescue of the passengers. The Catskill remained afloat about five minutes, and in that time she was cleared of her passengers and towed a short distance toward the Jersey shore, where she went down with her smokestack marking the place where she rested.

Statements of Passengers.
From the statements of rescued passengers it appears that the collision was the result of a misunderstanding of the signals passed between the pilots of the vessels. The only alternative is that one of the engineers misunderstood his orders from the pilot.

The St. Johns was returning to her pier, at the foot of Rector Street, with a party of excursionists. The Catskill left her pier, at the foot of Christopher Street, at 6:30 P. M. with a large freight load. The former is an iron sidewheel  steamer, and was built at Wilmington, Del., in 1873. She is of 1,098 gross tonnage and is 250 feet in length and 30 feet beam. The Catskill is owned in Albany, and was built in Mystic Bridge, Conn., in 1863. She is a wooden sidewheel Steamer of 816 gross tons, and is 226 feet long, with a beam of 28 feet 6 inches.

The St. Johns was apparently not greatly injured by the collision, and her Captain held her in the stream near by until the tugs and small boats that answered the call from his whistles had done all that could be done in the way of rescue. Her passengers were as wildly excited as those aboard the Catskill. They were landed on the New Jersey side within a few minutes after the Catskill foundered.

The Missing Boy.
The boy, Timmerman, who is supposed to have been drowned, was in charge of Miss Nellie McCree of 451 Union Street and George Cook of 52 First Street, Brooklyn. Miss McCree was landed with Cook at Fifty-ninth Street last night. They went to the West Forty-seventh Street Police Station to await there any news that might be heard of the boy. Miss McCree said last night to a  reporter that she was sitting on the fore deck with Cook and the boy at the time of the crash. She was thrown to the deck, and the boy was lost in the excitement that followed. She and Cook searched for him quickly, and then got life preservers from their state rooms. They were rescued by one of the tugs.

Cook said that no one had any intimation of danger until the shock of the collision was felt. He and Miss McCree heard the Catskill’s whistles, but did not remember hearing the St. John’s. They saw the big excursion steamer coming toward them, but had no fear of being run down, as she had been sighted when far up the river, and the courses of both vessels were seemingly clear.

Swam with a Broken Leg.
Leonard R. Miller, whose leg was broken, was landed at Fifty-ninth Street and sent to Roosevelt Hospital. He said: “I was standing by the railing on the port side when the collision occurred. I was thrown over the failing, breaking my leg and landing in the river. I kept my senses and was swimming in a crippled way alongside when I saw a boy about six years old jump into the water near me. He came to the surface for few moments and then went down. I watched for him, but did not see him come up again. I think that he was drowned." Miller is a retired engineer, and was on his way to visit relatives in Germantown.

D. G. Beers of Catskill saw Miller go overboard, and got aboard the first tug to get alongside of the Catskill. He threw Miller a rope and pulled him out of the water. He said last night that he was eating supper when the steamers ran into each other. The passengers ran from place to place on the boat, screaming and fighting for the life preservers. Every one was panic stricken, and there was no semblance of order anywhere.

At the Fifty-ninth Street pier, where several of the passengers of the Catskill were landed, a young woman, who refused to give her name, was in an almost hysterical state. She reported that Mrs. McDonald and Mrs. Morris were drowned. She said that they were her friends, and that she was with them at the time of the collision. Mrs. McDonald, she said, was seventy-five yeas old, and helpless.

The reserves of the West Forty-seventh Street and the West Sixty-eighth Street Stations were called to the pier at Fifty-ninth Street, where the first information of the accident was received. Three ambulances from Bellevue and two from Roosevelt were also called.

ON BOARD THE ST. JOHNS.
All Information Refused by the Officers and Crew.
At Pier 8 North River it was learned last night that the St. Johns had aboard excursionists from the vicinity of Allentown, Penn. They arrived at Communipaw in in the morning on a three -section train, composed of thirty cars, there being in all about 1,700 [1000 according to most other papers] passengers. They embarked on the St. Johns at Communipaw, and proceeded thence to Newburg.

The St. Johns, after the collision, went to Communipaw, where the excursionists were landed at about 8 P. M., and they immediately boarded trains for home. The St. Johns subsequently went to her berth, on the north side of Pier 8 N. R., foot of Rector Street, where reporters boarded her. Capt. Braisted could not be found, the other officers and deckhands scurried out of sight at the approach of the reporters. No one could be found who would say a word about the collision.

A clerk on the pier said: "I have instructions to send anyone making inquiries to the office in Communipaw." A trip to Communipaw failed to disclose that there were any offices open or that there was anyone there authorized to speak.

The St. Johns did not escape injury. All of the joiner work above the main deck on the port bow was smashed in, windows were shattered, and the rail of the upper deck, with its lattice ropework, hung dangling down to the water. The plates of the hull on either side of the stern were dented and scarred and the paint scratched, but there were no punctures and no injury below the water line.

CAPT. COOPER’S STATEMENT.
The tug Crosby, Capt. James Relyea, of the Cornell Towing Line brought the crew of the Catskill to the company’s dock at the foot of West Tenth Street. Many of them were wet, as they either jumped off or had to swim away when the water reached the upper decks.

Capt. Joel Cooper of the Catskill said that there were forty passengers aboard, and he believed that they had all been saved.

When asked how accident had happened, Capt. Cooper said that the boat usually started at o'clock in the evening. There had been considerable delay last evening, and the Catskill did not start until nearly 6:50 o'clock. When the boat was about off Sixtieth Street he saw the steamer St. Johns bearing down, and blew two whistles to indicate that he was going to starboard. The St. Johns replied with one whistle, indicating that she would go to port. The Catskill turned to starboard, but the St. Johns did not deviate from her course. "When she came close on,” continued Capt. Cooper, “I gave three whistles, indicating danger, and at the same time rang to stop the engines and to back hard. My orders were carried out promptly, but it was already too late, and the St. Johns came crashing into the forward part of the boat on the starboard side, tearing a tremendous hole.’’

"Then the St. Johns backed off and crashed against the wheelhouse of the Catskill, but I do not know how much damage she did there. She, however, came alongside of us and stood by us, and several of our passengers jumped on board of her."

When asked what explanation the Captain of the St. Johns had made to him for running into the Catskill, Capt. Cooper said that he did not see him to speak to him.
Chief Engineer Shufelt of the Catskill said that he and Assistant Engineer Young and two of the hands, Pullman Baker and Chittenden, were in the engine room, and the boat was going at the usual speed when he suddenly got the order to stop and back. He did so, and the boat was already backing when he felt a shock that made the boat shiver all through, and the next second he heard a rush of water. He and his men stood at their posts until the water came pouring into the engine room, and they got the order to go, for the boat was rapidly sinking.

When they reached the upper deck the water was already after them, and they had to swim away. Engineer Shufelt was of the opinion that it did not take more than seven minutes from the time that the Catskill was struck until she was going down, and other members of the crew said it took between seven and ten minutes for her to sink.

Assistant Engineer Young corroborated Chief Engineer Shufelt’s statement. When they reached the upper deck from which they had to swim, three tugs of the New York Central Railroad and another tug of the Cornell Towing Company came hurrying up and picked up the passengers and crew. The St. Johns, they said, did not lower any of her boats to save any lives, but lay by apparently doing nothing.
​
The electrician of the Catskill said he was on the after deck at the time. The water seemed to overwhelm the boat immediately after the shock. He remained there for a few minutes until the electric lights went out, and then he hurried up stairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Editor’s Note: 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 November 4, 1973.

Now that the early morning fogs of autumn and the duck hunting season are both with us, I recall an incident in my youth when I went duck hunting and got lost in the fog.
 
One time in my late teens in October 1927, I went down to the flats at Sleightsburgh to hunt ducks. When I got down on the shore to get my duck boat it was about 3:30 a.m., still very dark and with a heavy autumn fog. I could hear ducks quacking out around the old Rondout lighthouse, which still stood along the south dike of Rondout Creek quite a ways in from the present Creek entrance.
 
I started out over the flats planning to follow the shore and then follow the dryed up purple loose leaf weeds to the area near the old lighthouse station. However, on my way out somehow or other I got a little too smart for my own good and lost sight of the shore line. It seemed that no matter in which direction I thought I rowed, I couldn’t find the shore. Even the ducks stopped quacking.
 
I kept on rowing, figuring I had to end up some place. In the distance, I could hear some steamboat blowing its whistle periodically with one long blast. I would stop and listen, thinking I would hear something on shoe. There wasn’t a sound through the murk except that steamboat whistle which kept getting closer and closer. Obviously, I had rowed out into the middle of the river and was either in or near the channel.
 
Shortly, I began to hear the thump, thump, thump – thump, thump, thump of the steamboat’s paddle wheels. I realized it was one of the Albany night boats. I wasn’t sure as to just what I should do for I certainly didn’t relish the thought of getting run down by the Albany night liner in the middle of the fog enshrouded Hudson. So I fired my shotgun into the air so I would have an empty shell to blow like a whistle. When I fired my gun, I could hear the thumping of the paddle wheels slow right down.
 
I suppose the pilots of the steamboat knew they were close to something, but didn’t know what. I kept blowing on my empty shell, and by the sound of the steamer’s whistle. I knew they were going by me. In a few moments I could feel the steamer’s waves going by me, so I knew the danger of getting run down was past. The fog was so thick I didn’t even see the vessel’s lights.
 
I still didn’t know which way to go, so I just sat still and drifted with the tide. After a while I could hear another steamboat blowing her fog signal. By the sound of her whistle, I recognized her as the freight steamer Storm King of the Catskill Evening Line. Her whistle, however, was quite a ways off so I knew there was no danger. About five minutes later, her little swells passed by me and I could hear both boats getting further away as they went on up river.
 
After daylight broke I was still drifting with the ebb tide. Finally I drifted into shore alongside the remains of the old towboat Norwich, which was being broken up at lower Port Ewen. That incident taught me a lesson – never try to go out in a fog without a compass. It can be a very lonely and unnerving experience.
 
Some years later in October of the middle 1930’s, I was pilot on the tugboat Lion of the Cornell Steamboat Company and coming down the upper Hudson with a good sized tow. It set in foggy at New Baltimore and the fog continued heavy all the way to Athens.
 
When opposite Coxsackie at about 8 a.m. the fog was particularly dense. All of a sudden I could hear people talking and a bell ringing out in the middle of the river. So I took the megaphone and asked what it was. The reply came back it was the Queen Mary.
 
Now, lest you think the former giant Cunarder of that name had sailed right by New York and somehow got to the upper Hudson, there was also a small diesel ferryboat – not much bigger than the old Skillypot – that carried the rather improbable name of Queen Mary. At that time, she was running back and forth between Coxsackie and Newton Hook.
 
After the ferryboat identified herself, the voice in the fog said they were anchored on the middle ground off Coxsackie. The voice further said. “Be careful. You are going up inside Coxsackie Island.”
 
Now, if I were to be going up inside Coxsackie Island I would have to be going in the opposite direction I was headed. I certainly knew my compass course was south and my whistle echoes were all in good order. It wasn’t me who was mixed up, it was the ferryboat. Obviously, anchored in the thick fog they had swung around with the tide and didn’t realize in what direction they were heading. I continued on and eventually ran out of the fog off Athens.
 
I often wondered who it could have been on that ferryboat who was so balled up in his directions he was 180 degrees off in the direction he thought he was headed. But, that’s the way one can easily find himself in heavy foggy weather. Intuition is no substitute for a good compass.

RIVER BOATS. An Interesting Sketch of Steamers Whose Names Are Familiar.
Fulton's Clermont Seventy-seven Years Ago and the Fast Steamers of the Present Day - The Limbo Where Old Hulks Rest from Their Labors -  Durability of Engines.

A little over seventy-seven years have elapsed since Fulton's Clermont started from New York and splashed and spluttered away toward Albany. Although several inventors had previously succeeded in applying steam as a propelling power to boats, Fulton's was the first venture which was followed by practical results, and the growth of steam navigation since that day has been remarkable. Previous to this, many of our Western rivers were practically closed to commerce by reason of their swift currents, which precluded any attempt at navigation. The commerce of the Hudson River was carried on by small sloops, and it is interesting to note the great results which have sprung from that trial trip of the Clermont in 1807.

According to the latest statistics the number of steam vessels plying on our inland waters is not far from 5,000, including canal, towing and freight boats of every description, and as we look it the splendid floating palaces that sustain our inland commerce to-day, we can imagine the astonishment that would mark the faces of the honest old burghers of four score years ago, if they could return for a brief period, to their former homes. Their amazement would not be lessened either, when informed of the various improvements that have been made from time to time since "Fulton's Folly," as they called her, made her successful trial trip. Notwithstanding the many improvements made in marine architecture, it is a curious fact that the engine has undergone but few changes, and the old "walking beam" type is still in use on nearly all of our river steamers. An engine generally outwears two hulls, and many steamers on the Hudson River and in this vicinity have in them the engines of boats built forty and fifty years ago.

The recent rebuilding of the famous Dean Richmond, of the People's Line, and the breaking up of the old Thomas Powell, recalls some of the memorable days previous to and during the war, when the opposition was so fierce between the rival lines on the Hudson River. Many of the steamers of that period have long since passed out of existence, while some of them are still in service as tow boats, and others are rotting away at Port Ewen, on the Hudson. This place is called the cemetery for old steamboats, scores of them having been brought here, their engines taken out and placed in other boats, and their hulls broken up.

No North Riverboat was better known than the Thomas Powell. She was always a favorite with the traveling public, and during the forty years of service on the river no boat of her inches could equal her in speed. She was built in New York in 1846, for Thomas Powell and Homer Ramsdell, of Newburgh, and was placed on the line between that place and New York: After running here a few years she was sold to parties in Philadelphia, who ran her on the Delaware River, and was subsequently brought back and placed on the North River again as a day boat to Rondout. Later on the Citizens’ Line, of Troy, purchased her, and, after lengthening her and putting on a suite of state rooms, placed her on the night line to Troy, where she ran for a number of years, with the old Sunnyside. From the day she was built until she was broken up, the Thomas Powell carried the same name, which fact speaks volumes in itself, in those days when so many old boats are palmed off on the traveling public as new, by the use of a little paint and putty and a new name. 

The New World was another famous boat, built about the same time, and ran for a number of years as a day boat to Albany. Old steamboatmen to-day say the New World was the fastest steamer that ever turned a wheel on the North River. Her engine is now in the St. John, of the People's Line.

Three other steamers engaged in the traffic on the river about this time were also famous for their speed. They were the Alida, Armenia and Reindeer, which, with the Henry Clay, formed the two opposition day lines to Albany in 1852. These boats made the principal landings along the river, and so fierce was the opposition between the two lines that scarcely a day passed that one or the other of the boats did not narrowly escape a serious collision at some place in the race for first landing. Runners for each line were on the docks and tickets sold as low as ten and twelve cents for a passage from Albany to New York, and it is said that the confusion at some of our excursion wharves to-day would be peaceful in comparison to the scene at some of the up river docks at this time. During a race on the down trip in the Summer of this year the Henry Clay caught fire around her boiler and was burned to the water's edge - many of the passengers losing their lives before the opposition boat, which was some distance astern, could reach the burning steamer. The Reindeer was also destroyed by fire a short time after this; the Armenia continued on the day line until a few years since, when she was taken to Washington, D. C, where she is still in service on the Potomac River. The Alida was until quite recently engaged in the towing business, and her hull is now among the decaying hulks at Port Ewen.

The steamer Senator was built at New York, in 1846, and taken to California during the "gold fever” in 1849, and ran on the Sacramento River until 1854, when she was fitted up for outside business, running to San Diego. She continued on the southern route until purchased by the Pacific Mail Company. While running on the Sacramento, the cabin passage was $35 and deck passage $15, and it was not long before she paid for herself ten times over, her receipts averaging close to $20,000 a trip. Although fitted with new boilers on several occasions, her engine, a vertical beam, remained in her from first to last, and her after cabin through all changes was never touched, as the joiners on all occasions declined, for the reason that the highly polished rosewood and mahogany could not be improved on. At the lowest calculation over a million passengers have traveled on her, and it is said she made more gold than could be carried on her. She outlived scores of the finest steamers afloat, and about a year ago was converted into a coal hulk and sent to New Zealand.
The old Oregon and Isaac Newton ran for many years. The former was sunk in a collision with one of the Stonington boats in the North River, off Desbrosses street and the latter was destroyed by fire near Fort Lee while on the up trip. The Erie, Champlain and Ohio were peculiar looking craft, having a separate engine and walking beam for each wheel. The Santa Claus, South America and Francis Skiddy were also famous "old timers," the latter being at one time one of the regular Albany day boats. She had four boilers and carried four smoke stacks and did not run long before she was sunk, her engine being placed in the Dean Richmond. The last mentioned boat has just been rebuilt at a cost of over $100,000. When she was first built she was the finest river steamer afloat, many novel arrangements now common to a first class passenger steamer being introduced for the first time in her construction. Among these were the bedstead berths in the staterooms, gas lighting, card rooms, barber shop, smoking room, etc.

Among the famous boats of to-day on the Hudson River may be mentioned the Mary Powell, which after a service of twenty odd years is still in the prime of her life, having been entirely rebuilt a few years ago. She is the "grayhound," of the Hudson, and the most popular boat on the river, and has never been off the line between Rondout and New York since she was launched. Until quite recently she was owned by her commander. Captain A. L. Anderson, but on account of failing health he very reluctantly sold her to Thomas Cornell, of Rondout, and Captain John Brinkerhoff, of Poughkeepsie.
​

The latest addition to the fleet of Hudson River steamers is the iron propeller City of Kingston, built by Harlan & Hollingsworth at Wilmington, Del. Besides being a new departure in the line of river steamers, she is also noticeable from having a type of engine heretofore unknown on the Hudson River. It is a compound direct action engine, with high pressure and low pressure cylinders, of the same pattern in use on the finest ocean steamers of to-day. She is lighted by electricity, and has steam steering gear, and all the latest appliances known in marine architecture.

The freight steamer City of Fall River, built two years ago, was the first boat ever built with a compound walking beam engine, and her success has far exceeded the hopes of her builders. The second steamer supplied with a compound walking beam engine is the new ferryboat built for the Newburgh and Fishkill Ferry. She was built by Ward, Stanton & Co. at Newburgh and is now running on the above named route.

Strange as it may sound in those days of progress, it is nevertheless a fact that among the steamboats built in recent years none have ever succeeded in breaking the record of fast time made by the steamers of the ante bellum days. The principal reason for this is found in the fact that the boats of to-day are built too deep; the great consideration being ample freight and passenger accommodations rather than speed. Then again, the boats of to-day do not have the power in proportion to their size which the old timers possessed. Twenty-five years ago it was a common occurrence for one of the Albany day boats to average a speed of twenty-four miles an hour; to-day the boats on the same route average from eighteen to twenty miles an hour.

Fulton's Clermont ran from New York to Albany in thirty-two hours actual running time. The fastest recorded time over the same route was made by the New World, when she ran from Chambers street to Albany dock in six hours and thirteenth minutes, making eleven landings, which would bring her actual running time inside of six hours. The Chauncey Vibbard has made the same run in six hours and forty-two minutes. On another occasion the New World ran from New York to Anthony's Nose, a distance of forty-eight miles, in two hours.
"The North River steamboats don't go as fast now as in old times," said an old engineer, not long ago. "There's no such opposition among the steamboat lines now as existed then. The crafts have it in 'em, though, I think. Short runs ore not the best tests of steamboats relative speed. I remember once the old South America ran from the foot of Jay street up to a mile above Piermont in an hour, distance twenty-six miles. She had a strong southerly wind and the flood tide in her favor at the time. This is pretty fast traveling, but I don't care what they say to the contrary, when the New World first came out and clinched the Thomas Powell in a run up the river, floating craft never traveled through the water faster than they did."

The question as to which is the fastest boat on the Hudson River at the present day remains to be settled between the steamer Mary Powell and the steel steamer Albany, of the day line. Old steamboat men incline to the opinion that the latter is the fastest, but be that as it may, it is a fact that the Albany has never yet been run to her utmost speed, and if a race were arranged between them thousands of dollars would change hands in wagers on the relative merits of these two crack steamers. The owners of both boats are reluctant to have the question settled, as in either case a reputation is at stake, and they are quite content to let the matter stand in doubt. D. B. F.

Human nature being what It is, we all have an odd quirk or two. Boatmen were no exception. 

The foibles of two boatmen that come to mind were those of Staats Winnie and Ira Cooper, two of the better old time boatmen on the Hudson. Staats Winnie's whim was that he wore red flannel underwear the year round — Ira Cooper’s was a dislike for uniforms. 

Staats Winnie was an old time pilot for the Hudson River Day line and at the turn of the century was second pilot of the “Albany.” When the “Hendrick Hudson” came out in 1906 he was to become her first pilot and served as her head helmsman during that steamboat’s early years on the Hudson. Like many old time boatmen, he had previously been a pilot on towboats and tugboats of the Cornell Steamboat Company. 

With an impressive mustache and a stern gaze, Staats Winnie was a formidable looking man.  As my good friend Donald C. Ringwald observed in his book “Hudson River Day Line,” Pilot Winnie looked as if he could steer anything afloat. 

Like a number of old boatmen in his era, Staats Winnie wore red flannel underwear.  Only he wore his year round, summer and winter. During the hot days in July and August, Pilot Winnie would frequently doff his uniform jacket and roll up his shirt sleeves, exposing a pair of bright red shod forearms.

Steamboatmen were always known as great arm wavers. Whenever two steamers passed each other, it was rare indeed if several crew members were not observed vigorously waving in the direction of the passing steamboat. One would have thought the crew members of the two steamers hadn’t seen each other in months. 

As a matter of fact, in some instances this situation would have been true — as when a line had two steamers running between New York and Albany in daily service.  The two steamboats would leave New York and Albany on alternate days and the only time crew members would see each other for months on end would be on their daily passing in the middle part of the river. Many crew members of a particular steamboat line came from the same community and were neighbors. During the season they would get but a fleeting glance of each other as their steamboats passed in mid-Hudson and this, perhaps, was the probable reason for the vigorous arm waving. 

Staats Winnie was well known as one of the arm wavers.  During July and August in his years of piloting the Day Liners, boatmen on passing steamers became accustomed to seeing a red shod arm waving a greeting from his pilot house window.  It was said that passengers, however were frequently startled by the sight. 
Ira Cooper was captain of the steamer “Onteora” of the Catskill Evening Line.  During the early years of steamboating, officers of the steamers wore their usual civilian clothes in carrying out their jobs afloat.  During the 1880’s and 1890’s, the larger steamboat companies began to introduce the use of uniforms for their steamer's personnel, particularly the officers. 

The practice of wearing uniforms soon spread to all steamboat lines.  First, it was just a uniform cap.  Then it became a full fledged uniform with brass buttons and gold braid.  On some lines, the uniforms were provided by the companies outright, others granted a uniform allowance and the officers purchased their own uniforms, while on others a partial reimbursement for uniforms was given to officer personnel. 

Captain Cooper was an individualist of the old school.  He would have no truck [sic] with the new fangled idea of uniforms. For him, what was good enough to wear ashore was good enough to wear afloat. To the very end, he steadfastly refused to don either a uniform or even the traditional steamboatman's cap. He undoubtedly was the last captain of one of the larger Hudson River passenger steamboats to command his steamer dressed in civilian garb. 

It was said Captain Cooper's ideas as to dress did not particularly please the owners and operators of the Catskill Evening Line. It is my understanding, as a matter of fact, that a clash of wills ensued — and, since the owners held the trump cards, Captain Cooper left the “Onteora.”  He was later captain for many years of the big tugboat “J. C. Hartt” of the Cornell Steamboat Company — where he had no trouble dressing as he pleased.  The Catskill Evening Line’s loss, however, was the Cornell Steamboat Company's gain — for Captain Cooper was one of the best boatmen on the river.