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.
​
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. 
​
So from the Hudson River they both knew so well, a fine steamboat and ferryboat have both gone, never to return.

​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 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". See more Sunday News here.

                                                                 No. 31- Iron Witch
The “Iron Witch,” built in 1844 by Hogg and Delamater of New York, was constructed for Hudson river service and was one of the “freaks” of the early forties, having an iron hull. She was designed by John Ericsson, designer of the famous “Monitor” which engaged the Confederate ram “Merrimac” in the first battle of iron-clad vessels during the Civil War, and was fitted with a special type of engine and very small side-wheels.

The “Iron Witch” appeared on the river on August 10, 1846, and was placed in service on the Albany day route in line with the “Metamora”, forming an opposition line.

The first trip, from New York to Albany, required nine hours and 23 minutes. This time, which was the best she could do, placed the “Iron Witch” as a failure, and she was withdrawn from service in September. During the winter her side paddle wheels were removed and side screw wheels geared to the shaft were substituted, but they were of less value as a sped producer, and the steamer was abandoned.

After a time a beam engine with ordinary radial wheels was placed in the hull of the “Iron Witch”, and she was renamed the “Erie”. Under this name she was placed in service between New York and Piermont, the terminus of the Erie Railroad before the Civil War. In 1861 this engine was removed and placed in the ferryboat “Pavonia”, the first ferryboat built for the Erie Railroad Company to operate between New York and Jersey City. The “Delaware” and “Susquehanna” were the next two ferryboats built for the Erie Railroad in 1863. Then in 1869 the Erie Company had the “Jay Gould” and the “James Fisk, Jr.” built and added to their fleet of ferrys which were at that time the most handsome ferryboats in New York harbor.

Thus to the “Iron Witch” goes the honor of being the beginning of the Erie Railroad Company’s present fleet of ferryboats. 

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 April 14, 1974.

​​Back in the 1930’s when I was a deckhand and pilot on tugboats of the Cornell Steamboat Company, Cornell had a helper tug captain by the name of Edward N. Van Woert from Athens.  Captain Ed worked for Cornell for 55 years, most of that time as captain of the tugboat “G. C. Adams.”

Captain Van Woert was a good source of stories of old time steamboating on the Hudson.  He once told me of his father’s experience as a little boy at Athens following the wreck of the steamboat “Swallow.” The event had taken place way back in 1845 on the night of April 7, now nearly 130 years ago. 

When Captain Ed told me his “Swallow” incident in the 1930’s, he was nearing the end of his boating career.  He related how his father in turn had told him how he had been awakened by his mother with the news that there had been a steamboat wreck the night before.  As a small boy his father went down to the shore at Athens and remembered seeing the bodies of those who had lost their lives in the disaster lying on the shore and being placed in wagons for removal. 

The wreck of the “Swallow” was one of the more spectacular disasters of the era and created a vivid impression all along the river.  Occurring as it did before the age of photography, several artists scurried to the scene and soon their impressions of the wreck were immortalized for posterity in lithographs that quickly appeared on the market for sale. 

The “Swallow” wreck took place some six years before the railroad was to reach Albany from New York.  In the absence of a railroad, virtually all passengers, freight and mail moving between New York and Albany did so by steamboat.  It was an era of fierce and unfettered competition.  Steamboat racing was a frequent occurrence, the idea being that the first steamer to reach a landing would be the one to get the waiting passengers. 

Old time records describe the season of 1845 as a particularly lively one.  A total of 18 steamboats were engaged in service between New York and Albany, although not all at the same time due to engine breakdowns, accidents and other mishaps.  Frequently, however, there were as many as six departures daily in each direction. 

Due to the highly competitive nature of the service, fares for passage would vary widely depending on he extent of the competition.  During 1845, the fee for one way passage is said to have ranged from a high of $1.50 to a low of 12 1/2 cents.  Presumably, what was lost in passage fares was made up by what was charged for a berth and meals once the passengers were safely aboard and the steamer had left the dock. 

On the night of April 7, 1845, the night the ‘‘Swallow” was to meet her end, she was one of three steamboats scheduled to leave Albany at 6 p.m.  Later accounts stated the “Swallow” had been racing with the steamboats ‘‘Rochester” and “Express."  In any event, as the steamers neared Athens at about 8 p.m., the “Swallow” was in the lead. 

The night was dark and overcast.  Just above Athens a heavy early spring snow squall set in, obliterating the nearby shorelines.  What then took place varies somewhat in the retelling.  One account has it that the first pilot, a Mr. Burnett, had been down to supper and coming from the brightly lighted dining area into the darkened pilot house, his eyes had not yet become adjusted to the darkness of the night.  Another account has it the first pilot came into the pilot house and immediately said to the second pilot, "Sir, you are off course.”

What no one questions, however, is the fact that shortly thereafter the “Swallow,” proceeding at full speed, piled up on a rock outcropping a short way off the Athens shore — then known variously as Dopers Island and Noah’s Brig.  From that moment, onward — and to this very day — the point of impact has been known as Swallow Rocks. 

The steamboat was driven some 30 feet upon the rocks and her wooden hull nearly broke in two at the forward gangway.  The force of the impact caused the ‘‘Swallow’’ to catch fire and the after part of the steamer immediately began to sink. The “Swallow's” stern section sank rather quickly — which fortunately extinguished the flames — but unfortunately trapped a number of passengers in the berthing section. 
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The following steamboats “Rochester” and “Express” soon happened upon the scene and were able to rescue about 200 of the"Swallow’s” approximately 300 passengers who were aboard the night of the disaster.  One of the rescued was a Robert Thompson of Kingston. 

The residents of Athens and Hudson across the river were said to be alerted to the accident by the tolling of church bells ... and a large number of people of both communities soon gathered along the river banks and started large bonfires. 

A number of small boats put out from both Athens and Hudson and rescued other survivors who were swimming in the chill[y] waters of the river, clinging to floating debris, or who had climbed over the steamer’s bow onto the rocks the “Swallow” had hit.  A number of both passengers and crew were not so fortunate and lost their lives in the disaster.  The exact number of those who lost their lives varied in accounts of the time from a low of 15 to a high of 40. 

The impact of the wreck of the “Swallow” made an impression in the Hudson Valley that lasted for generations and is one that is always mentioned in any recounting of old time steamboat accidents on the Hudson River.  In addition to achieving a lasting fame of sorts in the naming of Swallow Rocks at Athens, the steamer’s name was perpetuated in a dwelling at Valatie, a few miles inland and north of Hudson.  The wreck was dismantled and timbers and lumber from the steamer were used to build a two-story house at Valatie which became known locally as the Swallow House.  As far as I know it is still standing.

Reminiscences of the North River – Major Noah’s reminiscences of olden times, are no less famous for their abundance than for their interest. In a recent number of his Sunday Times he gives some interesting information, showing the progress which has been made in the navigation of the Hudson within the past half century. He says:

In the year 1800, merchants residing a hundred miles or more from New York, and distant from the North River ten or fifteen miles, sent their bed and bedding to the landing from which they were to sail for the city, by a team, and themselves followed on horseback. At the landing, their bed & c., was placed on board the sloop that conveyed their produce to market, and by it they took passage for the city. The horse was put to pasture or in the stable until their return, when the owner rode him home; and by the team that went for merchandise the bed and bedding were returned. Such was the convenience of riding at that day.

Six years afterwards, according to the Major, a company composed of five individuals associated themselves together and built the sloop “Experiment,” for the purpose of “rendering the passage between N.Y. and Albany by water more expeditious, convenient and pleasant to ladies and gentlemen travelling north and south through the State of New York, as well as to promote the interest of those concerned, (as expressed in the words of the agreement,) by building a packet of one hundred and ten tons burthen, for the purpose of carrying passengers only.

The next year, 1807, the company was increased and another sloop was built, which performed the trip between Albany and New York in 27 hours – a remarkable trip in those days. This was the same year that Fulton made his successful trip by steam in 36 hours, and from thence steady progress was on its feet.

The old North River Boat, (says the Times,) in her original construction, had a strange appearance. Her water-wheels were without any houses as at the present day; and had crossheads connected with the piston, instead of the walking beam now in general use. The countryman, when he first saw her from Hudson, told his wife he had seen the devil going to Albany in a saw mill.

The experiment was at one time made to run horse-boats on the River, but signally failed.
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Steamboats on the North River first performed their trips with wood. Lackawanna coal was afterwards introduced, by which the expense of fuel was reduced from $150 a trip to $30. This was the commencement of a new era in steamboating, hardly less in importance than the original application of steam to boats. – Ex. Paper.

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". See more Sunday News here.

                                                              No. 60- C.W. Morse
The 427 foot “C.W. Morse” was built in 1903 for the People’s Line of Albany, and was the first of the steamboats to be constructed with a steel hull. She was one of the most luxurious steamers built for Hudson river travel up to that time and was constructed to run in line with the magnificent “Adirondack” which had set a standard for excellent steamboat accommodations. The “C.W. Morse” had no less than 450 staterooms exclusive of those used by the officers.

The travelers first impression of the “C.W. Morse” was gained upon entrance into the magnificently proportioned and richly finished lobby or reception hall. On one side a beautiful mahogany stairway led up to the salon. From the vantage point of this stairway one could get a fine view of the lobby, brilliant in its gilded arched ceiling and exquisite mural decorations, and the dining saloon, a regal apartment with large windows closely set with an average breadth of 58 feet and with a seating capacity of 300 people. In addition to this main salon there were two handsomely furnished private dining rooms with richly carved mahogany woodwork and the ceiling decorated in gold and white and illuminated by 250 electric bulbs held in bronze-green fixtures.

There were a number of deluxe cabins whose walls were hung in silk and cotton of pleasing pinks, blues, and greens, and ceilings done in ivory and gold. These cabins were richly furnished with double beds, and had private baths and the arrangements were such that the cabins could be taken separately or in a suite.

The decks of the “C.W. Morse” were of unusual width and the upper deck permitted an unobstructed promenade around the entire steamer. Aft upon this upper deck was the large Palm Garden with the café adjoining it.

The “C.W. Morse” was equipped with electric thermostatic push buttons, fire alarms, automatic whistles, watchmen’s clock, telephones for special service, and where auxiliaries were not run by steam, electric motors were used. Two complete and separate systems of steering gear were used- steam driven and hand-driven.

A regular floating palace- that was the term that describes the “C.W. Morse.” The People’s Line had omitted nothing in her construction or equipment which made for safety or comfort, and no detail of luxury had been slighted.

In the fall of 1917 the “C.W. Morse” was acquired by the Federal Government and taken to the Brooklyn Navy Yard where she was used for housing navy recruits. At the close of the war she was returned to her old New York-Albany run. In 1923 she was renamed the “Fort Orange” and continued in regular service until 1927 when she was laid up at Athens and was used only occasionally after that. In the summer of 1935, after having been gradually stripped of her furnishings for use on other boats, she was taken to New Haven, Conn., and partially broken up. The hull was taken intact to Bridgeport, Conn., where it was installed as a breakwater at the entrance to the harbor.

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 May 7, 1972.

Within a few years after the introduction of steamboating on the Hudson River, Rondout Creek soon developed into the leading port between New York and Albany.  This was due principally to the fact that it was the eastern terminus of the D. & H. Canal.  Shipments of Ulster County blue stone. Rosendale cement, lime, the concentration of  brickyards along the river north of Kingston, and the natural ice industry also all played major parts in the growth of Rondout harbor.  As activity along the creek grew, so did the size of the steamboats serving Rondout.

Any steamboat serving Rondout, obviously had to be able to turn around in the creek.  The width of the creek, as a result, had some bearing on the design of the steamboat, particularly its length.  I suppose this factor also had a direct bearing on the location of the steamboat docks as well as the early growth of Rondout itself.  The creek is at its navigable widest just south of where the Freeman Building is now located and this was where the steamboat wharves and docks were located — between the foot of Broadway east to the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue.
 
Steamboats in regular service out of Rondout almost always turned around as soon as they entered the creek, prior to the unloading of passengers and freight.  This fact is borne out by old time photographs of steamers berthed at Rondout.  Of the many photographs have seen, all but one show the steamboats facing downstream.  The sole exception is a photo of the “Mary Powell”, and in this one photograph only she lies head up.  
 
Rondout’s Largest
For years, the largest steamboat sailing out of Rondout Creek was the “Thomas Cornell,” built in 1863 and 310 feet long.  Other larger steamboats out of Rondout were the famous “Mary Powell” at 288 feet, the “James W. Baldwin” at 275, and the “Benjamin B. Odell” at 264.  The longest one of all to sail regularly out of Rondout was the Day Liner “Albany,” 326 feet long, which replaced the “Mary Powell” on the Rondout to New York run during the season of 1914 through 1917.  I, have been told the “Albany,” on occasion, used to use the steam yacht “C. A. Schults” — that once ran between Rondout and Eddyville — to help pull her bow around.  All of the, others turned unassisted. 
 
For many years, Ben Johnston owned a drug store on East Strand.  Johnston told me when the “Benjamin B. Odell” turned around in the creek, at times the vibrations set up by her turning propeller would shake bottles off the shelves in his drug store.  This was due to the fact that all the land along the Strand was filled-in land.
 
It is my understanding that the area all along the Strand was once a dandy beach — and the old sloop and schooner captains would beach, or strand, their vessels on this beach at high tide.  Then, when the tide went out, they would make bottom repairs or caulk under-water leaking seams on their boats exposed by the drop in tide.  When the tide came back in, they would float their sloops and schooners.  I have been told this act of stranding their vessels on this beach is what gave the Strand its name when the area was filled in and the beach was developed into a street.

​An old boatman also once told me about an incident that took place when the “Benjamin B. Odell” was turning around off her Rondout wharf.  Normally, she would come along-side the dock, can her bow out from the dock and put a stern line from the port quarter out to a bollard on the dock.  Then, she would go ahead slow and swing around like a slowly moving giant pendulum.  Captain George Greenwood would be up on the bridge and the mate down on the main deck in charge of the deckhands tending the lines. 
 
On this particular day, just as the “Odell” got broadside in the creek, the stern line snapped.  The mate had a police whistle and blew a series of toots on it to let the captain know the line had snapped.  Before the mate could get another line out, the “Odell” started to move across the creek. 
 
Except for stopping the engine, Captain Greenwood gave no indication anything was wrong.  The mate in the excitement didn’t notice the engine had stopped and continued to blow his police whistle.  After several series of excited toots and getting no response from the captain, the mate bounded up the companionways at the stern of the “Odell” to the top deck.  There, Captain Greenwood stood calmly on the bridge watching the slowly approaching south shore of the creek.
 
Captain Greenwood let the “Odell’s” bow slowly drift right onto the creek’s south shore and the incoming tide carry her stern up stream.  When the angle was right, Captain Greenwood backed down, put the “Odell’s” port quarter close to the Rondout dock, got out a spring line, went slowly ahead and brought his steamer alongside the dock so perfectly he wouldn’t have broken an egg had one been between the steamboat and the dock.
 
The old time captains, like Captain Greenwood, were superb ship handlers.  They knew exactly what their steamboats would do in any combination of wind and tide.  They were true masters of their trade, made the difficult look easy, and rarely got the recognition they deserved.  It seems the only time anyone took notice of them was in the rare event something went wrong.  And, then, it was often due to something over which they had little control, such as a mechanical failure, rarely an error in judgment.