On a bright June morning in 1883, a boat flying the red and yellow Chinese flag left a pier in lower Manhattan and steamed up the Hudson River. Onboard were hundreds of Chinese American men who attended missionary Sunday Schools. Though most of these adult pupils worked for low wages in steam laundries that mechanized the washing of clothes, they had saved their pennies to organize a getaway for the white women who taught them how to speak English and read the Bible. Through telescopes and opera glasses, students and their teachers watched from the deck of the steamer as city turned to mountains, wetlands, forests, and meadows.[1] After a journey of almost fifty miles, the party landed at Iona Island to explore hundreds of acres of woodland, grassy lawn, salt marsh, and an abandoned vineyard.[2] “Frantic with excitement,” the Chinese American students “immediately set off quantities of fireworks” that turned “the atmosphere of the island blue,” according to the New York Times. As smoke and sparks shaped like “dragons, serpents, and birds of different species” filled the air, the smell of gunpowder masked the salty sea breeze.[3] After a day spent listening to music, resting in the shade, flying kites, picnicking, and praying, the party embarked for home in the late afternoon.[4]

 This was one of many steamboat excursions that exposed the city’s working people to the wilder places outside New York in the late nineteenth century. All excursionists shared the desire to see gorgeous scenery, relax and recover from a relentless work schedule, and breathe air that was much fresher than what could be found on the crowded and unsanitary streets of Manhattan. But excursions had extra layers of meaning for Chinese Americans during the era of Chinese Exclusion. 

 The excursion to Iona Island took place in 1883, the year after U.S. legislators passed the first Chinese Exclusion Act in the context of rising anti-Chinese xenophobia. For more than a decade, white workers had been condemning immigrants from China, framing boatloads of hungry newcomers as ruthless competitors whose willingness to labor for low wages would push others out of work. The following horrifically racist cartoon reflects this fear, blaming people of Chinese descent for low pay and job scarcity in the United States. 

Race drew a perceived line between worthy workers and harmful outsiders. Newcomers from Europe arrived in much higher numbers, but those from China faced extra blame and condemnation. Three hundred German American protesters who gathered in New York’s Tompkins Square in 1870 cheered as a labor leader condemned “the lowest and most degraded of the Chinese barbaric race” for taking jobs away from white immigrants.[5] Nativist fearmongering overshadowed the culpability of greedy employers, who drove down wages knowing that there would always be someone desperate enough to accept less pay. What made laborers replaceable, furthermore, was the mechanization of production that eliminated the need for extensive job training. Immigrants of Chinese descent were scapegoats during a complex transition to industrial capitalism. This prejudice became policy in 1882, when the Chinese Exclusion Act banned Chinese laborers from entering the United States.[6]

The excursion to Iona Island that took place the next year pushed back against the Chinese Exclusion Act. The strategic guest list suggests that the getaway was about politics as much as play. Organizer Der Ah Wing invited prominent Chinese Americans to join the Sunday school students and their teachers, like editor of the Chinese American newspaper Wong Chin Foo and Chinese Consul Au Yang Ming. White guests included Postmaster Henry Pearson, who managed the delivery of mail from China, and merchant Vernon Seaman, who spoke Chinese and was an advocate against exclusion.[7] Also onboard was Customs House Collector William Robertson, who enforced the Chinese Exclusion Act as the manager of New York’s port. Robertson shared the deck with a man he had detained: Professor Shin Chin Sun, who arrived without the proper paperwork to prove that he was not a laborer banned from entry to the country.[8] The excursion set the stage for influential men from opposing sides of the nativist law to meet one another and engage in potentially transformative conversations onboard the steamboat and in the leafy grove at Iona Island.

The Sunday School excursion furthermore pushed a story of friendship between people of Chinese and European descent into public view, countering the pervasive narrative of conflict and competition. Newspapers reported that “American ladies and Chinese gentlemen were chatting affably together, Chinese boys were playing with American children, and the language of America and China mingled in conversation.”[9] Harper’s Magazine printed the following image of students and their teachers listening to music and flying kites together at Iona Island. While the white women’s faces are drawn more carefully, the Chinese American men are depicted here with much more respect than in the cartoon above. The friendly relationships that the excursion showcased likely shaped this media coverage that was much less dehumanizing towards people of Chinese descent than was usual for the time.

The excursion taught some onlookers that people of Chinese descent could assimilate into New York’s general population. The Times framed the excursion as proof of “the civilization of American-resident Chinamen,” drawing on the racist framework that cast non-Westerners as uncivilized, but also breaking from stereotypes of Chinese Americans as permanent outsiders.[10] As other newspapers reported on the prayers and religious songs that excursionists sang together, Christian readers learned that they shared more with some of their Chinese American neighbors than they might have assumed. The excursion to Iona Island made similarities and amity between New Yorkers of Chinese and European descent visible at a tense moment when many whites argued that immigrants from China were too different to become Americans. Excursions became an annual tradition for Sunday schools because these getaways offered not just fun and relaxation away from the city, but also opportunities to shift ideas about Chinese Americans.[11]

As journalist Wong Chin Foo covered the Iona Island excursion, he recognized the power of the event. But Wong was not a Christian. In 1888, he joined with fellow members of the Knee Hop Hong mutual aid society to organize what he called a “heathen picnic” for “the anti-Christian element of the Chinese.”[12] This excursion, which landed at Staten Island’s Bay Cliff Grove, also pushed against anti-Chinese nativism—but from another angle. While the Sunday School excursion drew attention to Chinese immigrants who converted to Christianity, members of the Knee Hop Hong were proud “joss worshippers,” according to Wong, who held fast to their beliefs.[13]

The Knee Hop Hong excursion rejected cultural assimilationism too. While Sunday school excursionists drank coffee and ate what the Brooklyn Daily Eagle called “American dishes,” those on the Knee Hop Hong excursion toasted with “sparkling Noi Mai Dul” and ate chow chop suey.[14] Some smoked opium, a drug that was becoming increasingly taboo as prejudice towards Chinese people and culture mounted.[15] Excursionists indulged in Chinese American food, drink, and drugs as they celebrated what Wong called “the Birthday of Chinatown,” or the “founding of the New York colony.”[16] By praising the neighborhood where Chinese culture flourished, members of the Knee Hop Hong insisted that people of Chinese descent belonged in New York whether or not they assimilated.[17]

The Knee Hop Hong excursion displayed the political and economic influence of Chinese American New Yorkers.[18] Decked out in diamonds, the organization’s president Tom Lee was a prospective alderman who reaped riches from Chinatown’s gambling halls and opium dens.[19] Also aboard were the neighborhood’s prominent merchants and Gon Hor, the grand master of the Chinese Free Masons.[20] Only “a small number of tickets,” Wong explained, were given to whites, “who must come well recommended as to character.”[21] While the Sunday school excursion showcased paternalistic relationships between white missionaries and their Chinese students and included an enemy who enforced the nativist law, the Knee Hop Hong made it clear that the only whites welcome aboard were demonstrated friends and collaborators. Chinese Americans had power of their own making, organizers of the excursion seemed to say, and owed no one deference.

Once the party reached its destination in Staten Island, the crowd of at least 400 people listened to what Wong called “patriotic speeches,” given in both English and Chinese, that denounced exclusion.[22] JC Baptize asserted that “Chinese immigration was restricted by the politicians lest the Aldermen lose their jobs and a Chinaman be elected President of the United States.”[23] In his speech, Wong praised “the prosperity of the Chinese merchants, despite the opposition of Americans to them.”[24] The “prejudice of Americans” towards people of Chinese descent harmed the United States, Wong asserted, because “a grand result would be achieved if the moral and political virtues of the Chinese could be added to the enterprise and energy of the Americans.”[25] Insisting that immigrants from China enhanced the nation, speakers countered assumptions that their community was parasitic. Through their words and actions, these excursionists argued that they were worthy Americans because of, rather than despite, their Chinese roots.

Yet newspapers stuck to hateful tropes when they covered the Knee Hop Hong excursion. The Sun reported on “unmarried gentlemen” who smoked opium with their white dates before laying down together to “sleep off its effects.”[26] Hinting at the possible outcomes of these taboo activities, the Evening World mockingly quipped that “a number of the merchants had their white wives and cute half-breed children with them.”[27] The next week, the Philadelphia Inquirer called the engagement of grocer Huet Sing to Florence McGusty a “sequel to the great heathen picnic.”[28] Most Chinese American men who dreamed of marriage and family partnered with white women, as biased enforcement of the 1875 Page Act—which banned immigrants who might pursue “lewd and immoral purposes”—targeted Asian women. These interracial unions triggered a stereotype that cast men of Chinese descent as sexual predators.

This racist myth was what eventually brought about the end of Sunday school excursions. The News described “pretty Sunday school teachers” watching students who played “in their childlike way” on an excursion in 1886, but assumptions that these Chinese American men were naïve and asexual eroded the next decade.[29] In 1895, the Police Illustrated News reported that a white teacher went “in the shrubbery” at Iona Island with her “favorite Sunday School scholar.” Making it clear what the pair were up to, the paper noted that many “slant-eyed children of white women by Chinese fathers” attended the trip too.[30] Then in 1909, the body of Sunday school teacher Elsie Siegel was found in a trunk in Chinatown. As authorities searched for her murderer, the media cast suspicion far beyond her classroom and acquaintances—towards all Chinese Americans.[31] The annual excursion was canceled, as newspapers from as far away as Minnesota reported that “there were many Lotharios among these Chinamen, sleek satiny yellow men, who boasted of their conquests of young pretty teachers.”[32] The annual excursion became a threat, rather than a boon, to the reputations of Chinese Americans.

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, New Yorkers of Chinese descent used steamboat excursions to make a case for their belonging. Sunday school students showcased friendly relationships with their teachers along with their religious and cultural assimilation. Members of the Knee Hop Hong proudly practiced traditions from China as they sailed out of New York Harbor, asserting that they could be Chinese and American at the same time. Both encountered suspicion and harmful stereotypes that only grew in the following decades, as the Chinese Exclusion Act was extended multiple times and expanded to cover most of Asia. Excursions aimed to soften views of immigration from China, but there was no escaping xenophobia and racism during the long era of Chinese exclusion—even during a holiday away from daily urban life. 

Endnotes:
[1] “A Celestial Racket,” Truth, June 12, 1883, 1.
[2] Iona Island Application to General Services Administration, May 20, 1965, Bear Mountain Archives at Iona Island, Palisades Interstate Park Commission.
[3] “The First Chinese Picnic,” New York Times, June 12, 1883, 1.
[4] “The First Chinese Picnic,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 17, 1883, 1.
[5] “The Coming Coolie,” New York Times, July 1, 1870, 1. This protest responded to the hiring of 68 Chinese immigrants to work at the Passaic Steam Laundry in Belleville (now Newark), NJ. More people of Chinese descent were settling in East Coast cities, as violence on the West Coast pushed them away. Tyler Anbinder, City of Dreams: The 400-Year Epic History of Immigrant New York (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2016), 521.
[6] Erika Lee, America for Americans: A History of Xenophobia in the United States (New York: Basic Books, 2019), 73-112.
[7] “Mails from China and Australia,” New York Times, May 20, 1883, 10; “The Baptist Pastors,” New York Times, March 14, 1882, 3.
[8] “The Chinese Excursion,” Evening Telegram, June 9, 1883, 1.
[9] “The First Chinese Picnic,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 17, 1883, 1.
[10] “The First Chinese Picnic,” New York Times, June 12, 1883, 1. For views of Chinese immigrants as incapable of assimilation, see Tyler Anbinder, Five Points: The 19th-Century Neighborhood That Invented Tapdance, Stole Elections, and Became the World’s Most Notorious Slum (New York: The Free Press, 2001), 422; John Kuo Wei Tchen, New York before Chinatown: Orientalism and the Shaping of American Culture 1776-1882 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), 266-278.
[11] “Chinamen have a Picnic,” New-York Daily Tribune, June 9, 1885, 5; “Chinamen in New York,” The News, July 23, 1886, 1.
[12] “A Celestial Racket,” Truth, June 12, 1883, 1.
[13] Joss houses are statues that believers in Taoism, Confucianism, Buddhism, and ancestor worship care for as homes to deities. Older stock New Yorkers were highly suspicious of Chinese religion. Anbinder, Five Points, 417-418.
[14] “The First Chinese Picnic,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 17, 1883, 1.
[15] “Chinamen on a Picnic,” New-York Daily Tribune, July 24, 1888, 5; Anbinder, Five Points, 407, 410, 413.
[16] Wong Chin Foo, “A Heathen Picnic,” The Sun, July 16, 1888, 5.
[17] By the time the neighborhood gained the name “Chinatown” in the 1880s, few Chinese American New Yorkers lived there, instead settling throughout the city and Brooklyn near the laundries where most they worked. But they went to Chinatown to shop and socialize. Daniel Czitrom, New York Exposed: The Gilded Age Police Scandal that Launched the Progressive Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 396-401; Anbinder, Five Points, 405.
[18] While many New Yorkers of Chinese descent were among the city’s lowest paid workers, some had amassed fortunes. Anbinder, Five Points, 403.
[19] “Chinatown’s Mayor Dead,” New York Times, January 11, 1918, 6; Arthur Bonner, Alas! What Brought Thee Hither? The Chinese in New York, 1800-1950 (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1997), 85; Anbinder, Five Points, 410-413.
[20] “The Chinamen’s Picnic,” New York Times, July 23, 1888, 8.
[21] Wong Chin Foo, “A Heathen Picnic,” The Sun, July 16, 1888, 5.
[22] Wong Chin Foo, “A Heathen Picnic,” The Sun, July 16, 1888, 5.
[23] “Chinamen on a Picnic,” New-York Daily Tribune, July 24, 1888, 5.
[24] “Knee-Hop-Hongs on a Lark,” Evening World, July 23, 1888, 2.
[25] “The Heathen Chinese,” The Sun, July 24, 1888, 2.
[26] “The Heathen Chinese,” The Sun, July 24, 1888, 2.
[27] “Knee-Hop-Hongs on a Lark,” Evening World, July 23, 1888, 2.
[28] “A Heathen Captures a Christian Heart,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, July 26, 1888, 1.
[29] “Chinamen in New York,” The News, July 23, 1886, 1.
[30] “Ching a Ling’s Picnic,” Illustrated Police News, June 22, 1895, 3.
[31] Mary Ting Yi Lui, The Chinatown Trunk Mystery: Murder, Miscegenation, and other Dangerous Encounters in Turn-of-the-Century New York City (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005); Bonner, Alas!, 120.
[32] “Boasts of the Pagans,” The Duluth Evening Herald, June 25, 1909, 6.

                                                No. 10- Francis Skiddy
Appearing on the river for the first time in June, 1852, the 1,235 ton, 322 foot “Francis Skiddy” created somewhat of a sensation, as she was one of the most up-to-date vessels that had yet sailed into the waters of the Hudson.
              
During the “forties,” steamboats began to appear with saloons on the second deck, with the “Empire,” “Oregon,” “Isaac Newton” and “Hendrick Hudson” among the first to be so constructed. These vessels were used on the night lines, and the dayboats had their dining rooms in the hold aft. They all carried pilot houses on the second deck, but in the year 1852 the “Francis Skiddy” was launched with the saloon on the second deck and the pilot house resting on a third deck. As a further departure from the usual standards, the “Francis Skiddy” sported a long and extensive promenade on her second deck for the use of the passengers. This innovation was formed by a roof extending from just forward of the boilers to a point a short distance aft of the after boilers, and from that point to the stern a light framework was erected on which an awning could be stretched. The design was the creation of George Collyer, of New York city.
              
On June 30, 1852, the “Francis Skiddy” left the foot of Chambers street, New York, and sailed up the river to Hudson in the time of five hours and three minutes, allowing 20 minutes for five landings en route. This is a speed of 23.04 miles per hour and established a record which this vessel held until some time after the Civil War. On her regular run between New York and Albany, the “Francis Skiddy” averaged seven and a half hours and made a round trip every 24 hours for a period in 1853.
              
In 1855, the “Francis Skiddy” was rebuilt into a three-deck night boat, the cabins being placed on the second and third decks. This added weight brought her down lower in the water and caused her speed to be considerably less than before. These state rooms, built into her in much the same manner as those on the “New World” and the “Isaac Newton,” caused her to draw too much to make the trip to Troy, and so an additional hull was built around the old hull, decreasing the draft by two feet and thus making it possible to put into Troy. The larger hull was framed the same as that of a new boat and was fastened around the hull of the “Francis Skiddy” in such a manner that amidships there was a distance of six feet between the inner and outer hulls.
              
On the night of November 21, 1861, the “Francis Skiddy” was proceeding down the river off Blue Point, two miles below Poughkeepsie, and encountered the schooner “W.W. Reynolds.” It was a “pitch dark” night and the schooner had failed to hang out her lights, and before the pilot of the “Francis Skiddy,” Hazzard Morey, realized his proximety of the schooner, there was a crash. Morey veered his vessel to the windward but too late to avoid the collision, and the schooner’s bowsprit entered the galley’s window and penetrated the boiler of the “Francis Skiddy,” causing an explosion in which three of the firemen were killed and four passengers fatally scalded.
              
​The damage was repaired and the “Francis Skiddy” resumed her schedule. Then on the night of November 5, 1864, she ran aground at Van Wie’s Point, four miles below Albany, and was wrecked. Her engine was salvaged and placed in the new steamboat, “Dean Richmond,” in 1865, but her hull was broken up for scrap.

Editor's Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article written by George W. Murdock, for the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman newspaper in the 1930s. Murdock, a veteran marine engineer, wrote a regular column. Articles transcribed by HRMM volunteer Adam Kaplan. See more of Murdock's articles in "Steamboat Biographies". 

                                                         No. 100- Homer Ramsdell
Although she left the waters of the Hudson- the river where she was launched- nine years ago, the memory of the steamer “Homer Ramsdell” is still a vivid picture to many of the present generation, and the vessel which once plowed the waters of the Hudson river, is still in service although the name “Homer Ramsdell” no longer appears on her bow.

The steel hull of the “Homer Ramsdell” was built by the T.S. Marvel & Company at Newburgh in 1887, and her engine was the product of William Wright, also of Newburgh. Her dimensions are listed: Length of hull, 225 feet, 8 inches, breadth of hull 32 feet, 6 inches (over guards, 37 feet, 6 inches), depth of hold 11 feet, 9 inches; engine compound fore and aft, diameter of cylinders, high pressure 28 inches, low pressure 52 inches by 36 inch stroke. She had two steel boilers of the lobster-back type which were constructed by W. & A. Fletcher Company at Hoboken, New Jersey. Her gross tonnage was 1181, and her net tonnage 822.

The “Homer Ramsdell” was built for the night line between Newburgh and New York, and was launched on February 24, 1887. She was owned by the Homer Ramsdell Transportation Company of Newburgh, and was a large, speedy, first class propellor steamboat of the most modern design. Her speed was rated at 16 miles per hour and she cost $115,000 when she was completed.

Two fast trips recorded in the history of the “Homer Ramsdell,” one on August 21, 1887, and the other on July 28, 1889, (from New York to Newburgh), give a good indication of the speed of the steamboat, when she completed the trip in three hours and nine minutes, and three hours and seven minutes respectively.

One year before the launching of the “Homer Ramsdell,” the Homer Ramsdell Transportation Company had the propeller steamboat “Newburgh” built at Philadelphia. The “Newburgh” was launched at the Quaker city on April 1, 1886, and the steamer “Homer Ramsdell” was constructed as a consort for the “Newburgh” on the New York line. These two vessels plied this route until 1899 when a new company was formed. This new company, the Central Hudson Steamboat Company, was formed out of the former Poughkeepsie Transportation Company and the Romer & Tremper Line of Rondout.

On Sunday evening, May 21, 1911, after 24 years of service on the Hudson river, the steamer “Homer Ramsdell” burned to the water’s edge at her wharf at Newburgh. Michael Boyle, a deckhand, was drowned when he jumped overboard to escape the flames. The fire was caused by the explosion of a lamp, and four of the crew were on board when the fire started. Three escaped to the dock while Boyle remained behind in an endeavor to start the pumps. The deckhand, believing his escape to the dock to be cut off by the fire, leaped overboard and was drowned. The owners of the “Homer Ramsdell” estimated their loss to be $250,000.

The hull of the burned steamboat was rebuilt- part of the wood for the joiner works coming from the steamboat “Central Hudson.” (formerly the “James W. Baldwin”), which had been abandoned. The rebuilt “Homer Ramsdell” made her first trip on December 2, 1911, and continued in the service of the Central Hudson Steamboat Company until May 1929 when the Hudson River Night Line and the Hudson River Dayline jointly purchased the assets of the Central Hudson Steamboat Company at a receiver’s sale. Five steamboats were included in the transaction. These were the “Jacob H. Tremper,” “Homer Ramsdell,” “Newburgh,” “Benjamin B. Odell,” and the “Poughkeepsie.” The “Jacob H. Tremper” was of little use and was broken up at Newburgh in 1929, but the other four vessels were placed in service on the Hudson river.
              
On November 28, 1929, the Nantasket Beach excursion fleet was burned. The destroyed vessels (all sidewheelers) included the “Old Colony,” “Mary Chilton,” “Rose Standish,” “Betty Alden,” and “Nantasket,” and this event marked what is probably the end of the “Homer Ramsdell’s” service on the Hudson river. In the spring of 1930 the “Homer Ramsdell” and the “Newburgh” were sold to the Nantasket Steamboat Company and were converted into excursion steamboats. May 1, 1930, saw the name “Homer Ramsdell” disappear from the bow of the former Hudson river vessel and the name “Alleston” take its place. The “Newburgh" was renamed the “Nantasket” on the same date, and the two vessels were taken east to run from Boston to Nantasket Beach where they are still in service.

                                                                    No. 89- Nuhpa
Built originally for service on the Hudson river, the “Nuhpa” was in use for 33 years and was finally broken up at Boston, Massachusetts, after spending her last years on Long Island Sound. During her career on the Hudson river, she ran afoul of the ice on two occasions, sinking in one instance and being run aground to save herself in the second encounter.
              
The hull of the “Nuhpa” was rebuilt from the hull of the ill-fated steamboat “Berkshire” which was destroyed by fire in 1864 with a loss of 30 lives.  [Editor's Note: see "Berkshire"'s story below.} J.R. Baldwin and H.S. Baldwin rebuilt this hull in 1865 at New Baltimore, N.Y., the length recorded as 253 feet, breadth of beam 37 feet, depth of hold 10 feet. The gross tonnage of the “Nuhpa” was listed at 1232, not (sic) tonnage 906, and she was powered with a vertical beam engine with a cylinder diameter of 37 inches with a five foot stroke. A feature of this engine was its placement- crosswise of the vessel with a direct connection with the propeller which was a departure from the usual custom of gears. This resulted in an exceptionally fast steamboat, and the “Nuhpa” was the largest propeller steamboat built for the Hudson river up to that period.
              
The “Nuhpa” was constructed for George H. Powers and other parties of Hudson, N.Y., for service on the Hudson and New York night route, and she has the distinction of being the largest and fastest vessel that ever made the city of Hudson her home port.
              
April 7, 1873, is the date of the first encounter with the ice- and the “Nuhpa” came out of the affair “second best.” She was on her way from the up-river city to the metropolis when she was crushed by the ice off Barrytown about 2 o’clock in the morning. She sank and was abandoned, and about April 25th was raised and towed to New York. She was repaired and returned to her regular route. In December, 1876, she again met defeat before the crush of the river ice- this time she was cut through by the ice and run ashore on Esopus Island to avoid sinking. This accident took place just above the location where the “Sunnyside” met her fate a year before.
              
​In the spring of 1877 the “Nuhpa” was returned to her regular route- seeing service for another year, when she was transferred to the excursion business, making a round trip per day from New York to Iona Island. On August 24, 1878, she was sold by the New York and Hudson Steamboat Company to parties in Bridgeport, Conn., and in 1879 she was again placed in service on excursion trips to Iona Island. In July, 1879, the name of the “Nuhpa” was changed to the “Metropolitan” and in 1880 the “Metropolitan” was sold to the New London Northern Railroad Company who operated her in line with the “Tillie” and “Doris” between New York and Groton, Connecticut, until 1896 when two new steamboats, the “Mohawk” and “Mohegan,” made their appearance, and the “Metropolitan” was laid aside as a spare vessel.
              
​ In 1897 the “Nuhpa” under the name of the “Metropolitan” was sold to a concern in Boston, Mass., who took her to Boston where she was broken up.

                                                            No. 22- Berkshire - 1864
The largest steamboat ever constructed for the Hudson-New York Route, the “Berkshire,” was one of the show boats of her time, but her career was short, and the memory of the “Berkshire” is one of those horrors which occurred in the early days of steamboating.

The “Berkshire” was built at Athens in 1864 with a 250 foot keel and a beam of 37 feet. She was owned by George H. Powers, of Hudson, and had a speed of 18 miles per hour.
           
On June 8, 1864, one of the most heartrending disasters in the annals of steamboating occurred to the “Berkshire.” She left Hudson early in the evening for New York City, and as she was rounding Krum Elbow about two miles from Hyde Park, a fire was discovered in her crank pit. The cause of this blaze was never determined but it was thought that some interested passenger who had been watching the great crank revolve, had actually dropped the lighted stump of a cigar into some cotton waste in the pit.
           
It was not long before the flames were roaring up through the engine shaft and setting fire to the deck cargo of bailed hay, cutting off communication from either end of the boat. There were 130 passengers aboard, most of whom had embarked at Hudson and Catskill, and of these 40 were either burned to death or drowned. The scene of the catastrophe was one that will long be remembered by the survivors, and the bravery of a Mr. Carter, of the editorial staff of the New York Times, who crawled over one of the paddle boxes to safety, leading with him many more, was one of the highlights of the accident. A Mrs. Hannaford, with a baby in one arm and her daughter in the other, leaped overboard, leaving her little son on the deck. Both her baby and daughter slipped from her grasp in the water and she herself was saved by a man who was obliged to let go his grasp on his own little boy in order to save the woman. All the children were lost. A Saugerties merchant by the name of French, jumped from the hurricane deck with his son and daughter clinging to him, and escaped the clutching fingers of death.
           
The heat of the flames had driven the engineers from their posts and the paddle wheels continued to revolve after the boat had run aground. Many of the struggling passengers who found themselves in the water, were disabled by being struck by the paddles or were forced out into the river by the current set up by the motion of the wheels, and were drowned. Those who were fortunate enough to escape were picked up by the “James W. Baldwin” of Rondout, which hurried to the rescue and put out small boats to pick up those in the water.
           
​What remained of the “Berkshire” was rebuilt into a freight and passenger craft named the “Nuhpa”, which ran the same route between Hudson and New York.

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteers Carl and Joan Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published December 16, 1973.

​In today’s jet age of airplane travel, and human nature being what it is, some people seem to take a perverse delight in recounting incidents where their flight — because of adverse weather conditions — was diverted to an airport other than that of their original destination, or now of delays encountered because of the energy crisis.  In the simpler age of steamboat travel, there were also on occasion unforeseen delays.
​ 
In that long ago era before the advent of the automobile and the airplane, virtually every trip of more than a few miles was made either by railroad or, if the destination was adjacent to navigable water, by steamboat.  Travel by steamboat was generally leisurely and delightful.  However, you always didn’t get to where you were going when you expected to. 

One such incident was related to me years ago by Captain Ed Van Woert of the Cornell tugboat “G. C. Adams.” In December 1913, Captain Van Woert had to go to New York to testify in a lawsuit being held there pertaining to damage to a schooner that occurred while being landed at Hudson some months before.  He thought he would take his wife along for the trip.

On this particular day, Captain Ed left the ‘‘Adams” at Athens and went home to get ready.  That evening, he and his wife boarded the steamer “Onteora” of the Catskill Evening Line at Athens, expecting to be in New York the following morning. 

After going aboard the “Onteora” and getting their stateroom, they had a leisurely supper in the steamer’s dining room. 

After eating, Captain Ed said to his wife, “I guess I'll go up in the pilot house awhile and talk to my friend the pilot.”’ At this point, the “Onty” was approaching the landing at Cheviot and a snow storm had set in. 

On leaving Cheviot, the "Onteora" headed for County Island to get over in the main channel.  The snow storm had increased in intensity and visibility had decreased almost to zero.  The pilot held her on the west course a little bit too long and she went hard aground just north of County Island, with her bow in about five feet of water and her stern in deep water.  They backed and backed, but she wouldn’t come off.

The tide was falling and at daybreak the next morning the "Onteora" was still hard aground.  Captain Van Woert and his wife got off in a small boat and after being rowed to shore, walked through two feet of snow to the nearest railroad station to catch a train for New York.  The “Onteora” got herself off on the next high tide and was back on her run — although nearly 12 hours late — none the worse for her mishap.

Another incident that took place about the same period, although this time during the summer, was related to me by my old friend George W. Murdock, an old time Hudson River steamboat engineer who died at his home in Ponckhockie in 1940, well into his eighties. 

On a Saturday summer’s afternoon, Mr. Murdock boarded the “William F. Romer” at her New York pier for the run to Kingston.  At that time, the “Romer" of the New York to Rondout night line regularly would leave New York on Saturday in the early afternoon and arrive at Rondout in the early evening.  Mr. Murdock’s brother-in-law, Joel Rightmyer of Ponckhockie, was the “Romer's" pilot.  On this particular trip, the “Romer” was bucking a strong ebb tide from the time she left her New York pier.

The wind, like it so often does during the summer, was blowing straight up river out of the south.  Worse yet, what breeze there was was blowing at about the same velocity as the “Romer’s" speed through the water, so that while underway the “Romer’s” flags hung limp on their poles.  Underway, it was hot, humid, virtually airless and, because of the strong ebb tide, the steamer was running later and later with each passing hour. 

Past the Palisades and up through Tappan Zee and Haverstraw Bay, the “Romer” plodded her way up river.  It wasn’t much of a day for steamboating.  Finally, the "Romer" reached the Hudson Highlands and as she approached the landing at West Point, Mr. Murdock noticed a West Shore passenger train chuffing away from Highland Falls.  He decided to leave the steamer and catch the train for the rest of his trip to Rondout,

As he was leaving the steamboat, Mr. Murdock said to his brother-in-law, “Joel, I don’t think you'll get to Kingston by nightfall." Replied Pilot Rightmyer, “Well, George, if we don’t get there today, we’ll get there tomorrow.”

Mr. Murdock boarded the train at West Point, thinking he’d get home well ahead of the steamer.  However, as luck would have it, there was a freight train stuck on the West Park hill where the tracks make their incline from the river and head inland.  His train, on the same track as the freight, stood on the tracks for what seemed like an eternity in the hot summer air. 

Finally another locomotive was sent down from Kingston and got the freight train ahead moving.  Eventually, Mr. Murdock got to Kingston and took the trolley car for Rondout.  As he was walking up Abruyn Street to his home in Ponckhockie, he glanced over his shoulder — just in time to see the top deck of the “William F. Romer” gliding past on her way in Rondout Creek to her berth on Ferry Street!
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During the 1950’s the Cunard Line had a great slogan — “Getting there is half the fun.”  Generally it was.  Sometimes, though, as it is in all forms of travel, the fraction was wrong.

​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!​​

                                                            No. 92- “New York”       
Many of the homes of this area contain a picture of a large steamboat- a colored picture showing a magnificent white passenger vessel against the background of a green towering mountain. This picture shows the steamboat “New York,” one of the vessels of the celebrated Hudson River Dayline, whose career was cut short after 21 years of service by a fire which burned her to the water’s edge.
              
The steel hull of the “New York” was built by Harlan & Hollingsworth at Wilmington, Delaware, in 1887. W. & A. Fletcher Company (North River Iron Works), of Hoboken, New Jersey, built her engine. Her hull was 301 feet long with an overall length of 311 feet, a breadth of beam of 40 feet 4 inches which widened to 74 feet over the guards, depth of hold measuring 11 feet 2 inches. Her gross tonnage was listed at 1,552 with a net tonnage rating of 1,091. The vertical beam engine of the “New York” had a cylinder diameter of 75 inches with a 12 foot stroke, and she carried three 33 foot boilers with a shell diameter 9¼ feet and front width measuring 11 feet. Her wheels, of the feathering type, were constructed of steel with 12 buckets measuring 12½ feet long by 3 feet 9 inches in width. In 1897 the “New York” was lengthened, 34 feet being added to the length of her hull making her 335 feet long and increasing her tonnage rating to 1,921 gross and 1,751 net tons.
              
The “New York” replaced the steamboat “Chauncey Vibbard,” which had been in service for years on the Hudson River Dayline. She was the second steel-hulled vessel built for the Dayline, and combined speed, luxury and beauty to surpass in elegance and appearance any marine craft built for the Hudson river up to that period.
              
The construction of the “New York” was somewhat different from the usual methods of steamboat construction, thus giving her a bit different appearance from the usual Hudson river boats. Instead of placing the shaft forward of the cylinder as in most beam engines, the cylinder was placed forward of the shaft.
              
On August 14, 1907, the “New York” made the run from New York to Albany in six hours and 13 minutes, an indication of the speed which the steamboat possessed, and together with her consort, the “Albany,” she formed a combination which was unquestionably the finest river day boat passenger steamers in the world.
              
October 1908 marked the event which indirectly led to the destruction of the “New York.” The tugboat “William Flannery” crashed into the “New York” in the North River off West 13th street, damaging the dayline steamer to such an extent around the guards, that she was taken to the Thomas Marvel Shipbuilding yards at Newburgh for repairs. On the morning of October 16, 1908, as she lay in the yards in Newburgh, fire was discovered in the after hold of the “New York.” Captain A.H. Harquart and the crew of 73 men were asleep in their berths but were aroused in time to get ashore safely. The fire gained headway so quickly that in less than five minutes from the time the alarm was sounded, the after end of the magnificent steamer was in flames. Captain Harquart realized that it would be impossible to save the vessel and ordered the crew ashore, but soon after they had landed it was discovered that four colored (sic) waiters were missing. A search of the shipyards was unsuccessful- and later it was found that the four men had been trapped below the decks by the flames and had perished.
              
The “New York” was completely destroyed and later the engine was taken from the smoke-blackened hull, rebuilt, and placed in the new steamboat “Robert Fulton,” which is now in service under the banner of the Hudson River Dayline.  

During the summer of 1884, Black veterans of the Civil War gathered on piers in Manhattan and what was then the independent city of Brooklyn. The steamboat John Lenox pulled up, towing a barge, and soldiers who served in a battalion named for abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison climbed aboard along with their families. This flotilla steamed through the New York Harbor and up the Hudson River, landing at a spot on the New Jersey banks that was called Excelsior Grove.[1] The veterans could spend the day swimming, hiking towards the Palisades rock formations that towered above, picking pimpernel flowers and wild strawberries, resting in the shade under oak and tulip trees, and listening to music.[2] Chatting with former comrades in arms and practicing military drills, Black soldiers remembered fighting in the battles that ended slavery.[3]

This was one of many “excursions” to give city people without much spare change the chance to escape for a day from their dense and crowded urban neighborhoods. Getting out of the city was more than a matter of relaxation and recreation during this era, when most believed that bad smells were what made them sick.[4] Urban sanitation systems had not caught up with the rising population and rank odors wafted from overflowing outhouses and piles of uncollected garbage that festered in the streets.[5] On the decks of steamboats and in leafy waterfront groves, city people breathed deeply, hoping that the fresh air would fortify their weary bodies. At least sixty-nine lush excursion destinations with cool breezes, refreshing shade, and gorgeous views opened within a forty-nine mile radius of lower Manhattan between 1865 and 1900.

This map shows the approximate locations of excursion groves that I have found.

Everyone who lived in the densest, most impoverished, and least sanitary parts of the city yearned for a change of air and scenery, but excursions were especially meaningful to Black New Yorkers during the tense Reconstruction Era. While people of African descent were working to transform emancipation into an opportunity to finally secure full political and social equality, white neighbors adapted white supremacy for a nation without slavery. In New York, Black people faced harassment by the police, severe economic discrimination, and violence at the polls.[6] Intimidation and threats met them in the city’s parks, where they tried to claim their equal right to public space.[7] “Sable soldiers” were “drilling (in the dark) in one of our public squares,” reported the New York Herald in 1867. It was not safe to display Black “martial glory” in the parks except under the protective cover of nightfall because many white men considered military service to be their exclusive honor.[8] But outside the city in places like Excelsior Grove, soldiers like those who served in the William Lloyd Garrison Post No. 107 could wear their uniforms with pride, in safety. On chartered steamboats and in privately rented groves, Black New Yorkers could enjoy blooming landscapes together, away from the judgmental eyes and clenched white fists that greeted them whenever they went outdoors in the city. Excursions offered Black people the chance to breathe—and not just the fresh air that was scarce in Manhattan.

New Yorkers of African descent were able to access these getaways starting in the 1870s because at least some white owners of steamboats and groves would accommodate any party with money to spend. These entrepreneurs got rich as excursionists bought cheap refreshments and pooled their pennies to rent the leafy grounds and the flotillas that carried them there. Orville Dudley was one of the businessmen whose eagerness for profit outweighed his racism when he decided whether or not to rent his grove in Hastings-on-Hudson to city people of African descent. A Black social club called the Green Horns visited Dudley’s Grove in August of 1870 and the Bethel African Church arrived the following summer. Dudley used the worst racist slur to describe these excursionists in his recordkeeping book. He called one party “a mean lot” and wrote of the other, “rough don't want them again.”[9] But Dudley loved money and Black people from the city had it, so he continued renting the grove to their excursion parties.[10] By the 1880s, Black churches, militia companies, and mutual aid associations visited destinations owned by other entrepreneurs too, like Excelsior and Riverside Groves and Iona Island.[11]

Excursions opened a previously closed window for Black New Yorkers eager to get out of doors and out of the city. During the early nineteenth century, people of African descent were not welcome to join white patrons who gazed at flowers, ate ice cream, and sipped alcohol in the shade at commercial “pleasure gardens” in what was then the outskirts of New York.[12] Black entrepreneurs tried to open their own gardens in the 1820s, but faced racism on top of the usual business risks of bad weather and fire. The police ordered the closure of one of the gardens, while three others lasted for just one summer.[13] Near mid-century, beer gardens began opening in forested spots of upper Manhattan, but German American proprietors kept people of African descent out, decorated the grounds with racist imagery, and hosted offensive minstrel shows, where white actors with darkened skin performed gross stereotypes. By excluding and ridiculing people of African descent, these immigrant entrepreneurs—who themselves faced bias and prejudice in a nativist society—shored up their own access to white privilege.[14] After the turn of the century, amusement parks like Coney Island often had segregated facilities and were full of racist games like “African Dodger” and “Kill the Coon,” which beckoned visitors to throw balls at the heads of employees who were either Black or wearing blackface.[15] But between the eras of commercial gardens and amusement parks, steamboat excursions offered Black New Yorkers a rare chance to escape from the city with safety and dignity.

In green refuges along the Hudson, Black residents of the metropolitan area strengthened social and political ties. New York’s Black community was growing at a rate more than double that of the white population in the 1870s, fueled in part by migrants fleeing white terrorism in the South.[16] But white supremacy shaped northern cities too, so Black New Yorkers who could not count on equal access to goods and services created their own institutions to care for one another, fundraising for these efforts by holding excursions. The Good Samaritan Home Association, for example, financed mutual aid work by selling fifty-cent tickets for an excursion to Dudley’s Grove. Funds raised at this grove also supported the Progressive American, an autonomous Black newspaper that offered a counter voice to the white supremacist media of the time.[17] Excursions for churches, militia companies, and social clubs stopped in New York and Brooklyn, uniting newcomers with longtime residents of both cities to build a metropolitan Black community.[18] Excursions forged connections between people of African descent at an important political turning point. Municipal leaders had rarely considered people of African descent as constituents before the Fourteenth Amendment made Black Americans citizens in 1868 and then the 1870 ratification of the Fifteenth Amendment promised all male citizens the right to vote.[19] Excursions helped consolidate the Black community as unprecedented access to the ballot box presented new opportunities to shape urban politics.

Excursions were further politicized because Black leisure was controversial in a society rooted in slavery. Myths that people of African descent were devious, sneaky, and born to work circulated widely to justify an institution that relied on surveillance, control, and forced labor. During the Reconstruction Era, Black Americans who seized chances to leisure resisted the ideology that had rationalized slavery. By going on excursions, Black residents of New York, Boston, Wilmington, and Washington, D.C. insisted that they were deserving of pleasure, relaxation, comfort, and ease.[20] Whites responded by doubling down on the trope that people of African descent were dangerous when left to their own devices.[21] Along with racist images, stories, and performances, newspaper coverage of excursions made the case against Black leisure.

Black excursions rarely made the news unless something went wrong.[22] Plenty of excursions passed peacefully, but white readers eagerly consumed sensationalized news of violence. The New York Times cast an 1887 Good Samaritan Home excursion as a scene of chaos, where “the razor went flashing through the air, the beer mug rose on high, a cane whirred overhead, and then the blood flowed.”[23] A score of other papers published their own accounts of the damage wrought by these “Implements of War” as the steamboat chugged away from Dudley’s Grove, back towards the city.[24] But this “riot lasted” for only ten minutes, admitted the Times, while the Tribune called the event “almost a riot,” rather than a full blown rebellion.[25] Newspapers exaggerated scuffles on excursions for white readers ready to believe that people of African descent had violent tendencies.[26] As Black excursionists left urban hardships behind, racist ideology followed in their wake.

Despite biased coverage, excursions offered Black residents of the metropolitan area some respite from the intense racism that they experienced in daily life. Boarding steamboats with members of their growing community, excursionists traded provocations by white neighbors and harassment by the police on dusty and filthy urban streets for verdant views, salty breezes, and the dignity of autonomous Black spaces. Excursions posed a stark contrast to Manhattan, both in terms of environment and atmosphere. For Black people navigating white supremacy in a dense, polluted, and divided city, the Hudson River was a pathway towards relief that was all too brief.

                                                            No. 174- Berkshire
The tale of the steamboat “Berkshire” is yet uncompleted as the vessel is still in existence, but for the past two seasons she has not been in service, and it is doubtful as to whether she will ever again ply the waters of the Hudson river.
              
The steel hull of the “Berkshire” was built by the New York Shipbuilding Company of Camden, New Jersey, in 1907, and her engine was the product of W. & A. Fletcher Company of Hoboken, New Jersey. The dimensions of the vessel are listed as follows: Length of keel, 422 feet; overall length, 440 feet; breadth of beam, 50 feet six inches; over guards 90 feet; depth of hold 12 feet nine inches. The gross tonnage of the “Berkshire” is listed at 4300, with net tonnage at 2918. Her engine is the vertical beam type with a diameter cylinder measuring 84 inches with a 12 foot stroke.
              
The launching of the steamboat known to the Hudson river as the “Berkshire” occurred in September, 1907, with the name “Princeton” appearing instead of “Berkshire.” The vessel was originally built for service between New York and Albany under the banner of the People’s Line, but for some reason was not completed after she was launched. For almost six years the uncompleted steamboat lay off Turkey Point on the Hudson river, and finally in 1913 construction was completed and the “Berkshire” began her career on the Hudson river.
​      
The People’s Line was always known to travelers of the river for its up-to-the-minute steamboats. Their vessels were the last word in steamboat construction with comfortable accommodations and luxurious furnishings- and the “Berkshire” was no exception. If there was anything lacking in the make-up of the “Berkshire” that would add to the safety and comfort of the passengers or the beauty and stability of the craft, it had not yet been invented or discovered.
              
In 1913 the “Berkshire” entered service, running on the Albany route in line with the “C.W. Morse,” and taking the place of the steamboat “Adirondack.” The latter vessel was laid up as a spare boat. With accommodations for 2,000 passengers and an average speed of 18 miles per hour under ordinary conditions, which could be increased to 20 miles per hour if necessary, the “Berkshire” son proved to be a popular vessel with river travelers. She boasted passenger elevators, a palm room, café and smoking room on the upper deck, richly furnished salons, and other modern features of river travel.
              
The “Berkshire” and the “Fort Orange,” formerly the “C.W. Morse,” were in regular service as night boats running to Albany in 1927. The “Berkshire” continued on the Hudson river until 1937- running in line with the “Trojan” during that season; and then she was laid up at Athens, where she has remained without turning a wheel for the past two seasons. Whether or not the “Berkshire” will again appear in regular service is unknown, but with the decline in river travel, followers of the steamboats are inclined to believe that the next trip of the “Berkshire” will be her last- to the scrap heap.
              
In 1941 the U.S. Government took an option on the “Berkshire.” She was towed to Hoboken, New Jersey on January 31, 1941. On June 25, 1941, “Berkshire” was towed to Bermuda to be used there as quarters. After the war she was broken up in Philadelphia.

Editor's Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article written by George W. Murdock, for the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman newspaper in the 1930s. Murdock, a veteran marine engineer, wrote a regular column. Articles transcribed by HRMM volunteer Adam Kaplan. See more of Murdock's articles in "Steamboat Biographies". 

                                                No. 252- Washington Irving
The flagship of the Hudson River Dayline fleet- the “Washington Irving”- is a steamboat that is better known to the present generation, although her whistle no longer echoes among the Highlands of the Hudson; for it was 14 years ago that the pride of the Dayline met with an accident which ended her career.

The steel hull of the “Washington Irving” was built by the New York Shipbuilding Company at Camden, N.J., in 1912. Her keel was 405 feet long with an overall length of 416 feet, six inches. She had a breadth of beam of 47 feet, over the guards she was 84 feet, and her hold was 23 feet, seven inches deep. The gross tonnage of the “Washington Irving” was 3,104 and net tonnage 1,664. Her engine was constructed by the W. & A. Fletcher Company Iron Works of Hoboken, N.J., and was the incline double expansion type with three cranks and three cylinders. Two of the cylinders measured 70 inches in diameter and the third measured 45 inches, with a seven foot stroke. Steam was supplied by four single and two double ended scotch boilers carrying 170 pounds of steam and generating 6,000 horsepower.

The flagship of the Hudson River Dayline was launched at Camden, N.J., on Saturday, December 7, 1912- this date marking the 60th anniversary of the founding of the Dayline by Commodore Alfred Van Santvoord.

Destined exclusively for service as a day-boat between New York and Albany, the “Washington Irving” was by long odds the largest and most exquisitely furnished inland passenger vessel in the world. She had a passenger carrying capacity of 6,000, and made her first trip on Saturday, May 24, 1913, under the command of Captain David H. Deming with Thomas Hall as chief engineer.

Running in line with the Dayline fleet which consisted of the “Mary Powell,” “Albany,” “Robert Fulton,” “Hendrick Hudson,” and the “Alexander Hamilton,” the “Washington Irving” continued in service on the Hudson river until June 1926 when she met with an accident which closed her career.

On June 1, 1926 the “Washington Irving” left her pier at the foot of Desbrosses street, New York, bound for Albany with 200 passengers aboard. A heavy fog made the visibility very poor and the whistle of the “Washington Irving” kept up a constant din as she left her berth and headed upriver. The pilots of other vessels were also experiencing difficulty in navigating due to the fog, and thus it happened that the tug “Thomas E. Moran” of the Moran Towing Company, hauling two iron oil barges, hove into sight of the “Washington Irving”- too close to avoid a collision. One of the barges struck the “Washington Irving” aft of the wheel on the port side- smashing the side in completely.

Captain David H. Deming, commander of the pride of the Dayline, realized immediately the seriousness of the accident and tied down the whistle of his vessel for the purpose of summoning aid from other craft in the harbor. Passengers were ordered to the top deck to don lifebelts, and the continuous blasts of the “Washington Irving’s” whistle soon brought more than a dozen other vessels to her side. The ill-fated dayboat reached a pier on the Jersey shore where passengers were able to scramble to safety. Two lives were lost in the accident- a Mrs. Arthur Hoag and her three-year-old daughter of Long Island City.

The “Washington Irving” sunk along side of the pier- coming to rest on the end of the Holland Vehicular Tunnel. On February 14, 1927 the vessel was raised and later taken to Bayonne, New Jersey where she was tied up. In September 1933 the wreck of the “Washington Irving” was sold for junk to the Northern Metal Company of Philadelphia where she was taken and broken up.

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteers Carl and Joan Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published June 15, 1975.

“Naw, we just didn’t want the people on shore to think we were showing you the way to Poughkeepsie.”

One day back in 1927, the Poughkeepsie and Highland ferryboat “Brinckerhoff” has been up at the Hiltebrant shipyard at Connelly for minor repairs.  When she was ready to go back down river it was about 3 p.m.  At the same time, the "Jacob H. Tremper” of the Central Hudson Steamboat Company’s Albany to Newburgh service was unloading freight at her Rondout Creek dock on Ferry Street. 

The “Brinckerhoff" came down just as the "Tremper" finished unloading her freight and was getting ready to wind around.  The ferryboat passed by and fell in behind the Rhinecliff ferry "Transport" on her way out to the river. 

After the "Tremper" completed her turn around and was ready to go, the “Brinckerhoff” was down off the Cornell coal pocket.  Captain Baker of the ferryboat, looking back, thought it would be a good day to have some fun with the old "Tremper” and her captain Jack Dearstyne.  Captains Baker and Dearstyne had known each other for years and were good friends of long standing. 

When the “Brinckerhoff” was clear of the mouth of the creek, Captain Baker said to his engineer, “I’m going to give the “Tremper" a good run and give her our black smoke."  He even laid to out in the river for a few minutes to let the "Tremper" get a little ahead.  The "Brinckerhoff" always had the reputation of being a fast sidewheel ferryboat and Captain Baker figured it would be a pushover to get by the "Tremper," then in her final years on the river. 

Dearstyne on the "Tremper," however, when he was coming out of the creek could see what was afoot on the "Brinckerhoff."  He called to his engineer, Fred Van Loan, and told him what he thought Captain Baker was scheming.  Chief Van Loan said, “Cap, we are in luck because I’ve got two good firemen on watch.  I haven't opened up this old engine in 20 years, but I'll do it now and see what the old girl can take."  He then told his firemen to shovel in the soft coal and "keep her hot.”

By the time the "Tremper" cut the south dike of the creek and entered the river, Chief Van Loan had her throttle wide open.  Her ancient engine was making 22 revolutions a minute and black smoke was belching out of her tall smoke stack.  An ebb tide was running against a strong south wind, making the river very choppy with white caps.
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The “Brinckerhoff” had purposely let the "Tremper” get ahead, Captain Baker thinking it would be more fun to overtake and pass her.  But as hard as the "Brinckerhoff" tried she could not shorten the distance.  

When the two were passing Esopus Island, the distance between them was still the same.  Every once in a while Chief Van Loan would run out in the "Tremper’s" after gangway to take a look and see if the ferry was gaining.  Then back to oil and grease the engine and see that nothing was running hot.  Turning up as fast as she was, the water in the "Tremper’s" wheel houses was leaking out all over, even on the top where they had opened the top hatch to let some splash out.

Down off "Riverby," John Burroughs’ home at West Park, Captain Dearstyne said to his chief, "Let’s let Baker get abreast of us and we'll go through the Elbow neck and neck.”  As the ‘'Tremper" slowed down, Captain Baker on the "Brinckerhoff" thought maybe she had to slow for some reason, came very close aboard, and hollered over, “Is something wrong Jack?”

Captain Dearstyne took the megaphone and hollered back, "Naw, we just didn’t want the people on shore to think we were showing you the way to Poughkeepsie."  Both laughed.  Boatmen were like that. 

As soon as the “Brinckerhoff” was abreast, the "Tremper" was opened up again and down through the Elbow past President Roosevelt’s mansion they sped.  The "Tremper" couldn’t gain either and neck and neck they went from the Elbow to the Columbia boathouse.  

The "Tremper" was on the west side of the river and since both were to land at Highland, the ferryboat had to slow down and let the "Tremper" make her landing first.  On the "Brinkerhoff" they called it respect for old age. 

The "Tremper” only lasted for one season more.  In 1929 she was sold for scrap and broken up at Newburgh.  Reclaimed land was placed over her old bones and not a trace of her is left. 

At first, it was thought the “Brinckerhoff" would have a better fate.  After the Poughkeepsie-Highland ferry gave up in late 1941, the “Brinckerhoff” went to Bridgeport where she ran to a pleasure park for nine years more.  Then she came back to Hiltebrants at Connelly for awhile before being towed to Mystic Seaport.  Her upkeep, however, was too much and the Seaport finally turned their backs on her.  She was acquired by someone who had plans for a restaurant and she was beached at Pawcatuck, opposite Westerly, R.I.  The town fathers didn’t look kindly upon her and finally, in the early 1960's, she was purposely burned and her remaining metal scrapped. 
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So from the Hudson River they both knew so well, a fine steamboat and ferryboat have both gone, never to return.