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Editor's note: The following text was originally published in New-York Mercury, February 4, 1765. Thanks to volunteer researcher George A. Thompson for finding, cataloging and transcribing this article. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. On Friday 25th Jan. last, about 3 o’Clock Mr. Brookman of this town, one Thomas Slack, and a Negro of Mr. Remden’s, went off in a boat in order to shoot some water fowl, which during this hard weather have come in great numbers into the open places in the harbour, and having wounded some, pursued them till they got entangled in the ice, so that they were not able to get to land. Their distress being seen from the shore here, a boat with several hands put off to their assistance, but night coming on lost sight of them, and returned. – Mean while the people in the ice drove with the tide as far as Red-Hook, and fired several guns as signals of distress. The guns were heard on shore, but no assistance could be given them. And as the weather was extreamly cold, it was thought they would all have perished, -- which they themselves also expected. In this extremity they had recourse to every expedient in their power: There happened to be an iron pot and an ax on board – they cut off a piece of the boat roap and pick’d it to oakum, and putting it in the pan of a gun with some powder, catched it on fire, which with some thin pieces cut from the mast, they kindled in the pot, and then cut up their mast, seats, &c. for fewel, and making a tent of their sail, wrapt themselves as well as they could; when they found themselves nearly overcome with the cold, notwithstanding their fire, they exercised themselves with wresting, which proved a very happy expedient, restored their natural warmth, and no doubt greatly contributed to their preservation. In this manner they passed the whole night, in which they suffered much cold, but happily escaped with life, and without being frost bitten: Next morning, by firing guns, they were discovered in the ice by Mr. Seabring on Long Island, who, by laying planks on the ice for near a quarter of a mile, which otherwise was not strong enough to bear a man’s weight, they all got safe on shore, without the least hurt, and returned the same day to York. 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!
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Since the Hudson River was first navigated by steamboats in 1807, there have been hazards- natural and man-made- that have plagued the captains and pilots of these vessels. Fog, low water level, treacherous currents and ice have all taken their toll over the years, as have the occasional cases of inattention to duty, confusing or misunderstood whistle signals between steamers- not to mention fires, boiler explosions or mechanical failure of engine or steering gear. Some of these accidents are well known, such as the loss of the steamer Thomas Cornell when she ran up Danskammer Point, north of Newburgh, in the fog on 27 March 1882 as she was making her regular trip from Rondout to New York. Many years later, the Hudson River Day Line’s flagship Washington Irving was lost as a result of a collision just after she left her pier in New York on 1 June 1926. She was struck on the port side by an oil barge in tow of the tug Thomas E. Moran and sank after she was hurriedly run across the river to shallower water on the New Jersey side. Most of the accidents or incidents have never had the dramatic impact of losses such as that of the Thomas Cornell or Washington Irving. Many of them didn’t result in the loss of the vessel. The Cornell tug G.W. Decker was an example. This small tug was for many years employed as a “helper” tug on Cornell’s tows- picking up or dropping off individual barges at intermediate points on the journey to or from New York. Many years ago, the many brickyards at Haverstraw sent their production to New York on barges, with the helper tug shuttling between the brickyard wharves and the tow. The depth of the river at Haverstraw Bay is not particularly deep, and the fact that the Decker’s bottom plates were eventually found to be very thin was ascribed- in part at least- to the cumulative action of Haverstraw Bay sand on her bottom. We shall never know for sure, but it is a reasonable theory. The river’s depth is very shallow on the wide reaches of Haverstraw Bay outside of the main channel, and on the upper river where dredging had to be accomplished to allow ships to reach the port of Albany. In March 1910, long before the upper river was dredged, the very large and powerful steel-hulled Cornell tug named Cornell- accompanied by her helper Rob- was sent to Albany to break up an enormous ice jam in order that the river might be opened for traffic. It was found that her draft was so great that she grounded from time to time on the northbound trip, but she eventually accomplished her task with no small measure of hazard to Cornell and her crew. It was never attempted again. Over most of the river’s course from New York to the start of the dredged channel north of Hudson the channel is of moderate depth, but in the Highlands- from Peekskill north to Cornwall- there is a lot of water, sometimes extending almost to the shoreline because of the mountainous nature of the area. At Anthony’s Nose, the depth reaches about 90 feet, and under the Bear Mountain Bridge we may find nearly 130 feet of depth. In the region around West Point is where we may find the deepest point on the entire river. Between West Point and Constitution Island, in that part of the river called World’s End, a depth of 202 feet was recorded during one survey many years ago- and that is at mean low water during the lowest river stages. A small steamboat- or “steam yacht” in river parlance- named Carrie A. Ward, built in New Baltimore in 1878, maintained a local service between Newburgh and Peekskill during the 1880s. In late July of 1882, she sank near Cold Spring and was raised. On Saturday, 29 July, she sank for a second time for reasons thus far unknown, again in the vicinity of Cold Spring. By Tuesday, 1 August, she had not been located. The Newburgh Daily Journal reported on that day under the headline “Is She Gone For Good?”: “It is said that the river bed consists of rocks in the locality where she went down, and that the water is of varying depth. It may be fifty [feet] deep in one spot, and nearly twice that a few yards off. Some boatmen have doubts if the Carrie will ever be found. They say she may have settled into a hollow between some of the rocks and her presence may never be discovered.” The situation was not quite as dire as the boatmen predicted. By the next day, she had been located in 60 feet of water. The Journal remarked, “Arrangements are under way to have the yacht raised again.” The Baxter Wrecking Company brought in their divers and equipment on 5 August, and in a short time, the Carrie A. Ward had been raised, repaired and back in service. The Hudson hasn’t always been that kind to its vessels. There have been scores of sail and steamboats, barges and other craft that have sunk in the river never to be raised. We shall unfortunately never know the tales told by their crews. AuthorThis article was originally written by William duBarry Thomas and published in the 2007 Pilot Log. Thank you to Hudson River Maritime Museum volunteer Adam Kaplan for transcribing the article. 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 volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published March 25, 1973. As the 19th century gave way to the 20th century, the Cornell Steamboat Company of Rondout was the largest and most progressive marine towing organization in the country. In 1902 they had built what was to be their largest and most powerful tugboat. When completed, it appropriately bore the name “Cornell.” By whatever standard of measurement, the “Cornell” was a most impressive tugboat. At a few inches less than 150 feet in length, she was 25 feet longer than any of Cornell’s other big tugboats. Her 1,400 h.p. engine exceeded by over 500 the horsepower of other units of the fleet. Boatmen used to refer to her as the "Big Cornell" and her two big boilers had a ravenous appetite for coal to make enough steam for her powerful engine. As a result, she had the reputation of being a very hard boat to fire. Many boatmen from Hudson River towns one would talk to in the early 1920’s would almost always say how at one time or another they had fired on the “Big Cornell.” Some would stay only a few hours, some a few days and rarely would she end the season with a fireman who had started out on her in the spring. On Lower River Because of her size and deep draft, she was used almost exclusively on the lower river. During her service on the Hudson, the channel north of Athens had not been dredged for deep draft vessels like it is today. During her career, the “Cornell” made only one trip to Albany and this trip was her most notable exploit while carrying the colors of the Cornell Steamboat Company. It took place in early March, 1910. The winter of 1910 had been an old fashioned winter with plenty of ice in the river. During late February and early March the weather turned unseasonably warm, causing high water at Albany as the result of the melting of the winter’s snow and ice in the Mohawk River. A huge ice jam formed in the river below Albany which caused the water to back up and flood the waterfront areas of Albany and Rensselaer. Fears were also expressed that the ice crowding the Albany railroad bridges might move them off their abutments. In order to relieve the ice and flood crisis at Albany, the federal government was asked to take action. The government's plan was to use dynamite on the ice jam to break it up and to charter the most powerful vessel they could find to go up river to break up the river ice so the broken ice could move down river. The “Big Cornell” was chosen for the job. The “Cornell" left Rondout Creek on March 3, 1910 with the tug “Rob" to follow and assist in any way possible. I have been told the whole operation was in charge of Captain Ulster Davis, Cornell’s agent at Rensselaer, and the regular crew of the “Cornell” whose captain was Tim Donovan and pilot Irving Hayes. Although the upper Hudson was at flood stage, the “Cornell” carried minimum amounts of coal and water in order to keep her draft at a minimum so she would have clearance over the shallow spots north of Athens. Very Heavy Ice The “Cornell” encountered very heavy ice from Kingston to Athens, sometimes as much as two feet in thickness. The ice was so heavy, the “Cornell’s” steel hull plating was scalloped inward between her frames at the water line forward caused by her smash into the rock-like ice. At Athens, the "Cornell” went up the wider Athens channel rather than the deeper Hudson channel along the east shore, since men going ahead on foot had determined the ice in the west channel wasn’t quite as thick. She passed Athens through 15 inches of ice on March 5. All along the river, men and boys would come out on the ice to watch the “Cornell” go by. The “Cornell” arrived at Rensselaer on March 6, the river opened and the ice jam broken. Once the ice jam was broken, I have been told one could literally see the water begin to drop at Albany. Although the crisis to Albany was over, a new problem arose for the “Cornell.” The Company was afraid the water might drop so fast, they would not be able to get their big tug back down river in time to clear the up river sand bars and ledges. An Early Start The “Cornell” took on coal, fresh water and grub at Rensselaer as fast as she could. Due to the strong current in the river, when they started to turn the "Cornell” around for her return trip, the tug “Rob” had to push wide open against her stern in order to get the “Cornell” headed down stream. At first, they were going to wait for daylight all the way, but because of the falling water decided to start down as soon as possible. When they started back for Rondout, I have been told it was a clear, cold March night. The water in the river was running down stream so fast, they ran the “Cornell's” engine dead slow — just enough to keep steerage way. They were reluctant to run her any faster as they did not want to scrape or hit bottom and possibly smash her rudder shoe or break her propeller. They had had such good luck so far, they didn't want to tempt fate any more than necessary. Everything went fine until the two tugs came to Dover Platte Island off Coxsackie. Captain Donovan of the ‘'Cornell’’ knew there had always been a sand bar there and figured the freshet in all probability might have built up the bar higher than usual. When they reached that point, they stopped the “Cornell's” engine and just let her drift. Sure enough she fetched up on the bar, stopped and rolled over very slightly to port. To be sure there was only sand, they sounded all around with pike poles. Over the Bar Once they were certain there were no rocks on the bottom, they decided to have the “Rob” go up ahead and put a hawser on the “Cornell's” bow — and then to open up both tugs full throttle and to try and “bull” the ‘‘Cornell’’ over the bar. When all was in readiness, the “Cornell” gave the signal for full speed ahead and for the “Rob” to start pulling. I can readily imagine on that cold March night the load “chow chow” of the “Rob's” high pressure engine. They tell me when the “Cornell’’ hooked up, she lay down on her port side, her propeller part out of the water for a few moments. Some of her crew thought her towering smoke stacks would topple over, the starboard guy lines being incredibly taut and the port ones having about two feet of slack. However, in but a few minutes the ‘‘Cornell’’ had inched her way over the bar. Once she cleared the sand bar, though, the ‘‘Cornell’’ leaped ahead so fast before they could stop her engine she almost ran over the “Rob’’ pulling on her bow. Quick action by a deckhand on the “Rob” saved the day. By wielding a fast, sharp axe he cut the connecting hawser. From that point back to Rondout Creek they encountered no more difficulties. From Athens south, the river ice still held, but by following the channel they had previously made going northward the going was relatively easy. Renamed Her The difficulty in keeping firemen on the “Cornell” continued to plague her and led to the end of her career on the Hudson River. Shortly before World War I she was sold to the Standard Oil Company of Louisiana. Her new owners renamed her “Istrouma,” converted her to an oil burner, and operated her on the Mississippi River out of Baton Rouge where she remained in service until the late 1940's. I have been told the Cornell Steamboat Company always maintained it was not feasible to convert the “Cornell” to an oil burner, since it wouldn't be possible to install sufficient oil storage capacity aboard her. It is my understanding before purchasing her, the Standard Oil people, unknown to Cornell, sent some men to Cornell who hired out on her as firemen. The masquerading firemen thoroughly examined the “Cornell” and apparently concluded she could successfully be converted to oil firing. In any event, she was — and remained in service for another 30 years. Many years later, during World War II, my friend Roger Mabie was the commanding officer of a submarine chaser in the U.S. Navy. One day his ship was in a shipyard at Algiers, Louisiana, across the river from New Orleans. There, in an adjacent dry dock was the “Istrouma,” the old “Cornell.” He went aboard. Her shell plating forward was still scalloped between frames from her bout with Hudson River ice in 1910. Her brass capstan caps were still inscribed “Cornell.” In her engine room, her steam and vacuum gauge faces still were etched ‘‘Cornell,” Cornell Steamboat Company, Rondout, N.Y. A few days later, Roger told me his ship was leaving New Orleans to go back to sea. Out in the river, the old ‘‘Cornell” was going upstream. He blew her a whistle salute, which the former “Cornell” answered with her old deep steam whistle. I thought it was a nice gesture, both a greeting to an old work horse from the Hudson River and a sort of salute to the maritime greatness that was once Rondout’s. AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River. The tug/fireboat "Istrouma" was scrapped in 1949. If you've seen a large red tugboat named "Cornell" on the Hudson River or New York Harbor, it's not the same as this "Cornell," but nearly as big! She was built the same year the "Istrouma" was scrapped. Learn more.
If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today! Editor's Note: The following is a verbatim transcription of a chapter from Spalding's Winter Sports by James A. Cruikshank, published in 1917 and part of the Ray Ruge Collection at the Hudson River Maritime Museum. Many thanks to volunteer Adam Kaplan for transcribing this booklet. Where winter is at all reliable, and snow and ice can be confidently counted upon in advance, no outdoor festival of the whole year will furnish such invariable delight as the winter carnival. There seems to be some unique quality about winter which stimulates to merriment and enthusiasm. It is something more than the scientific fact that one-seventh more oxygen is found in the cold air of winter than in the warm air of summer. The same group of young people will reveal in winter depths of fun and prankish tendencies unsuspected by any actions of the summer time. Staid matrons have been known to try the turkey trot on snowshoes who never tried it anywhere else; and contributing thereby entertainment which neither they nor their friends ever before suspected them capable of. Nobody stands about in wallflower pose when the winter carnival is on. Canada started the world on the winter carnival. And then, because some of the thoughtless folks whom she desired as settlers and immigrants got the mistaken idea that Canada was a land of snow and ice, she suddenly dropped the thing. Now, with a better knowledge of her magnificent climate spread abroad all over the world, she has sensibly gone back to the enjoyment of those delightful and exhilarating winter pastimes which no other people on earth know so well how to arrange and participate in, and she again welcomes the seeker after winter joys. There is inspiration and information for every lover of winter joys in even the briefest visit to the Dominion during the couple of cold months of the year. Perhaps the presence there of so much of the French gayety and vivacity reveals the secret of her wonderful success in the carnivals of winter. But Canada is no longer the exclusive authority upon the enjoyment of winter. Switzerland, Norway, and some parts of the United States are but little behind in fostering the winter carnival. it is an unquestioned truth that nowhere in the world is there larger interest in winter pastimes than in the United States. Country clubs, outdoor organizations of all kinds, even groups of serious folks interested primarily in the betterment of the locality or the town in which they live, and in some few cases town governments themselves, are now aware of the delightful vacations which may be enjoyed by merely taking advantage of the local presence of cold weather and snow. On Long Island, New York State, in recent years there has been an illustration of this spirit to the extent of closing the schools when the big bob-sled races with the neighboring town take place, just as in sunny California the schools are often closed when snow falls in order to let the youngsters revel in its unusual beauty. All a big winter carnival needs, given the right sort of winter, is a moving spirit. Let somebody start the thing and the expression of interest will be immediate, and support will be generous. The very novelty of the affair will attract attention and draw people. And once it has been successfully carried out there will be large demands for its repetition. The famous ice palaces of Montreal, with their accompanying picturesque carnivals, did not die for lack of interest or patronage; they were killed intentionally, because they carried a wrong impression to the balance of the world. In time they will be revived. An ice palace sounds elaborate and difficult, but it need be neither. Blocks of ice or a foundation of a wooden structure upon which streams of water are played may be employed to create a structure big enough for the sport of attack and defense by armies on snowshoes and skiis, carrying torches and burning red fire. Exceedingly interesting effects can be obtained at very slight expense, providing of course that the local weather man can be relied upon to furnish his part in the program. There may be moonlight snowshoe tramps over the hills, snowshoe races where start and finish are in front of a grand-stand, or in the center of a rink, where folks can keep moving, ski races and ski coasting, skating exhibitions, costume skating with prizes for the best costume representative of winter; skating races, couple skating in fancy movements or speed contests, fancy dancing on skates, individual and couple; parade of decorated sleighs, floats, sleds, or toboggans; parades of snowshoers, ski runners, and skaters in costume. Any number of most interesting events can be run off on an ice field, such as hoop races, wheelbarrow races, potato races, snow shovel races, where the men drag the girls one-half the distance and the girls drag the men the other half; night-shirt races, where the girls aid the men to get into a night-shirt, the men skate a short distance and then the girls aid them to get out of the night-shirt; necktie and cigarette races in similar fashion; ski races, where the men or women are drawn by horses; snowshoe obstacle races, getting through a barrel, over a fence, climbing a rope ladder; toboggan races, in which two persons sit on the toboggan and propel it by hands or feet over the ice; and lanterns of all kinds everywhere, electric illumination. If it can be arranged, colored fire, torches, toboggans rigged with tiny batteries and carrying individual insignia and emblems, costumes similarly lighted, topped off by the moonlight. AuthorJames A. Cruikshank was an expert on outdoors sports during the first half of the 20th century. Born in Scotland but spending most of his life in New York, he was the editor of The American Angler magazine, Field and Stream, and wrote numerous articles for a wide variety of other magazines and newspapers throughout his career, including the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. He also published at least three books: Spalding’s Winter Sports (1913, 1917), Canoeing and Camping (1915), and Figure Skating for Women (1921, 1922). He also contributed a chapter on artificial lures to The Basses: Freshwater and Marine (1905). In addition to his writing, Cruikshank was involved in public speaking, doing talks on outdoor sports sometimes illustrated by motion pictures. An avid photographer, Cruikshank’s photos often featured in his illustrated lectures, his articles, and his books, as he encouraged readers to take their own cameras out-of-doors. He had a home in the Catskills as well as a home and offices in New York City, and in the 1930s he helped found the Hudson River Yachting Association. At one point, he managed the Rockefeller Center ice skating rink, and another in Rye, NY. His wife Alice was also an avid camper and hiker, and they often traveled together. In 1909, Alice went “viral” in newspapers around the country by being the first person to blaze a trail between Mount Field and Mount Wiley in the White Mountains of New Hampshire (James brought up the rear). James and Alice eventually moved to Drexel, PA and were vacationing in Lake Placid in July of 1957 when James died unexpectedly at the age of 88. 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!
Today's Media Monday post is all about extremely cold wintry conditions on the Hudson River in 1934, featuring footage of the Tarrytown (a.k.a. Sleepy Hollow) Lighthouse! This short film from British Pathe/Reuters features aerial footage of New York City and the Lower Hudson. The cold snap was deadly, as outlined below. On February 9, 1934, the New York Times reported on the record-breaking subzero temperatures, writing "At Tarrytown, powerful government tugs pounded at the ice that had formed in the harbor. They were trying to open a lane for lighters on which several hundred automobiles from the plants of the Chevrolet and Pontiac companies had been loaded for transport to New York. The Cars were destined for shipment to Europe. The ice in the harbor was more than fourteen inches thick and the tugs were unable to smash their way through." On February 10th, the Times published an article entitled, "Mercury 14.3 Below Zero on New York's Coldest Day: Six Dead and Hundreds Treated for Frostbitten Ears and Noses - 8-10 Below Due Here Today." Hundreds of school children needed to be treated for frostbite, six people died in their homes or on the streets due to the cold weather, and dozens of people suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning while trying to heat their vehicles in closed garages (none died). Snow removal efforts were halted due to the extreme cold, fire hydrants froze, and evictions were postponed. In maritime news, the Times reported, "The Coast Guard ice breaker AB-24 found the ice in the Great South Bay too strong even for her sharp prow. Hempstead Harbor also was icebound, causing some concern to industries there dependent on water carriers for supplies. The Bronx and Passaic Rivers were frozen solid and in the later fifty small craft were in danger of being crushed by the ice. In the Poconos and in New Jersey the finest supplies of ice in years were reported but - it was too cold for men to cut it." By February 11, 1934 the temperatures rose to more seasonal just-below-freezing, but 1934 remained one of the coldest winters on record for New York City. 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 volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published January 21, 1973. Back around 1908, there was a stone quarry at Rockland Lake south of Haverstraw and the Cornell Steamboat Company towed the quarry's scows to New York from early spring until hindered by ice the following winter. At the same time, the steamers "Homer Ramsdell" and "Newburgh" of the Central Hudson Line were carrying milk on a year round basis between Newburgh and New York. In early January of that long ago time, the Cornell tugboats "Hercules" and "Ira M. Hedges" were sent up river to the quarry to bring down five loaded scows of stone. Ice had been forming in the river and, as any man who has worked on the river soon finds out, the river sometimes closes over night. He also discovers that at times salt water ice is harder to get through than fresh water ice. When the tugs arrived at Rockland Lake, the river was covered with ice from shore to shore and making more ice rapidly. It was now about 5 p.m., very dark with a northeast wind, and it looked as if a storm was brewing. Captain Mel Hamilton of the "Hercules" telephoned Cornell's New York office and suggested they stay there overnight. He knew by waiting until daylight to start down, he could better find open spots in the floating ice and that the "Ramsdell" and "Newburgh" on their milk runs would be breaking up ice and perhaps keep it moving. The Cornell office, however, would not listen to Captain Hamilton's suggestion and told him they wanted him to start out immediately and get the tow to New York as soon as possible. Trouble at Tarrytown On leaving Rockland Lake with five wooden scows, the "Hercules" was in charge of the tow and the "Hedges" was supposed to go ahead and break ice since she had an iron hull. The ebb tide was about half done and everything went all right until they were about two miles north of the Tarrytown lighthouse. The "Hedges” wasn’t too good as an ice breaker and she would get fast in the ice herself. The "Hercules" with the tow would creep alongside and break her out. After this happened a few times, both tugs tried pulling on the tow. Finally, the tide began to flood, jamming the ice from shore to shore, and the two tugs couldn't move the tow at all through the ice. The only thing to do was to lay to until the tide changed. After about an hour it started to snow from the northeast and the wind increased to about 20 m.p.h. Captain Hamilton of the "Hercules" told Captain Herb Dumont of the "Hedges” to go back to the tail end of the tow and keep an eye out for the "Newburgh" he knew would be coming down. The "Hercules" lay along the head of the tow on watch for the ‘"Ramsdell" on her way up river. Both tugs started to blow fog and snow signals on their whistles, as they lay in the channel and knew the Central Hudson steamers would be going through the ice and swirling snow on compass courses at full speed in order to maintain their schedule and not expecting to find an ice bound tow in their path. Neither tugboat captain relished the thought of his tug or the tow being cut in half by the "Ramsdell" or "Newburgh." “Newburgh” Heard First The first of the two Central Hudson steamers to be heard was the "Newburgh” by the crew of the "Hedges." Coming down river with the wind behind her, the men on the tug could hear the "Newburgh" pounding and crunching through the ice and her big base whistle sounding above the storm. Both the "Hercules" and "Hedges" were blowing their whistles to let the "Newburgh" know they were fast in the ice and not moving. The snow storm had now become a blizzard. On the "Hedges" at the tail end of the tow, her crew was relieved when they could hear the crunching of the ice seem to ease off, indicating the "Newburgh" had probably heard their whistle and was slowing down. In a few moments, the bow of the "Newburgh" loomed up out of the blowing snow headed almost directly for the "Hedges." Above the storm, the men on the tugboat could hear the bow lookout on the "Newburgh" yell to the pilot house, "There's a Cornell tug dead ahead." The "Newburgh'' eased off to starboard and crept up along side of the tow. When abreast of the "Hercules," the captain, Jim Monahan, hollered through a megaphone to the "Hercules" captain, asking if he wanted "Newburgh” to circle around the tow and try and break them out of the ice’s grip. Boatmen always tried to help one another out, even though they might have been working for different companies. Moved and Stopped The "Newburgh" cut around the tow twice before continuing on her way to New York and disappearing into the swirling snow of the winter's night. The "Hercules" was able to move the tow about one tow’s length and was then again stopped. In about half an hour, the crew of the "Hercules” could hear the whistle of the "Homer Ramsdell" blowing at minute intervals as she was cutting through the ice on her way to Newburgh. On the "Herc," they were sounding her high shrill whistle to let the "Ramsdell" know they were in the channel. In those days, long before the radio telephones of today, the steam whistle signals were the boatman's only means of communication. The "Ramsdell" came up bow to bow with the "Hercules," backing down hard, the bow lookout yelling to the pilot house a tow was ahead. Coming to a stop with only a few feet separating the two vessels, Captain Fred Miller of the "Ramsdell" tramped out on his bow and yelled down to Captain Hamilton, asking if he could be of any help. When told the tow was fast in the ice, Captain Miller said he was ahead of time and would try and free the tow. Captain Miller took the "Ramsdell" around the tow twice and then continued on his way up river. This time, the "Hercules" was able to move the tow about two tow lengths and again came to a dead stop. All they could do now was wait for the tide to change. However, at least they knew no other steamers were moving on the river and they were relatively safe. Leaks Develop When the crew of the "Hercules" was sitting in the galley and having a cup of hot coffee, one of the scow captains hollered over and waving a lantern, said his scow was leaking and his pumps were frozen. Men from the "Hercules" then had to climb over the snow covered scow and try to find and stop the leak. One of the deckhands found the leak in the dark and patched it up. After about two hours, the same thing happened to another scow, the oakum having been pulled out of the seams at the water line by the ice. Finally, the tide began to ebb again and they were able to once again move the tow. Shortly after daylight the snow storm abated and the wind moderated. As the "'Hercules" and the "Hedges" moved further down river, the ice became more floes than solid ice. However, before arriving in New York, they were overtaken by the "Ramsdell" again the following night off Manhattanville. After the crews’ long battle with ice and snow and on arriving in New York, their reward was to have their tugs tied up and to be layed off for the winter. In those days their pay was extremely modest. As a matter of fact, the pay of deckhands and firemen was a bunk, food and a dollar a day, — for a twelve hour day, seven days a week. As the boatmen used to say. "Thirty days and thirty dollars." AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River. 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!
Today's Media Monday is a great story about being stranded on the Newburgh Beacon Ferry! When the weather gets colder, most boat traffic on the Hudson River ceases, except for commercial traffic in the shipping channel, which today is kept open by Coast Guard icebreakers.
Most historic boat traffic on the Hudson River was seasonal, too, mostly because the Coast Guard icebreakers are a 20th century invention. Because they traveled the same space frequently, most ferries tried to stay in service as long as possible in the days before bridges, and they were often the last vessels on the river each year. But it didn't always work out so well! Listen below for the full tale.
Brief summary: In the early 1950's, the Ferry got stuck in the ice on its 11:30 PM return trip to Beacon. Betty Carey remembers the story of one passenger who was stranded on the boat until rescued the next morning.
Have you ever gotten stranded because of snow or ice?
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On Saturday we featured a historic wooden sign from the Newburgh Ferry Terminal. Today, for Media Monday, we're sharing some stories from the ferry.
This first story, from the Sound & Story Project, tells of what happened when the ferry encountered some ice.
To hear what the ferry might have sounded like traveling through the ice, check out this historic recording from Conrad Milster, who recorded the ferry Dutchess traveling through the ice.
The Newburgh-Beacon ferry ceased operation in 1963 with the opening of the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, but was revived in 2006 as a commuter ferry for residents traveling to the Beacon train station.
Have you ever traveled on the Newburgh-Beacon ferry, either the original or the new one? Tell us about your experiences in the comments!
Last week we saw footage of the beautiful stern-steerer Vixen. This week we travel not to the Hudson River, but to Michigan for this fascinating footage of a 1930s Chevrolet racing one of those rocket-style iceboats than began replacing the wooden old stern-steerers.
Ice boats were at one time the fastest vehicles on earth - able to race trains and win. Automobiles were just starting to push the limits of speed, and this film was part of an advertising campaign by Chevrolet to illustrate just how fast their new vehicles were.
Front-steering iceboats like this one were popular in the Hudson Valley in the 1930s, '40s, and '50s as well. Streamlined and looking more like rocketships than boats, they pushed the limits of speed on ice.
Ray Ruge, who in 1964 helped revive the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club to save the old-style wooden stern-steerers, was in the 1940s and '50s racing more modern ice boats. In 1940 he won the Championship Race of the Eastern Ice Boat Pennant of America, held at Orange Lake, NY.
Although not as popular as the old wooden stern-steerers, you still see wooden or, more commonly, fiberglass "rocket" iceboats on the Hudson River.
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Originally named, "Eugene," the ice yacht Vixen was built in 1886 in what is now Chelsea and was the first successful lateen-rigged ice boat. The new rigging style allowed for even greater speed. Purchased by John A. Roosevelt (FDR's uncle) and renamed Vixen, she can still be seen plying the Hudson whenever it gets cold enough to freeze.
John A. Roosevelt, who lived at Springwood, just down the river from his sister Sarah Roosevelt's home (now the Home of Franklin D. Roosevelt National Historic Site), owned a number of ice boats, including the Icicle, on display at the Hudson River Maritime Museum. John A. Roosevelt founded the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club in 1885, breaking away from the older Poughkeepsie Ice Yacht Club (founded in 1861) over a dispute about race results. John A. Roosevelt served as the club's first Commodore and his nephew Franklin served as Vice-Commodore for a time. This brief video of Vixen sailing c. 2010 gives a first-hand look at what sailing the old stern-steerers is like. Hudson River Ice Yachts from fusionlab on Vimeo.
By the 1920s, the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club had fallen into disuse. The old wooden stern-steerers like the Vixen began to be overshadowed in popularity by more modern, streamlined ice boats that looked more like rockets with sails than the old-fashioned kind. Innovations in speed and technology, centered around the Great Lakes in the Midwest, made the old wooden boats obsolete. The knowledge that many of the old stern-steerers, tucked away in garages and barns, were in danger of disappearing. But in 1964, a group led by Cornwall resident and ice boating enthusiast Ray Ruge revived the HRIYC and began rescuing and restoring these old boats.
The Hudson River Ice Yacht Club is still around today, although they get to sail a lot less frequently than they used to, thanks to climate change. You can read more about the formation of the club, and ice yachting on the Hudson River in general, in this article, "Two Centuries of Ice Yachting on the Hudson" by Brian Reid, published in the 2007 issue of the Pilot Log.
You can learn more about ice boating and see John A. Roosevelt's Icicle as well as the smaller ice boat Knickerbocker on display at the Hudson River Maritime Museum. The museum also holds the Ray Ruge Collection, including many photographs, articles, and correspondence related to the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club, its stern-steerers, and its members.
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!
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