Description accompanying print: The original painting, by noted artist, John Gould, might well be called an inspired masterpiece. It was developed with help for accuracy from the well known expert, retired captain William O. Benson of Sleightsburgh, N.Y. He is an authority on the Hudson River History, its boats and shipping. Learn more about John Gould (1906-1996) here: https://johngouldart.com/about/

The maiden voyage of the "Alexander Hamilton" was placed by the artist for this painting, passing Rondout Creek, Kingston, N.Y. The area with the two Kingston Lighthouses makes an important historical background for this great documentary painting.

The maiden voyage suggests a wedding procession with the gleaming white boat, the accompanying flotilla and the sparkling reflection of the sun on the water, resembling wedding confetti.

[Editor's note: 2023 season lighthouse tours and Solaris solar powered boat rides are offered by HRMM here: https://www.hrmm.org/all-boat-tours.html]

                                   The ALEXANDER HAMILTON'S First Trip 
The following is a brief description of the event by Captain William O. Benson: On the 29th of May, 1924, the Hudson River Day Line steamer ALEXANDER HAMILTON made her first voyage on the great Hudson River from New York City to the State Capital at Albany.

I was a student in the old District No. 13 School at Port Ewen, and we had been told the HAMILTON was making her first trip up river. I was wishing she would be late, so I could rush out at 3:30 p.m. and run to the sand bank at Sleightsburgh and watch her come up. I will admit all day in school my mind was on the new HAMILTON and sure enough when school was dismissed I guess I was the first out and on my way to the sand bank.

I could see the new flyer coming up off Schleede's brick yard south of Port Ewen. She was about an hour late due to some problem with her new engine, I guess due to the fact she was new.

As she was passing the Rondout Lighthouse, the steamer JACOB H. TREMPER was just coming out of Rondout Creek. When the HAMILTON blew her landing whistle for Kingston Point of one long, one short and one long, how the sea gulls and egrets rose high in the air. The Lighthouse keeper rang the fog bell three times and the ferry TRANSPORT, just inside of the Lighthouse, blew three whistles in salute which the HAMILTON answered. Also on the starboard side of the HAMILTON, out in the river, was Cornell Steamboat Company tug HARRY blowing her chime whistle. It sure was great to stand and watch a new sidewheeler being greeted by other much older steamboats from another age.

She was all decorated out with American flags and signal colors for her first trip up the river.

She was faithful to the old Hudson for 47 long years, carrying many happy people up and down and to the pleasure parks along the beautiful Hudson River.

                                         More about Port Ewen brickyards:
At the end of his school day in Port Ewen, William O. Benson ran to the Sleightsburg shore and spotted the ALEXANDER HAMILTON coming up off Schleede's brickyard south of Port Ewen. The tall brick stack in the painting might have been remnants of one of the Port Ewen Brickyards, Turner or Jacob Kline/Bishop. The chute was probably used to load bricks or ice blocks onto barges for transport to New York City.

In 1852, Jacob Kline, became cashier for the Pennsylvania Coal Co., and John Ewen (namesake of Port Ewen) became President. From then until 1865, Port Ewen thrived as a terminal for Honesdale, PA coal which came on Delaware & Hudson canal boats and was transferred to barges going to New York City on the Hudson River.

However, after litigation between the D&H and Pennsylvania Coal companies, the latter moved to Newburgh in 1865 leaving many Irish canal workers who lived on that Port Ewen hill unemployed. Jacob Kline built a brickyard which employed these workers and saved Port Ewen from economic collapse. Tugs were named after Kline's daughters.

John D. Schoonmaker of Kingston had a large 23,000 ton ice house erected, helping employment in the winter when the river was frozen. Ice was harvested from Turner's pond on the Port Ewen hill and stored in the icehouse.

Everyone loves a good ghost story. Especially during this time of year, as Halloween approaches in the Hudson Valley region. Rondout Lighthouse is home to one of these ghostly tales.

The Legend of the Widow’s Watch tells the tale of a young bride who haunts the Rondout Lighthouse, forever searching for her lighthouse keeper husband who perished on their wedding night in a tragic boating accident. On certain autumn nights, lucky (or perhaps unlucky) people may catch a glimpse of this ghostly woman in white watching over the dark waters for her beloved groom to return.

Well, I hate to be the Grinch of Halloween, but this tale, like most legends, has taken tiny bits of truth and spun them into myth.
​
Catherine (Parsell) Murdock Perkins, the presumed subject of this ghost tale, was no weak maiden fair left pining for her groom. While it was her first husband, George Murdock, who was initially hired as the keeper of the Rondout light, she obtained the position after his death and (wo-)manned the lighthouse for over fifty years. 

Catherine, now widowed at age twenty-eight with three young children in her care (the youngest just eight months old and the oldest only four years), took over running the lighthouse and the many difficult tasks that included. Fuel oil for the light would have to be hauled, wicks would need to be trimmed precisely, the glass lens carefully shined. The light was to be lit punctually at sundown, and kept burning until sunrise.  Logs were kept detailing the supplies used, with different monthly and quarterly reports to be filed. The entire lighthouse, even the bedrooms, were to be meticulously kept and subject to inspection.

Catherine married a second time, to Jeremiah Perkins, probably sometime before the 1861 birth of the first of their two children together. Instead of passing the keeper position to her new husband, she continued in the role herself. The 1865 New York State census indicates that Jeremiah worked as a laborer, while Catherine’s occupation was lighthouse keeper.

Catherine was widowed for a second time a few months after that census was enumerated. In August of 1865, details of Jeremiah’s death were published in the Albany Argus:
​
Jeremiah Perkins…. deck hand on the steamer "Santa Claus", had occasion one day last week to go on board the barge "Humboldt", in tow of the steamer.  He had been in the hold of the vessel, and on attempting to ascend, and when he had taken a couple of steps on the ladder, it fell over backward with him, causing him to fall heavily upon the floor.  He was so much injured that he was not able to extricate himself, and he lived but a couple of hours after the accident.[1]

​Catherine, now thirty-six years of age, persevered with her work keeping the lighthouse marking the mouth of the creek illuminated. The sailors that plied the waters of the Hudson River and Rondout Creek relied on her for their safety.

In 1867, a second Rondout Lighthouse was constructed. This second lighthouse was Catherine’s home until her retirement at age seventy-nine in 1907, after more than fifty years of dedicated service. James Murdock, her son who had been born in the lighthouse, was the next family member to take on the lighthouse keeper position.

Catherine died at son William Perkin’s home in Ponckhockie in 1909 at the age of eighty-one years, after a long illness.

The lighthouse that had been Catherine’s home was left boarded up after being replaced by a third Rondout Lighthouse in 1915. The lighthouse that had been Catherine’s home was eventually demolished in 1954.

While a spooky tale of a heartbroken, widowed bride haunting the Rondout Lighthouse might be appealing to those looking for a fright, the actual facts show little resemblance to the legend. While Catherine was widowed twice, and both husbands’ deaths did, in their own way, involve boats, she was far from a newlywed at the time of either of their deaths.

​The Rondout Lighthouse that stands today was constructed years after Catherine’s death, and was not a building she would have known in life. Given the season, however, if you dare to check out the legend for yourself, a few evening lantern cruises remain available through Halloween night! ​https://www.hrmm.org/all-boat-tours.html

On Saturday, May 19, 1928, in the early afternoon of a beautiful spring day, a collision occurred off Rondout Lighthouse between the ferryboat “Transport” and the steamer “Benjamin B. Odell” of the Central Hudson Line.
           
At the time, I was deckhand on the steamer “Albany” of the Hudson River Day Line, helping to get her ready for the new season after her winter lay up at the Sunflower Dock at Sleightsburgh. On Saturdays, we knocked off work at 11:30 a.m. As I rowed up the creek in my rowboat to go home, the big “Odell” was still at her dock at the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue at Rondout.
           
At 12:25 p.m. the “Odell” blew the customary three long melodious blasts on her big whistle, high on her stack, as the signal she was ready to depart.
           
At home, eating lunch, I heard her blow one short blast promptly at 12:30 p.m. as the signal to cast off her stern line.

From the Porch
Following a habit of mine from a young boy, I went out on our front porch to watch her glide down the creek at a very slow pace past the Cornell shops, Donovan’s and Feeney’s boat yards, and the freshly painter [sic] “Albany.”  The “Odell” looked to me like a great white bird slowly passing down the creek. At the time, I thought how in less than two weeks we would probably pass her on the “Albany” on the lower Hudson on Decoration Day, both steamers loaded with happy excursionists on the first big holiday of the new season.
           
As the “Odell” passed Gill’s dock at Ponckhockie, I went back in the house to finish lunch. A few minutes later I heard the “Odell” blow one blast on her whistle, which was answered by the “Transport” on her way over to Rhinecliff, indicating a port to port passing. Hearing steam whistles so often in the long ago day along Rondout Creek was something one took for granted, assuming they would be heard forever. Then I heard the danger signal on the whistle of the “Transport” followed by three short blasts from the “Odell’s” whistle, indicating her engine was going full speed astern. Shortly thereafter, I could hear the “Transport” blowing the five whistle signal of the Cornell Steamboat Company of 2 short, 2 short, 1 short, meaning we need help immediately.
           
I ran down to my rowboat tied up at the old Baisden shipyard, and looked down the creek. I could see the “Transport” limping in the creek very slowly, her bow down in the water, and her whistle blowing continuously for help. I also noticed several automobiles on her deck.
           
Looking over the old D. & H. canal boats that were deteriorating on the Sleightsburgh flats, I could see the top of the “Odell” stopped out in the river. After a few minutes, she slowly got underway and proceeded on down the river, her big black stack belching smoke, so I figured she was not hurt. 
​

Decision to Beach
           
As the “Transport” approached the Cornell coal pocket, her captain, Rol Saulpaugh, decided to beach her on the Sleightsburgh shore. Nelson Sleight, a member of her crew, asked me to run a line over to the dock a the shipyard in the event she started to slide off the bank.
           
I took the line and ran it from where the “Transport” grounded to the dock. In the meantime, the Cornell tugboat “Rob” came down the creek, from where she had been lying at the rear of the Cornell office at the foot of Broadway, and pushed the ferry a little higher on the bank.
           
After taking the line ashore, I went back and asked if there was anything else I could do. Captain Saulpaugh asked me if I would row up to the ferry slip and get Joseph Butler, the ferry superintendent, and bring him over to the “Transport,” which I did. On the way over, Butler told me he had already called the Poughkeepsie and Highland Ferry Company to see if he could get one of its ferries to run in the “Transport’s” place. The afternoon about 5 p.m., the Poughkeepsie ferryboat “Brinckerhoff” arrived in the creek and began running on the Rhinecliff route.
           
When we got back to the “Transport,” mattresses and blankets had been stuffed in the hole the “Odell” had slicked in the over-hanging guard and part of the hull. When she was patched, the “Transport,” with the “Rob’s” help, backed off the mud and entered the Roundout slip stern first - and the cars on deck were backed off. Then, the “Rob” assisted the ferry to make her way up to the C. Hiltebrandt shipyard at Connelley for repairs. There she was placed in drydock, the damage repaired, and in a week she was back in service on her old run.

A Flood Tide
           
The cause of the mishap at the mouth of the creek was a combination of a strong flood tide, a south wind and a large tow. Out in the river, the big tugboat “Osceola” of the Cornell Steamboat Company was headed down river with a large tow.
           
She had just come down the East Kingston channel and at that moment was directly off the Rondout Lighthouse. When there is a strong flood tide, there is a very strong eddy at the mouth of the creek. The tide,  helped by a south wind, sets up strong and when it hits the south dike, it forms a half moon about 75-100 feet out from the south dike and then starts to set down.
           
As the “Odell” was leaving the creek and entering the river, the “Transport” was passing ahead of the tow, around the bow of the “Osceola.” The “Transport” probably hit the eddy caused by the flood tide. In any event, she didn’t answer her right rudder and took a dive right into the path of the “Odell.”  The “Odell” couldn’t stop in time and cut into the forward end of the ferry about 6 or 8 feet. No one was hurt and there was no confusion on either boat. The “transport” bore the brunt of the bout; the only damage to the “Odell” being some scratched paint on her bow.
           
I heard later from the Dan McDonald, pilot on the “Osceola,” that there would be the lawsuit as a result of the collision - and he had been served with a subpoena to appear as a witness. He never had to appear, however, as Captain Greenwood of the “Odell” later told me the case was settled out of court.

The next year the Central Hudson Line, because of the inroads made by the automobile, went out of business. The “Benjamin B. Odell”, however, continued to run on the river for another company until February 1937 when she was destroyed by fire in winter lay up at Marlboro. The “Transport” continued running on the Rhinecliff ferry route until September 1938 when she was withdrawn from service. She was later cut down and made into a stake boat for the Cornell Steamship Company for use in New York harbor. 
​

Giving Tuesday is coming up next week, so for today's Media Monday post, we thought we would share our newly released trailer for the forthcoming film, "Seven Sentinels: Lighthouses of the Hudson River!" 

After a summer of recording footage and interviews for all of the seven remaining Hudson River lighthouses, we're going to spend the winter reviewing footage, editing, and starting to put together the film, with a planned release date of July, 2022. 

We are so excited for this project, but we can't do it without your help. For that reason, we've launched a crowdfunding campaign in hopes that those of you who love lighthouses as much as we do will help us tell their stories. Watch the trailer below for a taste of what's to come!

Our crowdfunding campaign runs for the next two months. In that time, you'll be seeing more lighthouse content here on the blog as we share some of our coolest finds. Keep your eyes peeled for another sneak peak trailer, too! 

If you'd like to donate, we have some great perks. Click the button below and help us reach our goal of making it to the $5,000 mark by Thanksgiving!

If you or your business would like to become a sponsor of the films or other film projects, please contact Sarah Wassberg Johnson at swassberg@hrmm.org. 

We're also doing a daily countdown to Giving Tuesday starting tomorrow on our Facebook page and Instagram account. Click the links and follow us to make sure you don't miss the updates.​

We'll leave you with a few behind-the-scenes photos from some of our trips this past summer. Thanks for your support!

When this ABC news special first aired in the 1980s, the few remaining Hudson River Lighthouses were in rough shape. Some, like the Saugerties lighthouse, were even in danger of collapsing. 

Thankfully, local governments and volunteer organizations stepped up to save them from total destruction. This video, hosted by ABC News reporter Roger Caras, features the Rondout Lighthouse and Hudson-Athens Lighthouse, with interviews with Elise Barry, who wrote the National Register nomination for all seven lighthouses, and Emily Brunner, daughter of Hudson-Athens keeper Emil Brunner. 

You can visit almost all the Hudson River Lighthouses today! For more information visit www.hudsonriverlighthouses.org. Tours of the Rondout and Esopus Meadows Lighthouses are available on our 100% solar-powered tour boat Solaris! Get tickets here. 

Do you have a favorite Hudson River lighthouse? Share in the comments!

Today's Media Monday features a recent lecture at the Hudson River Maritime Museum - "Keepers of the Light: Women Lighthouse Keepers of the Hudson," given by Sarah Wassberg Johnson, Director of Exhibits & Outreach at the museum.

​For upcoming lectures, visit our Lecture Series page!

If you'd like to learn more about Hudson River Lighthouses, visit our lighthouse website, or purchase the book, Hudson River Lighthouses​, published by the Hudson River Maritime Museum!

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

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published July 2, 1972.

When I was a boy of 10 in 1921, my brother Algot was home over the Fourth of July. At that time, he was chief mate on the steamboat “Onteora” - and brought with him about $10 worth of fireworks, which before these present days of inflation was a lot of fireworks! They were all in the big box sitting out on our porch.

For the fun of it, he threw a very small firecracker under me as I was leaning over. When it went bang, I jumped up real quick and everybody laughed. Not to be outdone, I threw a firecracker at him. Instead of going off, it sizzled and scooted across the porch right into the box of fireworks. How everybody ran for cover when the whole box went up - night works, roman candles, torpedoes, salutes, sparklers, everything! The glorious explosion was all over in about three minutes.

Was my mother angry at me for doing such a thing to my brother and for causing all the fireworks to explode! But my brother was good about it all. He laughed and said, “Come on Bill, let’s go down along the shore.”

 I was crying by now, thinking I would be all day without any firecrackers.

On the Strand
Algot took me and our rowboat and rowed over to the Strand and bought $10 more of fireworks - and gave them to me. He sure was a wonderful brother to me. I shall never forget him, even though I was only 11 years of age when he died the following year.

Also at that time, on Sundays and holidays I remember going out to Kingston Point with my father. We would watch all the people and the big boats come and go and unload and load their passengers. Phil Maines, former mate of the “Mary Powell,” was dockmaster. Phil always saw to it that we got inside the gates where there were no people and could get a good view of the boats coming in and going out.

Jim Murdock was the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse at the time, and he also would be over there. I can still remember how he would be dressed. He always wore a straw boater hat, a light gray suit, a red tie and black patent leather shoes with white laces. Always, his hat stayed high on the back of his head, seemingly because he has so much hair.

I remember one day the mate of the steamer “Washington Irving,” Thurlow Davis of Kingston, was going to push Jim Murdock out of the private gangway into the crowded one.

“Just a minute there, I am the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse,” Mr. Murdock said. That ended that! The mate gave him a scowl and went his way. Thurlow Davis was an excellent mate for passenger boats. He could do carpenter work or anything in the line of maintenance that came up to do on a steamboat.

How my father loved the Fourth of July! How he loved to have his boys enjoy firecrackers and fireworks so they could properly celebrate the Glorious Fourth. I often wonder how he would have reacted today when fireworks are not allowed. I suppose, like myself, he would uphold the law - but not really think much of it.

​Unpromising weather. We left the marina in Connelly. It was sprinkling, cold and there was a strong northeast wind so we did not unfurl the sail but instead lashed it to the thwarts.  We shoved off into the Rondout around 9:30 paddling directly into the wind.  Steve Trueman, a collector of old tugboats, hailed us from the 1930s tug K. Whittlesey and offered us shelter and coffee but we unwisely declined, being in a hurry to take advantage of the incoming flood tide.

​As we passed a scrap yard, it became clear that the wind was roaring right down the river from the north. The wind continued to rise as we paddled the exposed stretch of the creek toward the lighthouse. The river beyond the lighthouse was dark and disturbed, rolling with the steep and dirty waves that are created when the wind opposes the current. We estimated that the wind was blowing at about 20 mph. The incoming tide was rushing into the Rondout and we had to power the last 100 yards to reach temporary protection in the lee of the lighthouse before bodily forcing the Bear out into the river. We were immediately slammed by three and four foot waves which threatened to dash us on the rocks reinforcing the south breakwater. Try as hard as he might, Steve in the bow could not dig hard enough to bring our bow into the wind. I was equally unable to lever the stern downstream and Joe and Dan in the middle were unable to assist either of us from their position. After half a minute of intense effort, Steve just stopped paddling. I was astounded and speechless. There was no explanation. He simply stopped. We were sure we were about to broach. I figured that when the Bear filled, we would abandon her, swim for the breakwater and wait for help to arrive. Amazingly, however, the bow of the canoe unexpectedly rotated downstream and after a few seconds of hesitation, the three of us spun around in our seats (facing astern) and began paddling upstream with all of our might for shelter in the bay a short distance to our north. We later surmised that the unplanned spin that allowed us to gain control was the result of the bow of our canoe being too light. With two of us in the stern and the heavy chests and waterproof bags well behind the mast, the canoe was much steadier proceeding stern first. We shipped plenty of water smashing through the big waves and progress was excruciatingly slow, but we eventually rounded Kingston Point and entered calmer water. It was clear that we were not going to be able to make much more progress so we aimed the Bear for the beach north and west of the point and landed wet and exhausted. To get out of the relentless wind, we left the canoe on the beach and cowered behind a low plank wall near the beach parking lot. We were completely defeated.

​After a long pause and the resumption of normal heart rates and mental functions, we looked back over the wall toward the beached Bear and the bay beyond. The sky was clearing and the sun was coming out. A large freighter was bearing directly toward us before making the turn east to clear Kingston Point. Moments later, it dawned upon us that the ship’s wake could set the canoe afloat. But by the time we saw the curling wake approach, it was too late. We sprinted toward the canoe as she was lifted up at a crazy angle and then dashed on the beach parallel to the receding wake. A second wave rolled her over, dumping all of our gear into the churning water. The big yellow dry bags floated, but one of our food chests opened up spilling out cook stove and utensils. We ran out into the water, hurled everything we could find far up the beach and then drained the sand and water slurry out of the Bear and carried her far up the beach. We hung our wet gear up in a tree. Joe set up the stove behind the low wall and began boiling water for hot cocoa. We were feeling pretty low about our inauspicious start and we all knew that we were going to have to wait for the wind to moderate before setting off again.

Steve and I set off to visit Steve Trueman and his collection of old tugboats. We had to fight our way around a fence and lots of heavy brush to get to his boats. Steve, who had offered us coffee little more than an hour earlier, was gone. His dog remained and did not mind our poking around among the tugboats and the covered barge. We returned the way we came, drank hot cocoa and ate some bologna sandwiches. Thus fortified, we decided to make a second attempt to paddle north in hopes of making a few miles before the tide set against us. We packed up and adjusted our baggage so that there was more weight in the bow.
 
Launching into the surf with our fully loaded canoe was no mean feat, but we timed our launch perfectly and shipped only a few cold gallons of water when we broke through the first wave. After getting away from the beach, we hugged the west shore along the abandoned Hutton brickworks in order to break as much of the wind as possible. During the stronger gusts, we paddled just to stay in place and not lose ground. We eventually made it to the dock at Ulster Park where we tied up and took a break. There was a grassy lawn and a porta john here and we agreed that this would be an acceptable camping location if we couldn’t get further north. The sun was shining but low in the sky and a cold wind continued from the north, dead against us. We steeled ourselves for more paddling, hoping to get at least as far as the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge, but the tide was waning and we needed to find a landing and campsite before dark.

A little more than half a mile north of the bridge, we found a small cove with a landing and made our decision to stay. After getting the canoe well above the high water mark, we scouted the area to determine if we could camp here without being disturbed. Nearby we found the hulk of an abandoned 1940s transit bus identified by painted letters as “Bob’s Bus.” The bus still retained its decorative chrome but had lost its wheels, engine and seats and was now full of lawn mowers and recreational equipment. A second cove near the bus was filled with the bones of abandoned brick barges. We found a fiberglass runabout filled with rotting leaves and fallen branches. Another boat was riding at a mooring north of our cove. A nineteenth century road with stone retaining walls switched back and forth and ascended a bluff towards several houses overlooking the river.
 
Joe and I were definitely uncomfortable here, but Steve reminded us that it was late and the tide was gone leaving us no options. We unpacked and pitched Joe’s big tent in the gathering dusk. Steve had absolutely no concerns but Joe and I sure hoped no one would find us here before dawn. We prepared macaroni and cheese with hot dogs for dinner served with apple slices and cheddar cheese. After dinner it got cold. The tide went all the way out. We built a driftwood fire on the beach for warmth. A dog began barking on the ridge above us, and we could see the lights of the houses at the top. We crawled into our sleeping bags before 9:00 PM. It was a very cold night. High tide arrived at 2:00 AM and I checked to make sure that the Bear was far enough up the beach. I offered my winter coat to Joe to warm him up.

Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 8 of the trip!

​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!​