During the heyday of Hudson River Valley commerce and industry, the Town of Saugerties, at the mouth of Esopus Creek, was a leading harbor and shipping facility. For most of the 19th and into the 20th centuries, Saugerties attracted freight vessels and passenger boats, going to and from New York City, 90 miles to the south, and Albany, 40 miles to the north.
           
One of the most important waterfront facilities in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was the Bigelow Dock at the hamlet of Malden, two miles above the village of Saugerties and now part of the town. Eighteenth-century settlers built grist mills and lumber mills along the creeks and riverfront, and much of the timber being cut in the surrounding Catskill Mountains, as well as the hides being tanned, was brought to Saugerties for shipment to market. In 1808, commerce in timber and hides appealed to Connecticut-born Asa Bigelow, who developed the riverfront at Malden. A builder of fast sailing sloops, Bigelow was enterprising and industrious,, and he succeeded in winning considerable freight that otherwise would have gone to the Saugerties or Catskill docks.
           
In 1810, Bigelow built a two-story brick store at the river’s edge, which still stands today, and is a private residence. His Malden wharf- known as the Bigelow Dock- and his warehouses thrived, with blue stone becoming a major product. Saugerties and Ulster County historian Karlyn Knaust Elia describes the commercial vitality of Saugerties and the surrounding region in an online history of the town: “Before the Civil War the iron works processed pig iron and scrap, and employed three hundred people working round-the-clock shifts. Manufacture of paper, calico prints, white lead and paint, and shipment of hides helped support the community and created a business district. Typical nineteenth century tradesmen lined the streets above the docks and mills. When the early industries failed after mid-century, paper, brick making, gunpowder, farm goods, river ice, and especially blue stone from area quarries, replaced them.
           
Two thousand men were employed at one time in quarrying, dressing and shipping about one and a half million dollars’ worth of blue stone annually from Glasco, Malden, and Saugerties. The blue stone was used for curbing and paving, crosswalks, doorsills and windowsills and much of it found its way to New York City. The Ulster White Lead Company at Glenerie produced nine hundred tons of lead each year…. Later in the nineteenth century Saugerties became a popular landing and hostelry for tourists going to boarding houses in the Catskill Mountain foothills.
           
Its location on the Hudson made Saugerties ideal for harvesting ice from the river. The ice industry thrived during the 1880’s to the 1900’s. Ice houses were located in Glasco and Malden. Ice was also harvested on the Upper Esopus and on the Sawyerkill.

The brick industry grew in the 1880’s when Washburn Brothers and Empire State Brick Company opened their brickyards. Later the Staples and Hutton Brickyards were established.

As did many regional entrepreneurs, Asa Bigelow also developed roads, invested in railroads, and established manufacturing facilities, including brickyards.
           
By 1890, the shipment of Portland cement became the Bigelow Dock’s most important commercial product. Thereafter, new brickyards were established and many thrived until the mid-20th century. Brick maker Terry Staples eventually bought out the Bigelow family’s interest in the Malden waterfront operation and ran one of the most successful brickyards on the river.
           
​Malden’s fortunes are now closely linked to the Town of Saugerties, but its heritage as an enterprising Hudson River center of commerce is rich and enduring, mainly thanks to Asa Bigelow and the Bigelow Dock.

​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 a fun one! In 1962, "News of the Day" with Peter Roberts issued this short newsreel about Theresa Scozzafava of Jones Point, NY, who was suing the federal government for rent for the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, also known as the "mothball fleet." Check out the newsreel below, then keep reading for the whole story!

Theresa Scozzafava did, indeed sue the federal government and her court case was featured in the New York Times and the Kingston Daily Freeman. Here's what the Times had to say on March 14, 1962:

“U.S. Is Sued Over a Fleet in ‘Front Yard’ – Grandmother Seeks $10,000 Rent for Mothball Ships”

A 77-year-old grandmother will have her day in court soon in an effort to collection $10,000 from the Federal Government. She contends the Government has been parking a fleet of ships in her front yard on the Hudson River.

Mrs. Theresa Scozzafava, who lives in a gray, wood-shingled house in Jones Point, a hamlet in Rockland County, N.Y., says the Government owes the money for anchoring its mothball fleet in the Hudson in front of her property.

In her suit, filed in the Federal court for the Southern District of New York, Mrs. Scozzafava claims underwater rights extending 250 feet into the Hudson along 365 feet of the shoreline.

The suit, filed in February, 1960, contends that Mrs. Scozzafava, who is the mother of ten children, all of whom are living, acquired the underwater rights by becoming the successor of grants made by the State of New York dating back to 1814.

In May, 1960, the Government entered a challenge against the suit, arguing that the court had no jurisdiction in the matter and that the ships, known formally as the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, were in a navigable river. The Government’s challenge was denied by Judge William B. Herlands, who said the issue would have to be settled in court.

The reserve fleet numbers about 190 ships, of which about fifty are used for the storage of grain. The number of ships varies because periodically tugboats pull the grain ships down to New York Harbor, where the grain is transferred to elevators or blown into barges for eventual export. When the grain ships are emptied, they are tugged back to the reserve fleet.

The spry, white-haired grandmother has been collecting $25 a month rent from the Government since March 20, 1946. The rent was for the use of a dock and for parking privileges for Government workers’ automobiles.

Rent Increase Sought
When the Government’s lease expired in 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava, who had by then acquired additional property when her husband, Bernardo, died in 1950, sought to increase the rent.

“They offered me $25 a month and told me to ‘take it or leave it,’” she said yesterday. “I told them to take their ships away.”

In late June of 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava said, several tugboats were used to pull the ships away from her underwater property. “That proves,” she said, “they knew I was right.”

However, she contends, the ships are still infringing on her property.

Mrs. Scozzafava was joined in the suit by her daughter, Mary Springstead, and her daughter’s husband, Wesley, who also owns property along the Hudson River.

Mrs. Springstead, 53, describes her mother as a “very active woman.”

“She did the Twist last New Year’s Eve and she has a few scotches every once in a while,” the daughter said.

Sadly, Mrs. Scozzafava and her daughter did not get their day in court. According to a New York Times article published April 14, 1962, the case was dismissed by mutual consent. Mrs. Scozzafava and Mary Springstead did not want to engage in a long, drawn out court case, and so dropped the suit due to health reasons.

The Hudson River Reserve Fleet was removed from Jones Point less than a decade later. Most of the fleet was moved to the James River Reserve Fleet in Virginia, in close proximity to the Naval base at Norfolk, VA. The last of the ships left in the Hudson River were towed away for scrap on July 8, 1971. 

​​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: Many thanks to volunteer researcher George A. Thompson for finding and transcribing this pair of fantastic stories of ballooning in 19th century New York. The first article was originally published as "A Night in the Air" in the New York Herald on July 26, 1874. The New York Tribune followed with "A Successful Balloon Voyage" on July 27, 1874. The articles follow the exploits of balloonist or "aeronaut" Washington Harrison Donaldson. 

Time, which does not wait for any man or any balloon accession, stole around to four o’clock. By that hour the balloon had been gorged with its gaseous lunch, and acted as if it were pretty full, plunging, rearing and cavorting in so enthusiastic a manner that it was evident to the practiced eye of Donaldson that it could not be held in leash much longer. There was the rush of a race around the track, and the blare of the band gave a brassy éclat to our departure.  Donaldson sprang into the ropes, and in an instant all eyes were centered on the swaying wicker car. The moment had come. There was just time to see the air grow white with the premonitory kerchiefs, and clear and distinct rang out Donaldson's voice, "Let her go!" In an instant we flashed seven hundred feet, straight as an arrow's course, into the air, and hung over the opening in the canvas roof of the Hippodrome, through which we had ascended.  But only of a moment. There was just time to respond to the waving adieux by friends and spectators, and to listen to the cheers of the populace who densely packed the neighboring streets -- cheers which came up to us with a faint and far-away suggestion, when we began to drift toward the Hudson in a southwesterly direction. Then we fully realized the fact that our aerial ship was launched for its uncertain cruise.

No one wanted to make notes then, no one cared a cent for the barometer or the direction of the current. The whole being was wrapped up in an indescribable feeling of delight.  

Beneath lay New York like a city of toy blocks, filled with a tremulous noise that came up clearly and yet softly to us. We could trace every street its entire length, could see the people moving to and fro like black specks, could hear alike the hoarse murmur of the populace, the twinkle of the street car bells, and the bark of a dog. Central Park lay spread out like a piece of delicate velvet embroidery, slashed within the silver of its lake and serpentine stream. Far away was the ocean, a sheet of glass, on which moved a multitude of white winged craft. with here and there a black plumed steamer. We could see the many-steepled city of Brooklyn and the glistening Sound beyond, smoky Jersey City and the picturesque villages of the Hackensack valley, all of fair Westchester, and far up the Hudson to where the mountains raised a purple barrier against the sight. Under such circumstances it is not surprising that one's nature expanded, and thoughts woven of the sunlight in which the balloon floated stole into the brain.  

Then the mystic chain was broken; then they looked around, asked each other how he felt, and producing note book and pencil fell steadily to work measuring enchantment and surveying the airy dream.

At nineteen minutes past four o'clock we were on a line with the colosseum and rising rapidly. Forty-second street and Seventh avenue was reached at twenty minutes past four, the barometer showing an elevation of 1,800 feet. At twenty-four minutes past four the balloon was 2,200 feet above the level of the sea.
Twenty-seven minutes past four o'clock the balloon's shadow fell on the waters of the Hudson, our elevation being 2,450 feet. From this point handfuls of colored circulars, taken along as part of our ballast, were thrown out, which slowly fluttered downward like
A FLOCK OF GORGEOUSLY TINTED BUTTERFLIES.

At half-past four o'clock we were 2,500 feet high. Then we began to descend until an elevation of 1,800 feet was taken at thirty-three minutes past four. By this time we had reached the Jersey shore and began to drift over Weehawken. Busy as the party were, there was plenty of time to note the charming effect produced by the green fields, dotted with villages, that lay unrolled beneath us like a gigantic panorama. Through the broad expanse of the country, rivers and streams of small size crawled like serpents, their silver scales
GLISTENING IN THE SUN.

Union Hill was passed at twenty minutes to five o'clock; elevation 2,250 feet. A moment later the Midland Railroad was crossed, and the balloon was greeted by a cheering whistle from the engine of a train of cars that scurried along beneath it, the passengers, leaning out of the windows of the carriages, enthusiastically waving their handkerchiefs.

When the watch marked fifty-three minutes past four o'clock Donaldson came down from the ring of the balloon, where he had been perched with his sun umbrella, and notified the five journalists who accompanied him to draw lots to determine in what order they should be dropped, as it was necessary, to insure the success of his trip, that the airship should be lightened, gradually. Five pieces of paper were numbered one, two, three, four and five respectively, thrown into a high white hat, and the drawing began, the understanding being that the men should get out in the order determined by their ballots.  The result was as follows: Herald, 1; World, 2; Sun, 3; Graphic, 4; Tribune, 5.  We were then at an elevation of 1,600 feet. 

AT THREE MINUTES OF FIVE WE PASSED OVER THE HACKENSACK RIVER, 
with Hackensack lying to the west. At eleven minutes past five the balloons had fallen so low that the barometer only measured 250 feet, and the drag rope, 350 feet in length, could be heard clashing around among the tree tops. Half of a bag of sand was emptied over the edge of the basket, and we shot up 300 feet, passing over a clearing in the forest where some school children were having a picnic. They saluted the voyagers right royally, and entreated them enthusiastically to descend. But Donaldson was forced to decline the invitation. At twenty minutes past five Paterson hove into view, the elevation being 625 feet. We fell again, being only 150 feet high at thirty-five minutes past five, with our drag rope raising havoc among the forest foliage. Our course was then north by west. At forty minutes past five, and when at an elevation of 250 feet, one of the party who had brought a life preserver along, calculating upon an ocean trip, offered to sell it at half price. No takers.

SKIMMING OVER A HILLTOP,
so near the surface that the trees nearly touched the basket, we were enabled to ask a rustic, at forty-three minutes past five, how far we were from New York city, and were told twenty-six miles. More ballast was thrown out here, and the balloon ascended rapidly. At fifty-five minutes past six our course was north-northwest.

The first landing made was at half-past six o'clock, in Muncy township, Bergen county, on Garrett Harper's farm. The ladies of the house, who at first took the party for surveyors of the new State line, and had retreated within their domicile with a rapidity of movement not excessively complementary to the surveyors, were prevailed upon to furnish us a drink of milk, and even got over their timidity so far as to clamber over a couple of fences and visit the field where the
BALLOON WAS ANCHORED.

They told us we were twenty-five miles from New York city. At eight minutes of seven o'clock we rose again and set steadily toward a mountain range, behind which the sun was declining with a true Italian pomp. At twenty-five minutes past seven, when a mile from the mountains, there came a dead calm -- that evening hush so apt to surround the mystery of the day's death. At thirty-five minutes past seven a landing was made in Ramapo township, upon the farm of

​MISS CHARLOTTE THOMPSON,
the charming actress, whose "Fanchon" is as familiar as a household word. Calling upon the lady, we were received most cordially, and when Donaldson invited her to take a short ride in the balloon she clapped her hands in girlish delight, excused herself for a moment, and soon reappeared, shawled and bonneted for the trip. We carried her about two miles, her carriage following the balloon, and left her at last waving her dainty cambric at us as we sped away in the gathering gloom. It was then eighteen minutes past eight o'clock.

From this out until half-past nine o'clock we sailed over a scene of savage beauty, lit up by the magic illumination of the moon, whose silver fringes had woven a veil of luminous haze, with which all nature was draped. Deep and darksome ravines, frowning bluffs, 1,500 feet high; shadowy valleys, in which twinkled the farm-house light, and from whose depth came up the lowing of cattle, were all passed, and suddenly the Hudson, surpassingly lovely as it toiled in 

THE GLEAMING ARMS OF THE MOON
burst upon our sight, a dream of spectral light, backed by a haunting nightmare of gloomy hills. We were low enough to speak the steamers, which acknowledged our presence with the shrillest of whistles. Our rope trailed in the water and left a wake of diamond sparks. 

West Point was passed at ten minutes to ten. Crossing the river above the town Cold Spring was reached, sixty miles from New York. At twenty minutes past ten Cornwall was left behind, and then we took the middle of the stream, arriving at Newburgh at twenty-five minutes to eleven. Following the Hudson in all its graceful bending we came at twenty minutes to eleven o’clock to Fishkill, where some favoring breezes harnessed themselves to our chariot and galloped inland with us. The balloon was still

TRAILING ITS DRAG ROPE
over the surface of the earth, and the effect produced by our passage over a town must have been startling to the slumbering citizens. The long-drawn hiss of the rope as it struck a roof, followed by the rat-a-plan chorus it played upon the shingles, and the fantastic farewell salutes it gave to crazy chimney tops were all the eerie stuff of which weird legends are made, and we felt positively assured that many a ghost story was left on our trail. Particularly attentive was the party to Wappinger’s Falls, over whose rooftrees the rope

SHRIEKED AND DANCED WITH SATANIC GLEE.
This place was passed at twenty minutes past eleven o’clock, and then began the serious business of the night, the watching for the dawn, as the moon had left us.

To sleep was a matter of impossibility. Leaving two on watch, with no more serious business than to report such and such a star on the port bow, the balance of the air travellers curled up in the bottom of the basket, with sand bags for pillows, and silently composed themselves to a contemplation of their situation. There was absolutely no sound save the croaking of the frogs and the hiss of the drag rope. It was a strange scene,

THAT BIVOUAC BENEATH THE STARS,
that camp in mid-air. So we drifted, drifted on until the east began to show the carmine upon its pallid cheek, until rosy flashes shot up the sky and the miracle of the sunrise was enacted once again. This was at half-past four o’clock, and from a sleepy ploughboy, whom we froze in an attitude of open-mouthed astonishment, we learned that we were in Columbia county.

We landed on the farm of Mr. J. W. Coon, in Germantown, four miles from the city of Hudson, and about 

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY MILES FROM NEW YORK
at twenty-four minutes past five o’clock, but not without some difficulty, having to resort at last to the valve rope and the anchor. Here the aeronauts were treated with courtesy, and after a hearty breakfast the party, minus the Herald and World representatives, who had drawn numbers one and two in the “get-out lottery,” and the Graphic man continued their jaunt, rising again at fifteen minutes past seven o’clock. After nearly describing a circle around the city of Hudson, the

BALLOON STRUCK A SOUTHWESTERLY CURRENT
at a high altitude and floated rapidly toward the Catskill Mountains. At half-past eleven it was within half a mile of the Mountain House, and the rope being within reaching distance it was taken hold of by a man and a conversation held with the aeronauts. They then threw out more ballast and arose to an immense elevation, still keeping a southwesterly course, which they were holding when last seen.

Professor Donaldson has informed the Herald representative that this was the most brilliant voyage he had ever made, and if he continues it as successfully as it was conducted up to the time the balloon landed in Columbia county yesterday morning the trip will cover the daring aeronaut with that glory which his skill and coolness deserve.

At 6.30 the rope caught and the balloon was made to descend, and the party landed near a farm house and got some milk. The balloon ascended again at 6:52, crossed the Piermont branch of the Erie Railroad, in the township of Ramapo, and landed on a farm in the township near the Summer residence of Charlotte Thompson, the actress, who was visited. She accepted readily an invitation to ascend, and in half an hour the party were off again with Miss Thompson in company. After going about two of three miles she was landed, and returned home in her carriage which had followed.

At 10 p. m. the air-ship was over the Hudson, opposite West Point, and only 40 feet above the ground.  During the night only eight pounds of ballast were thrown out.

At 5:24 on Saturday the grappling hook was thrown out and in a few seconds the party were landed on the farm of William Cooms, in Greenport. The Graphic, Herald and World representatives then got out and left for Hudson. The anchor was then loosened, and in three minutes the balloon was 2,200 feet in the air. At 9 o'clock it was 8,300 feet, nearly a mile and three quarters. The sun was very hot, and the thermometer registering 70. The balloon drifted slowly southward towards New-York. The City of Hudson was almost directly below, and a little off to the east, across the river, was Catskill, and beyond the Catskill Mountains. Four stratas [sic] of clouds were distinctly to be seen. The first or lower strata was of a dirty gray color; the second, a pure, gleaming, silvery white; the third, a beautiful deep azure, darker than the clear blue vault overhead; and the fourth or upper, a dark brown, almost the color of amber. Albany and Greenbush came in sight, with Troy beyond. Ballast was thrown out and the balloon rose rapidly to 9,000 feet -- so fast that the party had to shout to make one another hear. Then they descended.

For three hours and a half the balloon was nearly a mile and three-quarters high. All this time it was in sight of Hudson City. At 11 it arose over the first span of the Catskills. After several hours of travel the balloon sailed over a deep valley which Donaldson said would be good for a landing, and the anchor was dropped. It grappled readily, gas was let out, and the party descended among some small trees at 6:07 p. m. The place of landing was E. R. Young's farm, in Greenfield, Saratoga County, nine miles north of the place. The journey of 400 miles had been accomplished in 26 hours.

W. H. Donaldson had preceded his balloon flight up the Hudson with a botched attempt to balloon across the Atlantic. Later in 1874, he helped a Cincinnati couple marry in mid-air, and in 1875 attempted to balloon from Chicago across Lake Michigan when a storm came up, with fatal results. 

To learn more about Donaldson and his exploits, check out the additional resources below!

• "America's Balloonatic," by Peter Carlson, HistoryNet.com
• "Love Is In The Air," by Elizabeth Borja, Smithsonian Air & Space Museum
• "Professor Donaldson’s Unexpected Voyage To Connecticut – 1873" by New England Aviation History
• "Grooms, Balloons, and Aerial Honeymoons," by Jim Ignasher, New England Aviation History
• "W.H. Donaldson: The Lost Aeronaut (Podcast)" by Adam Selzer
• America's Daredevil Balloonist: W. H. Donaldson, 1840-1875 by James W. Raab (1999)

​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: This story is from the October 5, 1889 issue of Harper's Weekly. ​The tone of the article reflects the time period in which it was written.

"A Barge Party - On our next page we have a view of a merry party enjoying a moonlight row on the Hudson River. The barge belongs to the Nyack Rowing Association. The scene is that wide and beautiful expanse of the Hudson which our Dutch ancestors named the Tappan Zee. It lies between Tarrytown and Nyack, and although not beyond the reach of tide-water and subject to the current, it still possesses the attraction of a calm and beautiful lake. Viewed from certain points it loses the impression of a river altogether, and seems a fair and beautiful sheet of water locked in by towering hills. The light-house in the centre of the picture is known as the Tarrytown Bay Light. On the left lies Kingsland Island, and in the background we have the village of Tarrytown, adorned with its gleaming electric lights.

These rowing parties are a source of keen delight to the lady friends of the members of each association. So far the clubs had not yielded sufficiently to the spirit of the age to admit lady members, and if any one connected with the association desires to give his fair friends an outing, he must engage the barge beforehand and make it a special event. As a general thing it is required that some member of the club shall act as coxswain; this to assure safety to the previous craft. The party may then be made up in accordance with the fancy of the gentleman who acts as host. Most of the associations have very attractive club-houses, where, after the pleasure of rowing has begun to pall, parties can assemble, have supper, and if there are lady guests sufficient, enjoy a dance. The club-house of the Nyack Association is a very attractive structure, built over the water, and forms a pleasant feature in the landscape. The members of these clubs are not heavily taxed, their dues scarcely amounting to more than $25 or $50 per year, yet their club-houses are daintily furnished, their boats of the best and finest build, and all their appurtenances of a superior order. So much can be done by combination.

In our glorious Hudson River we have a stream that the world cannot rival, so wonderful is its picturesque loveliness. High upon the walls of the Governor’s Room in the New York City Hall is a dingy painting of a broad-headed, short-haired, sparsely bearded man, with an enormous ruff about his neck, and wearing otherwise the costume of the days of King James the First of England. Who painted it nobody knows, but all are well aware that it is the portrait of one Hendrik Hudson, who “on a May-day morning knelt in the church of St. Ethelburga, Amsterdam, and partook of the sacrament, and soon after left the Thames for circumpolar waters.” It was on the 11th of September, 1609, that this same mariner passed through a narrow strait on an almost unknown continent, and entered upon a broad stream where “the indescribable beauty of the virgin land through which he was passing filled his heart and mind with exquisite pleasure.”
​
The annually increasing army of tourists and pleasure seekers, which begin their campaign every spring and continue their march until late in the autumn, sending every year a stronger corps of observation into these enchanted lands, all agree with Hendrik Hudson. Certainly it only remains for tradition to weave its romances, and for a few of our more gifted poets and story-tellers to guild with their imagination these wonderful hills and valleys, these sunny slopes and fairy coves and inlets, to make for us an enchanted land that shall rival the heights where the spectre of the Brocken dwells, or any other elf-inhabited spot in Europe.

The shipbuilding industry that flourished in Athens and New Baltimore from the mid-19th century until the time of World War I has been overlooked for too long by historians. The small shipyards of these villages turned out many steamboats, steam lighters and barges, but arguably their lasting contribution to the maritime world was in the sizable fleets of tugs that came from local yards, which included Morton & Edmonds, Van Loon & Magee, Peter Magee, William D. Ford and R. Lenahan & Co. in Athens; and, in New Baltimore, J.R. and H.S. Baldwin, William H. Baldwin and that grandly-named-but-short-lived late-comer, the New Baltimore Shipbuilding and Repair Co.
 
The vessels were built for the area’s two principal markets- Albany and New York City. In Albany, the eastern terminus of the Erie Canal, an impressive fleet of small harbor tugs performed two functions: They shepherded the multitude of canal boats that traversed the Erie Canal after they had reached Albany, and many of these tugs towed barges and canal boats on the canal itself. In New York - then, as now, one of the nation’s major ports - these tugs joined the workforce of commerce of that place, docking and undocking seagoing vessels, shifting barges among the multitude of piers, and performing many other tasks.
 
The tugs built at Athens number over eighty, including the well-known side-wheel towboat Silas O. Pierce, launched by Morton & Edmunds in 1863. She eventually came under the ownership of Rondout-based Cornell Steamboat Company, as did a number of other Athens-built vessels, such as the Thomas Chubb of 1888, H.D. Mould of 1896, P. McCabe, Jr. (renamed W.B. McCulloch) of 1899, and Primrose of 1902.
 
New Baltimore’s output of tugboats was around fifty vessels. This fleet was composed of some interesting vessels, such as the side-wheel towboats Jacob Leonard and George A. Hoyt in 1872 and 1873. Both were in the Cornell fleet. George A. Hoyt was the last side-wheel towboat constructed as such- - most vessels of the type having been converted from elderly passenger steamboats.
 
Over the years, Cornell also acquired a number of New Baltimore propeller tugs, such as Jas. A. Morris of 1894, Wm. H. Baldwin of 1901, R.J. Foster of 1903, Robert A. Scott of 1904, and Walter B. Pollack (later renamed W.A. Kirk) of 1905. R.J. Foster and Robert A. Scott had originally towed ice barges for the Foster-Scott Ice Company.
 
The last tug built at Athens was the diesel-propelled Thomas Minnock, built in 1923 by R. Lenahan for Ulster Davis. She lasted until the early 1960s, although many of her last years were in lay up at the Island Dock at Rondout while owned by the Callanan Road Improvement Company. New Baltimore’s last tug was Gowanus, built for the legendary Gowanus Towing Company by the Baldwin yard in 1921.
 
In recognition of the shipbuilding prowess of the shipbuilders of Athens and New Baltimore, we of the Hudson River Maritime Museum tip our collective hats to the accomplishments of these accomplished artisans and mechanics.
                                                                                                            -by William duBarry Thomas

Newburgh was the shipbuilding center of the mid-Hudson for well over a century and a half. Although the earliest accomplishments of local shipwrights are clouded by the passage of time, sailing vessels were constructed during the colonial days by such men as George Gardner, Jason Rogers, Richard Hill and William Seymour along the village’s waterfront, which extended approximately from the foot of present day Washington Street north to South Street.
 
Strategically well placed at the southernmost point before one entered the Hudson Highlands, Newburgh became the river transportation center, serving the inland towns and villages to the north and west. The Highlands form a magnificent scenic delight in the mid-Hudson region, but in the pre-railroad era they were decidedly unfriendly to the movement of goods and people. In short, the Hudson became a marine highway which connected upstate regions to the Metropolis at its mouth. A significant freighting business therefore developed at Newburgh, and, in addition, the village became one of the region’s bases for the whaling industry. Both of these undertakings required sailing vessels, and with forests of suitable timber nearby, the local shipbuilders were well placed to support the burgeoning commerce on the river.

​Much of this changed with the introduction of the steamboat in the summer of 1807, when Robert Fulton’s North River Steamboat made her first trip to Albany. It was inevitable that steam should be adopted almost universally on America’s waterways. The earliest steamboat built at Newburgh is reputed to have been the side-wheel ferry Gold Hunter, constructed in 1836 for the ferry between Newburgh and Fishkill Landing. We are not certain of the identity of her builder, but her appearance coincided with the start of local shipbuilding by the dynasty which dominated that industry for 110 years - Thomas S. Marvel; his son of the same name; and his grandson, Harry A. Marvel.
 
The shipbuilding activities of these three generations of the Marvel family encompassed the period from 1836 until 1946, when Harry Marvel retired from business. Although their activity was not continuous throughout this period, the reputations of these men as master shipbuilders survived the periodic and all too frequent ups and downs that have always plagued this industry.
 
The senior Thomas Marvel, born in Newport, Rhode Island in 1808, served his apprenticeship as a shipwright with Isaac Webb, a well-known shipbuilder in New York. Around 1836, he moved to Newburgh and commenced building small wooden sailing vessels, sloops, schooners and the occasional brig or half-brig, near the foot of Little Ann Street, later moving to the foot of Kemp Street (no longer in existence). Among the vessels he built was a Hudson River sloop launched in the spring of 1847 for Hiram Travis, of Peekskill. Travis elected to name his vessel Thomas S. Marvel, a name she carried at least until she was converted to a barge in 1890.
 
An unidentified 160-foot steamboat was built at the Marvel yard in 1853. She was described by the local press as a “new and splendid propeller built for parties in New York.” Possibly the first steamboat built by Thomas Marvel, this vessel was important for another reason- she was propelled by a double-cylinder oscillating engine built on the Wolff, or high-and-low pressure principle. Ernest Wolff had patented his design in 1834, utilizing the multiple expansion of steam to improve the efficiency of the engine. The Wolff engine was a rudimentary forerunner of the compound engine, which did not appear for another two decades.
 
The younger Thomas joined his father in 1847, at the age of 13. The young man, who was born in 1834 at New York, was entrusted with building a steamboat hull in 1854. This was a classic case of on-the-job training, for the boat was entirely young Tom’s responsibility. She is believed to have been Mohawk Chief, for service on the eastern end of the Erie Canal. The 85-3/95 ton Mohawk Chief, 86 feet in length, was described in her first enrollment document as a “square-sterner steam propeller, round tuck, no galleries and no figurehead.” The dry, archaic language of vessel documentation was hardly accurate, for her builder’s half model, still in existence, proves that she was a handsomely crafted little ship with a graceful bow and fine lines aft.
 
The elder Thomas Marvel retired from shipbuilding at Newburgh sometime around 1860. He later built some additional vessels elsewhere, including the schooner Amos Briggs at Cornwall. He may have commanded sailing vessels on the river in his later years, for he was referred to from time to time as “Captain Marvel.”
 
By the mid-1850s, the younger Thomas Marvel had become a thoroughly professional shipwright, and undertook the management of the yard’s operation, at first as the sole owner and later in partnership with George F. Riley, a local shipwright. The partnership continued until Marvel volunteered for service in the Union Army almost immediately after the start of the Civil War in April 1861. He served as Captain of Company A of the 56th Regiment until he was mustered out due to illness in August 1862.
 
He returned to Newburgh, but shortly afterwards moved to Port Richmond, Staten Island, where he built sailing vessels and at least one steamboat. A two-year period in the late 1860s saw him constructing sailing craft on the Choptank River at Denton, Maryland, after which he returned to Port Richmond.
 
During the Civil War and for a few years afterwards, George Riley continued a modest shipbuilding business at Newburgh, later with Adam Bulman as a partner. They went their separate ways in the late 1860s, and Bulman teamed with Joel M. Brown in 1871, doing business as Bulman & Brown. For the next eight years, they built ships in a yard south of the foot of Washington Street, where they turned out tugs, schooners and barges. Their output of tugs consisted of James Bigler, Manhattan, A.C. Cheney and George Garlick, and their most prominent sailing vessels were the schooners Peter C. Schultz (332 tons) and Henry P. Havens (300 tons), both launched in 1874.
 
Another source of business was the brick-making industry, which required deck barges to move its products to the New York market. Nearly all of 19th century New York City was built of Hudson River brick, and the brick yards on both shores of Newburgh Bay contributed to this enormous undertaking. In 1872 alone, Bulman & Brown built at least five brick barges for various local manufacturers.
 
Vessel repair went hand in hand with construction. Bulman & Brown built and operated what might have been the first floating dry dock at Newburgh. In 1879, the firm moved to Jersey City, New Jersey, and Newburgh lost a valuable asset. This prompted Homer Ramsdell, the local entrepreneurial steamboat owner, to finance construction of a marine railway located at the foot of South William Street. Ramsdell, whose interests included the ferry to Fishkill Landing and the Newburgh and New York Railroad, as well as his line of steamboats to New York, wanted to be sure that his fleet could be hauled out and repaired locally without the need for a trip to a New York repair yard.
 
The mid-1870s, which marked the end of the wooden ship era at Newburgh and the start of the age of iron and steel, brings us to the close of this portion of the sketch of the area’s shipbuilding. From this time onward, the local scene would change radically. The firm of Ward, Stanton & Company, successors to Stanton & Mallery, a local manufacturer of machinery for sugar mills and other shoreside activities, entered shipbuilding and persuaded Thomas S. Marvel to join the company in 1877 to manage its shipyard. Newburgh, which had been incorporated as a city in 1865, was about to enter the major leagues in ship construction.

Editor's Note: This article was originally written by William duBarry Thomas and  published in the 2000 Pilot Log. Thank you to Hudson River Maritime Museum volunteer Adam Kaplan for transcribing the article.

 Scenic Hudson improves the health, quality of life and prosperity of Hudson Valley residents by protecting and connecting them to the Hudson River and the region beyond.  Ever responsive to the changing pulse of the region, the ways we achieve our mission are always evolving.

Building on Our Past
Our work today builds upon more than five decades of advocacy and citizen engagement. When Scenic Hudson was founded in 1963, grass-roots environmental activism did not exist as it does today.  Con Edison’s plan to construct a hydroelectric plant on the face of majestic Storm King Mountain in the Hudson Highlands changed that.

Conservationists recognized that carrying out an effective campaign against the project—which would destroy the iconic northern gateway to the Hudson Highlands and severely impact fish populations—was beyond their capacity. So concerned citizens attended a meeting at the home of writer Carl Carmer in Irvington. In addition to forming the Scenic Hudson Preservation Conference—today known as Scenic Hudson—the six people gathered around the table wound up igniting the modern environmental movement that would soon blaze across the country.

Early on, the founders of Scenic Hudson recognized two important things that have remained central to our work—fostering collaboration and relying on solid scientific data to back up its case. In addition to partnering with groups such as the Hudson River Fishermen’s Association, they wound up mobilizing tens of thousands of concerned citizens to speak out against the plant. Meanwhile, scientists engaged by the group provided research indicating that fish kills from the facility would be much higher than Con Ed estimated and have a devastating impact on sports fishing not only in the Hudson but along the East Coast.

One last thing the founders of Scenic Hudson recognized: the need to persevere. It required 17 years before achieving success. In December 1980, leaders of Scenic Hudson and its partners signed a settlement with Con Ed that resulted in Storm King’s protection. Today, hikers from around the world come to enjoy the magnificent views from its 1,340-foot summit.

Frances “Franny” Reese, who led Scenic Hudson through many of its formative years, later summarized the defining aspects of the organization’s success: “Care enough to take action, do your research so you don’t have to backtrack from a position, and don’t give up!” Our staff continues to be inspired by these words.

Perhaps the most important victory during the Storm King campaign, aside from saving the mountain, occurred in 1965, when the Second Circuit of the U.S. Court of Appeals ruled that Scenic Hudson had the legal right to make their case for protecting Storm King. This “Scenic Hudson Decision” has become a cornerstone of environmental law, granting ordinary citizens the right to support or oppose projects impacting their environment. It led to the adoption of federal and state statutes (including New York’s State Environmental Quality Review Act, or SEQR) that requires an opportunity for public input on projects that could affect their communities’ environment. The ruling helped spur the adoption of the federal National Environmental Policy Act and the formation of grass-roots environmental groups nationwide. 

Even before achieving victory at Storm King, citizens in other communities fighting to protect important landscapes started reaching out Scenic Hudson. Overall, the organization has played critical roles in protecting iconic views, productive farmland and prime wildlife habitats by halting countless poorly planned projects—from riverfront towers and huge subdivisions to industrial plants. We also have worked with many developers to reduce the impacts new development will have on these resources. At the same time, thanks to a generous bequest from Lila Acheson and DeWitt Wallace (founders of Reader’s Digest), Scenic Hudson has protected more than 44,000 acres of scenic, agricultural and environmental importance throughout the Hudson Valley. And it remains the leading advocate in efforts to clean up PCB toxins in the river and halt other threats to the Hudson that imperil humans and wildlife.

Going one step further, Scenic Hudson began providing new places for people to enjoy the river. It has created or enhanced more than 65 parks, preserves and historic sites where Hudson Valley residents and visitors connect with the region’s natural beauty and culture. This “emerald necklace” of parks encompasses more than 6,500 acres—from rugged mountain trails for hiking and biking to riverfront parks perfect for a picnic, launching a kayak or simply admiring the Hudson’s power and majesty. When Scenic Hudson acquired many of these riverfront destinations—including Scenic Hudson’s Long Dock Park in Beacon and Scenic Hudson Park in Irvington—they were industrial sites long off-limits to the public. Effective partnerships with local governments, other not-for-profits and New York State made their transformations possible.

Also typical of Scenic Hudson’s innovative approach is the leadership role it played in advancing three visionary projects that turned formerly neglected eyesores into regional destinations. In Beacon, we facilitated the Dia Art Foundation’s efforts to create a new museum of contemporary art in an old Nabisco box factory. Today, Dia:Beacon attracts visitors to the city from around the world. Scenic Hudson’s study of the potential for “daylighting” (uncovering) the Saw Mill River in downtown Yonkers led to creation of Van Der Donck Park—replacing a parking lot with a magnificent greenspace along the tributary’s shores. It provides a great place for the community to gather and for school field trips, and has helped to drive the city’s ongoing economic revitalization. Finally, Scenic Hudson’s early financial support for creating the world’s tallest linear park atop the long-abandoned Poughkeepsie-Highland Railroad Bridge spurred additional investment in Walkway Over the Hudson, which attracts half a million visitors a year.   

In 1998, Scenic Hudson launched its initiative to protect the valley’s working family farms—critical for sustaining their supplies of fresh, local food, as well as the agricultural economies and charm of many rural communities. Twenty years later, the organization ramped up this collaborative work by creating the Hudson Valley-New York City Foodshed Conservation Plan. It provides a blueprint for protecting enough agricultural lands to meet the growing demand for fresh, local food in the region and city. Preserving these lands allows existing farms to increase their agricultural productivity and makes them more affordable for the next generation of farmers—of critical importance since more than two million acres of productive New York farmland will change hands in the next decade as farmers reach retirement age.

To date, Scenic Hudson has protected nearly 16,000 acres on more than 120 family farms. Vital partners in addition to the farm families themselves include the Agricultural Stewardship Association (in Rensselaer County), Columbia Land Conservancy, Dutchess Land Conservancy, Equity Trust, Hudson Highlands Land Trust, Orange County Land Trust and Westchester Land Trust. State, federal and local funding also has played an important role in this work.

Today: Broadening Our Impacts
Our work is driven by three themes—Promoting Regional Identity, Building Community and Strengthening Resiliency.  These allow us to ensure that all people benefit from our work while confronting the most pressing environmental challenges of our time.

Strengthening our partnerships in the region’s cities, we are working to support citizens’ efforts to create the communities they want, turning long-neglected natural treasures into neighborhood assets, new places for residents to gather, exercise or be inspired by nature.  We’re side-by-side with dozens of local groups, colleges, citizen “spark plugs” and business leaders focused on arts, affordable housing and home ownership, violence prevention, youth employment, public health, building local economies, environmental education and more.  The “Successful River Cities” coalition we’ve launched with them is all about sharing principles, practices, resources, concerns and solutions for healthier, happier, more prosperous, equitable and sustainable Hudson River cities.

In Newburgh, we teamed with city agencies, youth-empowerment organizations, schools and business groups to transform the land around Crystal Lake, once a popular swimming destination but abandoned for decades, into a community park where people come to view the lake and hike a new trail that leads to stunning views from the top of Snake Hill into the heart of the Hudson Highlands.

Similar collaborations in downtown Poughkeepsie are taking great early strides in transforming Fall Kill Creek, a Hudson River tributary that winds through the city’s economically-challenged north side, into a community asset.  Together with our partners in the “Northside Collaborative,” we’re creating a string of public spaces and neighborhood centers. We’re also working to secure an abandoned CSX rail line that will connect north side neighborhoods with jobs, schools, the Dutchess Rail Trail and the riverfront.  Youth working with us in both cities are learning job skills and gaining a new-found sense of ownership for the natural treasures in their communities.

In Kingston, many hundreds of city middle-schoolers connect with nature for the first time at Scenic Hudson’s Juniper Flats Preserve, the site of the former IBM Recreation facility. Our friends at Wild Earth lead field trips at this expansive “outdoor classroom.”  And we’ve enjoyed a wonderful partnership with the Hudson River Maritime Museum on the Rondout, first supporting the purchase of the land and building for the wooden boat building school and then helping with the museum’s ground-breaking new solar boat that will give Kingston schoolkids a whole new perspective on their city.

On the front burner right now, we’re investigating the feasibility of acquiring the 500+ acre former Tilcon cement plant and quarry on the city’s riverfront north of Kingston Point.  We’re excited by the tremendous potential of this land, which includes 260 acres of forest and more than a mile of riverfront that will extend the Green Line and host the Empire State Trail.  We’ll be reaching out to get community partners, local leaders and citizens for input as we begin to shape a vision for its future, so the property itself can be a building block for Kingston residents in developing their own sense of community.

On the climate front, we’re leading efforts to reduce our region’s reliance on fossil fuels and to attract new clean energy jobs by promoting renewable energy development.  Our “Clean Energy, Green Communities” guide has become the go-to resource for communities and developers to achieve win-win solutions by locating solar facilities where they will minimize impacts to iconic views, farms and wildlife habitats. Meanwhile, we continue providing guidance to communities, including Kingston, about strategies to make their waterfronts more resilient to rising seas, and we’re exploring opportunities to incentivize farmers to transition to agricultural practices that keep climate-warming carbon in the soil.

Finally, to connect communities, provide new recreational and commuting opportunities and boost the valley’s tourism economy, we are spearheading longer, regional trail projects. The John Burroughs Black Creek Trail will stretch nine miles, from our Black Creek Preserve in Esopus, past the Hudson Valley Rail Trail to Illinois Mountain in Lloyd, linking visitors to lands that inspired Burroughs to write his nature essays. Across the river, we’re spearheading the Hudson Highlands Fjord Trail from Beacon to Cold Spring. Running seven miles along the river’s most dramatic stretch, it’s intended to transform Route 9D from a speedway into a world-class parkway, providing access to Hudson Highlands State Park, including Breakneck Ridge. We’re also making progress on completing the 51-mile Westchester RiverWalk by filling in a “missing link” beneath the new Gov. Mario M. Cuomo Bridge.

Preparing for Tomorrow
 The Hudson Valley faces an uncertain future—from climate change, air and water pollution, insecure food supplies and development pressures. Scenic Hudson has always been proactive, confronting challenges before they become crises and working with stakeholders to achieve solutions that build rather than deplete our cities’ and rural economies and protect the natural treasures that make our region so unique.

Moving ahead, we’re committed to making the Hudson Valley an even better place to live, work and play.  We also remain committed to Franny Reese’s credo: We will never give up.

This article was originally published in the 2019 issue of the Pilot Log.  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!​

​The hamlet of New Baltimore is an unincorporated community of less than 200 homes situated on the west bank of the Hudson River approximately 15 miles south of Albany. From the river, New Baltimore is identified by several early nineteenth century houses with verandahs, the steeple of the Dutch Reformed Church and the squared bell tower of a former Methodist church. Driving through the hamlet, one might notice the well-preserved nineteenth century houses, carriage barns and church buildings, as well as the lawns and mature trees which contribute to its attractiveness. The core of the hamlet was entered on the National Register of Historic Places in 1996. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. At its height of its prosperity and physical development, New Baltimore was a substantial community with hotels, stores, hundreds of houses, docks and industries. Of the latter, shipbuilding and ice harvesting were dominant. Today’s New Baltimore reflects little of the urban density and industrial character typical of much of its waterfront during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
 
The hamlet was first settled by several Dutch families and New Englanders at the end of the eighteenth century. By 1800, the place had accumulated two dozen houses and the name New Baltimore, often abbreviated as simply “Baltimore.”  New Baltimore was strategically located just below an area of the river choked with islands and bars that often impeded ship navigation to Albany. One of these obstructions, the infamous “overslaugh” bottled up shipping during periods of low water. New Baltimore had the advantage of being below these obstructions and still close to Albany. A promotional map from 1809 encouraging investment in real estate describes the place as “commanding a spacious harbor and intersected by extensive turnpike roads opening a fair prospect for the mercantile and seafaring adventurer.”

​Shipbuilding was clearly underway in New Baltimore by 1793 when the sloop Sea Flower was built by Nathan Dunbar. This was followed by more than a dozen new sloops, schooners and a brig built for the river trade and even trade with the West Indies. These sailing vessels tended to average 60 to 70 feet in length on deck and carried freight and passengers up and down the river while maintaining communications between Hudson River towns, New York City and southern New England. At least one New Baltimore sloop remained in service locally into the 1870s. The town’s yards also thrived repairing and rebuilding sailing vessels. By 1830, a community of shipbuilders, masters, owners and merchants had emerged building docks, warehouses, several shipyards and a series of mostly frame houses on small lots along what are now Main and Washington streets.

​
​A drydock was added to New Baltimore’s yard facilities in 1835. Sloops continued to be built and repaired here into the 1850s, when steamboats and barges began to be produced. In 1858, Jedediah R. and Henry S. Baldwin purchased the Goldsmith and Ten Eyck shipyard and began a business that continued almost uninterrupted until 1919. The Baldwins built at least 100 steamboats, canal barges, hay barges, tugboats and a large steam dredge over their 61-year history and repaired many more. A marine railway was built at the company’s Mill Street yard in 1884 which facilitated the launching of new boats and the repair of passenger steamboats of all but the largest sizes. Among the more notable boats built here were the 182-foot sidewheeler Andrew Harder in 1863, 253-foot propeller steamboat Nuhpa in 1865, the sidewheel towboat Jacob Leonard in 1872, the 127-foot sidewheel steamboat G.V.S. Quackenbush in 1878 and the 139-foot hay and excursion barge Andrew M. Church in 1892. Between 1905 and 1906, 13 boats were launched at the Baldwin yard. Photographs of the yard taken in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries show the marine railway in use, new boats being built on the shoulders of the railway slip, an office and loft building, several storage buildings, a steam mill for sawing and planning lumber, a basin adjacent to the river to keep logs from drying and checking, several steam boxes with brick furnaces and teams of workers with caulking mallets in hand. Launches of the larger boats were often celebratory events for the community and recorded in photographs. 

​​Small boats were also produced and serviced in New Baltimore. In the 1880s, Herrick & Powell produced yachts and launches with steam and early internal combustion engines. In 1898, William H. Couser moved his boat shop to Mill Street where he produced and repaired small craft for some years. The Baldwin firm built or repaired at least one small auxiliary schooner at its Mill Street yard and briefly operated a small yard nearby at Matthews Point for building smaller tugs.

​​New Baltimore’s mid and later nineteenth century prosperity was expressed in its fine homes and churches. Stylish homes with verandahs overlooking the river and sometimes distinctive cupolas were built by the town’s leading industrialists and merchants in the latest styles of the day. Steamboats connected New Baltimore to Albany, Hudson and ports in between and a five-story hotel was built on the town square. Large warehouses flanked the public dock and coal pockets were built near the steamboat dock and a short distance south on Mill Street. By the 1890s, the waterfront was flanked by enormous icehouses at its north and south ends and across the river on Hotaling Island.
 
New Baltimore’s decline was gradual. The West Shore Railroad by-passed the hamlet by more than a mile when service began in 1883, limiting the possibilities that direct rail service might have provided. Major fires in 1897, 1905, 1912 and 1929 largely destroyed the business center of the community. The natural ice industry declined during this same period due to public concerns over bacterial contamination from polluted river water and the simultaneous rise of clean manufactured ice.
 
The Baldwin shipyard was purchased by William Wade in 1919 and incorporated as the New Baltimore Shipbuilding and Repair Corporation. It may have built one or more wooden tugs. The last launch in town was the 90-foot wooden steamship Kittaning built in 1922 for the Manhattan State Hospital on Ward’s Island. Thereafter, the yard became a dock for Wade’s adapted sand and dredging company. While ideal for building wooden sloops, barges, tugs, ferries, and small to mid-sized steamboats, New Baltimore did not have enough available flat land along the river or the access to rail shipments necessary to create an efficient yard for building with steel. Steel shipbuilding succeeded elsewhere on the Hudson River where adequate land and infrastructure were available, notably at Kingston, Newburgh, and Cohoes.

With its prime industries lost, New Baltimore lost status, population, and a number of ancillary businesses that once thrived on its booming economy. Images taken by Office of War Information photographer John Collier, Jr. in October 1941 show a town with little apparent activity, dilapidated fences, unpainted porches and a waterfront with rotting barges. Buildings continued to be lost to fire and neglect and trees reclaimed industrial sites and yards. Areas of dense-packed housing were gradually thinned and by the 1970s, the town had lost as much as one-fourth of its historic building stock.
 
The hamlet’s stabilization and recovery, beginning in the 1970s, paralleled a broadened appreciation for the Hudson River and the gradual clean-up of its waters. Today, the hamlet is an attractive bedroom community for families and individuals with employment in adjacent communities and nearby cities. Its maritime heritage is echoed in the houses of the shipbuilders, captains, shipwrights and rivermen, the remains of the earth-filled docks and slips, a lone derrick, several subbing posts along the shoreline and the stone foundations of some of its lost buildings and industrial sites.
​

Sources:
Bush, Clesson S. Episodes from a Hudson River Town, New Baltimore, New York. SUNY Albany, 2011.
Gambino, Anthony J. By the Shores of New Baltimore: Its Shipyards and Nautical History. Self-published C.D., 2009.

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 April 8, 1973.

The month of March has frequently been known for its capricious pranks of weather.  On two occasions in particular —March 13, 1893 and March 12, 1936 — madcap March weather brought considerable excitement locally.  On both dates, freshet conditions in Rondout Creek caused the ice covering the creek’s surface to go out with a rush, carrying everything in its path out towards the Hudson.  

On both occasions, the conditions were similar.  The preceding winter months had been severe with heavy ice.  During early March the weather turned warm causing runoffs from melting snow into the Wallkill River and upper Rondout Creek.  Water and broken ice cascading over the dam at Eddyville backed up behind the solid creek ice creating considerable pressure.  Finally, the solid ice below Eddyville began to crumble.  Once the ice started to move, its movement accelerated rapidly, rushing down the creek with great force and speed.  Anything in its path was swept along downstream.  In both instances, this was mostly the fleet of the Cornell Steamboat Company.   

Those who witnessed the moving ice described it as an awesome sight.  Mooring lines were snapped like strings.  Vessels in the path of the grinding ice moved like ghosts down the creek and out into the Hudson River where they came to a stop in a jumbled mass against the solid ice of the river.  In both instances, despite damage to the vessels involved, surprising there was only one reported personnel injury in 1893 and none in 1936.  

More Spectacular 
The freshet of 1893 was probably the more spectacular since more vessels were involved, including at least eight big side-wheel towboats.  All told, approximately 50 vessels were swept out of the creek.  In addition to the big side-wheel towboats, these included at least 15 Cornell tugboats and two dozen canal boats and barges.  
In 1893 melee of ice and boats set adrift occurred in the late afternoon on Monday, March 13.  At about 4 p.m. a huge ice jam above Wilbur let go and the uncontrolled movement down Rondout Creek commenced.  

A Freeman reporter described the scene as follows: “It was a scene that will never be forgotten by those who witnessed the outgoing vessels, as they jammed against one another and against the docks, the noise of parting lines and cracking timbers being plainly heard a block or more away.  The shouts of the men on the boats who like maniacs hauling in the lines, endeavoring to make the boats fast, and the cries of warning from people on the docks to the boatmen added to the excitement and the scene was one that words cannot picture.” 
​
At the time, the ferryboat ‘‘Transport’’ was coming across the river from Rhinecliff and was just inside the dikes of the creek when she was met by the outgoing ice and army of drifting vessels.  She was enveloped by the advancing fleet and swept back into the river.  Some of the ferry’s passengers were reported to have been panic stricken and to have leaped across floating blocks of ice to the solid ice of the Hudson.  Apparently, they all successfully made it.  

Captain Injured 
The only reported injury was to Captain Charles Post of the Cornell tugboat “H. T. Caswell."  His right foot was broken when caught between a mooring line and a cleat.  A Dr. Smith and a Dr. Stern made their way across the ice in the river to the tugboat where they treated the injured boatman.  He was later carried in a blanket across the ice to shore.  ​

In 1936 freshet was probably the more damaging since the Cornell tugs “Rob,” "Coe F. Young” and “William E. Cleary” were sunk and eight others fetched up along the south side of the creek opposite Ponckhockie, whereas in 1893 virtually all of the boats involved had floated out into the Hudson.  

The 1936 marine spectacular started at about 7:30 a.m. on Thursday, March 12.  At that time, the ice started to move out of the creek below Eddyville and rapidly built up force and momentum as it moved toward the Hudson.  As the ice surged past the C. Hiltebrant Shipyard at Connelly, it took along with it a small passenger steamboat, two tugboats, a derrick boat, and three or four barges and lighters that had been in winter quarters at the yard.  Two scows tied up at Island Dock were swept away by the grinding ice and joined the growing armada of vessels moving downstream.  

The tug “Rob” had been tied up west of the Rhinecliff ferry slip on Ferry Street.  A drifting barge caromed off the side of the “Rob,” heeled her over and sent her to the bottom of the creek.  Eleven Cornell Tugboats that had been moored at Sleightsburgh all were set adrift by the advancing ice and started on their way down by the Rondout Creek.  

The Foggy Mark 
At the Cornell shops at Rondout, eleven out of twelve tugs tied up there were swept away.  Snapping mooring lines sounded like guns going off.  A heavy fog enveloped the area: and added to the ghostly appearance of the scene.  At that point, some 30 tugs, barges and other vessels were moving down the creek and disappearing from sight into the foggy murk enveloping the creek and river. 

At the Sunflower dock at Sleightsburgh — further down creek — lay nine more Cornell tugboats and a steam derrick.  The ice and moving vessels swept by these tugs and miraculously they remained in place.  The outboard tug at the head of this group, however, the “Coe F. Young,” was holed and sunk and possibly this saved the remaining tugs from also moving along with the others.  Two days later, the tug “William E. Cleary’’ — tied up with this group — rolled over and sank.  

When the fog lifted shortly before noon on March 12, eight of the tugboats that had been swept along from the neighboring Baisden shipyards at Sleightsburgh were strewn grounded along the south shore of the creek opposite the old Central Hudson gas house.  All of the others were jumbled together out in the Hudson River off the Rondout lighthouse against the solid river ice.  

By a quirk of fate, the Cornell tugboat ‘‘J. C. Hartt” was the “hero” of both the 1893 and the 1936 freshets.  In 1893 she was swept out into the Hudson and was one of the first tugs to get steam up and return the others to their berths.  In 1936, after being set adrift, she moved down the creek stern first close along the Rondout docks.  At Gill’s dock in Ponckhockie she hit a brick scow moored there. 

Ended Voyage 
The scow captain jumped aboard the “Hartt,’’ ran forward and was able to get a line ashore and end her unscheduled voyage at that point.  
​
Fortunately, at the time the “Hartt” was being made ready for the coming season.  In short order, steam was raised on the tug and she soon was able to get underway and start the task of corralling the run-away fleet.  By March 15, virtually all of the run-aways were back at their berths.  The sunken “Rob” and “William E. Cleary” were subsequently raised.  The sunken “Coe F. Young,” however, never was — and to this day what is left of the old tug is still on the bottom of Rondout Creek off the old Sunflower Dock where she met her end in the freshet of March 12, 1936.

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 in Tempo on June 25, 1972.

During the early 1920's, when I was a boy growing up in Sleightsburgh, church services used to be held every Sunday afternoon at the little Sleightsburgh chapel on First Street.
​
The Rev. Mr. Anthony of Rondout would conduct the service and be assisted by Mr. Arthur S. Flemming, who later became the president of Ohio Wesleyan University and Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare in President Dwight Eisenhower’s cabinet.  Mr. Flemming at that time had graduated from Kingston High School, but he had graduated so young that his father, Judge Harry Flemming, thought he should wait a year before going on to college.  During that period, he used to assist Rev. Anthony almost every Sunday, being very active in church work.  

On a quiet Sunday afternoon, the bell in the belfry of the chapel would toll shortly before the service was to begin at 3 p.m.  My mother would take my sisters and me with her to the service. ​

Three Long Blasts
At 3:25 p.m., the steamer “Poughkeepsie” of the Central Hudson Line would blow three long blasts on her whistle, announcing her impending departure at 3:30 p.m. from Rondout for New York.  Almost always, Rev. Anthony would be giving his sermon at that time.  When the "Poughkeepsie" would blow her whistle, Rev. Anthony's sermon would come to a dead stop. 

How that whistle would echo through the hills surrounding the Creek!  Especially on one of these hot, lazy summer Sunday afternoons when the windows would be open.  The "Poughkeepsie” would blow … and I'm afraid I would lose all interest in the sermon.  At that time, how I wished I were the lookout on the “Poughkeepsie” and could be aboard her as she started out the creek. 

It is my understanding that much the same thing used to take place at Malden during the late 1930's and 1940's.  At that time, Ellsworth Sniffen of Malden was a pilot on the “Alexander Hamilton’’ of the Hudson River Day Line.  As was the custom on steamboats, most captains and pilots would blow a three blast salute on the whistle to their families as their steamer passed their home ... a steamboatman’s way of saying “hello.”

During the 1930's and ‘40’s, the “Alexander Hamilton” almost always was the up boat to Albany on Saturdays.  This, of course, would mean she would be the down boat on Sunday.  The schedule at that time called for the down boat to leave Catskill at 11:40 a.m. and Kingston Point at 1 p.m.  This would put her past Malden at about 12:15 noon. 

A Momentary Halt.
As the “Hamilton” would come down along the west shore of the River off Malden, Pilot Sniffen would blow the customary three blast salute on the whistle.  Services would be in progress in the church of the hill.  As the “Alexander Hamilton" blew lustily, there would be a momentary halt while the pleasant whistle echoed through the valley. 

Now the steamboat whistles are all gone.  So are many of the churches, such as the little chapel at Sleightsburgh. 

Progress is wonderful, but in its fast-paced course forward so many things of yesteryear are lost in the wake — like the sound of a steamboat whistle on a summer Sunday afternoon.

 
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!