On June 15, 1904 occurred one of the worst steamboat disasters of all time.  On that sunny June morning, he New York harbor excursion steamer “General Slocum” caught fire and burned in the East River with a resulting loss of life of 1,021 people. 

The “General Slocum” was built in 1891 at Brooklyn to run between New York City and Rockaway Beach.  She later ran as an excursion steamer on the Hudson River and Long Island sound, and — at the time — was the largest excursion steamboat out of New York.  From time to time, she was chartered by local Ulster County groups and carried excursions out of Rondout Creek. 

On the day of the disaster, the “General Slocum” had been chartered by the Sunday School and members of the congregation of St. Mark’s German Lutheran Church of New York for an excursion to Locust Grove on Long Island.  The vessel left a pier at the foot of East Third Street, Manhattan, shortly before 10 a.m. and proceeded up the East River.

A Cabin Ablaze
Off 97th Street, some of the deckhands on the lower deck observed wisps of smoke coming from the forward part of the vessel.  Instead of notifying the captain, they tried to find the cause, apparently thinking they could put out the fire if there was one.  They went below and found a cabin ablaze.  Coming back on deck, they got the mate who immediately sent word to the captain and started to fight the fire.  By this time the fire was beginning to gain momentum and spread. 

The East River, at the point where the fire was discovered, is deep and filled with treacherous tidal currents.  The captain, William H. Van Schaick, thought his best course would be to reach shallow water and ordered the pilot to head at full speed for North Brother Island, approximately a mile ahead. 

The fire, unfortunately, spread rapidly, fanned by a breeze blowing from the north and the steamer’s  speed through the water.  Many passengers became panic stricken as everyone tried to crowd to the rear of the vessel away from the burning forward part of the steamboat.  To add to the dire chain of events surrounding the tragedy, the steamer — on reaching North Brother Island — grounded forward.   Her stern, however, where all the passengers were crowded, was still in water 30 feet deep.  Many passengers, thinking the entire steamer was in shallow water, jumped overboard and were drowned.
​
Due to the huge loss of life, the disaster naturally caused a great public furor and led to several investigations.  There was strong criticism of the adequacy of the life saving and fire fighting equipment aboard the steamboat.  As a result of the investigations, Captain Van Schaick was sentenced to prison.  Almost all boatmen felt the captain was unjustly made a scapegoat for the resulting tragedy, instead of the owners of the steamer or the effectiveness of the life saving and fire fighting equipment then required — and the inspections of it by government inspectors.

Suffered Injuries
Captain Van Schaick was severely burned as a result of the fire and his eyesight was permanently damaged by the intense heat of the flames as he vainly sought to direct efforts to combat the holocaust. 

When he was sentenced to prison, he was sent to Sing Sing at Ossining.  At that time, the State was building what is now Bear Mountain Park operated by the Palisades Interstate Park Commission.  Some of the inmates of Sing Sing were used for cutting down trees, and other work.  

Al Walker, who later was a captain of Cornell tugboats, was then captain of a little steamboat used to carry prisoners back and forth between Sing Sing and the new park.  Captain Van Schaick was one of the prisoners who was sent to the park to do what he could.  Al told me he would always take Captain Van Schaick into the pilot house and let him steer or do whatever he wanted to do as, like all other steamboatmen of that day, he felt Captain Van should never have gone to prison. 

Captain Van Schaick eventually was pardoned by President Taft and later died at the Masonic Home at Utica in 1924.  Several members of his family were also steamboatmen.  A brother was a captain of steamboats of the Iron Steamboat Company, the steamboat line that ran from New York to Coney Island until 1932.  Captain Arthur Van Schaick, who I believe was a nephew of the “General Slocum’s" captain, was a pilot and later captain of the "Chauncey M. Depew’’ of the Hudson River Day Line. 
​
On the ‘Sirius’
Before Captain Van Schaick became captain of the "General Slocum," he had been captain of the steamer “Sirius” of the Iron Steamboat Company.  Jack Dearstyne, Sr., who was later captain of a number of Hudson River steamboats, was at that time first mate of the ‘‘Sirius."
Captain Dearstyne later told me that Captain Van Schaick always used to say his one wish was to be captain of New York’s largest excursion steamer.  Well, he got his wish and, as it turned out, to his great regret.

Learn more at the June 8, 2022 lecture by author Edward T. O'Donnell "The 1904 General Slocum Disaster: New York's Deadliest Day before 9/11"

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. 
​

As we approach the opening of our new exhibit, "A New Age of Sail: The History and Future of Sail Freight on the Hudson River," we thought we'd introduce this classic folk song about a collier named Nightingale by Stan Rogers. In it, a brave captain sacrifices himself to save his crew.

Rogers was a Canadian folk singer who wrote "The Flowers of Bermuda" in 1978, apparently based on a true story. He wrote of the song, "I took my first trip to Bermuda in May, 1978 and loved it. While I was there, I discovered that the whole area around Bermuda is a kind of ship graveyard. I found a map showing the location of most of the known wrecks and discovered that a coal carrier called the Nightingale sank off the North Rock in the early 1880s. The rest of the details are pure invention, except for the fact that Bermuda is lovely."

There was in fact a collier named Nightingale, although she foundered in the North Atlantic in the 1890s, not Bermuda in the 1880s. However, North Rock Reef in Bermuda was home to several shipwrecks, and you can still dive some today. Stephen Winick of Sing Out! magazine looked further into the history of Rogers' song and ship, and may have found the real vessel that inspired the song. 

Colliers were important cargo sailing vessels throughout the 19th and 20th centuries as they were able to ship coal without using any of it to fuel themselves. Bermuda was an important coaling station for the British Royal Navy's steamships and so the semi-fictional Nightingale would have been bringing coal from England or the United States to resupply the coaling station at Bermuda. Early steamships could not carry enough coal to go long distances without refueling, so stations like Bermuda were crucial to Naval operations. 

The Flowers Of Bermuda
by Stan Rogers

He was the captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-One days from clyde in coal.
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale,
When he died on the North Rock Shoal.
​
Just five short hours from Bermuda, in a fine October gale,
There came a cry "O there be breakers dead ahead!"
From the Collier Nightingale.
No sooner had the captain brought her round,
Came a rending crash below.
Hard on her beam ends groaning went the Nightingale,
And overside her mainmast goes.

He was the captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-One days from clyde in coal.
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale,
When he died on the North Rock Shoal.

"O Captain are we all for drowning?"
Came the cry from all the crew. "The boats be smashed,
How are we all then to be saved?
They are stove in through and through."
Oh, are ye brave and hearty collier men?
Or are ye blind and cannot see?
The captain's gig still lies before ye whole and sound.
It shall carry all O' we.

He was the captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-One days from clyde in coal.
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale,
When he died on the North Rock Shoal.

But when the crew was all assembled,
And the gig prepared for sea,
Twas seen there were but eighteen places to be manned,
Nineteen mortal souls were we.
But cries the captain "now do ye not delay,
Nor do ye spare a thought for me,
My duty is to save ye all now if I can,
See ye return quick as can be."

He was the captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-One days from clyde in coal.
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale,
When he died on the North Rock Shoal.

Oh there be flowers in Bermuda. Beauty lies on every hand.
And there be laughter, ease, and drink for every man,
But there is no joy for me.
For when we reached the wretched Nightingale,
What an awful sight was plain,
The captain drowned, lay tangled in the mizzen chain,
Smiling bravely beneath the sea.

He was the captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-One days from clyde in coal.
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale,
When he died on the North Rock Shoal.

Since the Hudson River was first navigated by steamboats in 1807, there have been hazards- natural and man-made- that have plagued the captains and pilots of these vessels. Fog, low water level, treacherous currents and ice have all taken their toll over the years, as have the occasional cases of inattention to duty, confusing or misunderstood whistle signals between steamers- not to mention fires, boiler explosions or mechanical failure of engine or steering gear.
 
Some of these accidents are well known, such as the loss of the steamer Thomas Cornell when she ran up Danskammer Point, north of Newburgh, in the fog on 27 March 1882 as she was making her regular trip from Rondout to New York.
 
Many years later, the Hudson River Day Line’s flagship Washington Irving was lost as a result of a collision just after she left her pier in New York on 1 June 1926. She was struck on the port side by an oil barge in tow of the tug Thomas E. Moran and sank after she was hurriedly run across the river to shallower water on the New Jersey side.
 
Most of the accidents or incidents have never had the dramatic impact of losses such as that of the Thomas Cornell or Washington Irving. Many of them didn’t result in the loss of the vessel. The Cornell tug G.W. Decker was an example. This small tug was for many years employed as a “helper” tug on Cornell’s tows- picking up or dropping off individual barges at intermediate points on the journey to or from New York. Many years ago, the many brickyards at Haverstraw sent their production to New York on barges, with the helper tug shuttling between the brickyard wharves and the tow. The depth of the river at Haverstraw Bay is not particularly deep, and the fact that the Decker’s bottom plates were eventually found to be very thin was ascribed- in part at least- to the cumulative action of Haverstraw Bay sand on her bottom. We shall never know for sure, but it is a reasonable theory.
 
The river’s depth is very shallow on the wide reaches of Haverstraw Bay outside of the main channel, and on the upper river where dredging had to be accomplished to allow ships to reach the port of Albany. In March 1910, long before the upper river was dredged, the very large and powerful steel-hulled Cornell tug named Cornell- accompanied by her helper Rob- was sent to Albany to break up an enormous ice jam in order that the river might be opened for traffic. It was found that her draft was so great that she grounded from time to time on the northbound trip, but she eventually accomplished her task with no small measure of hazard to Cornell and her crew. It was never attempted again.
 
Over most of the river’s course from New York to the start of the dredged channel north of Hudson the channel is of moderate depth, but in the Highlands- from Peekskill north to Cornwall- there is a lot of water, sometimes extending almost to the shoreline because of the mountainous nature of the area. At Anthony’s Nose, the depth reaches about 90 feet, and under the Bear Mountain Bridge we may find nearly 130 feet of depth.
 
In the region around West Point is where we may find the deepest point on the entire river. Between West Point and Constitution Island, in that part of the river called World’s End, a depth of 202 feet was recorded during one survey many years ago- and that is at mean low water during the lowest river stages.
 
A small steamboat- or “steam yacht” in river parlance- named Carrie A. Ward, built in New Baltimore in 1878, maintained a local service between Newburgh and Peekskill during the 1880s. In late July of 1882, she sank near Cold Spring and was raised. On Saturday, 29 July, she sank for a second time for reasons thus far unknown, again in the vicinity of Cold Spring. By Tuesday, 1 August, she had not been located. The Newburgh Daily Journal reported on that day under the headline “Is She Gone For Good?”:
 
“It is said that the river bed consists of rocks in the locality where she went down, and that the water is of varying depth. It may be fifty [feet] deep in one spot, and nearly twice that a few yards off. Some boatmen have doubts if the Carrie will ever be found. They say she may have settled into a hollow between some of the rocks and her presence may never be discovered.”
 
The situation was not quite as dire as the boatmen predicted. By the next day, she had been located in 60 feet of water. The Journal remarked, “Arrangements are under way to have the yacht raised again.” The Baxter Wrecking Company brought in their divers and equipment on 5 August, and in a short time, the Carrie A. Ward had been raised, repaired and back in service.
 
The Hudson hasn’t always been that kind to its vessels. There have been scores of sail and steamboats, barges and other craft that have sunk in the river never to be raised. We shall unfortunately never know the tales told by their crews.
 

We've written about the 1845 wreck of the steamboat Swallow before, but for those of  you who'd rather watch and listen than read, this video offers a great, minute-by-minute overview of what happened that fateful night.

The catastrophe just south of the Middle Ground Flats between Hudson and Athens, NY led to calls for a lighthouse. In 1873, the Hudson-Athens Lighthouse was finally installed, able to warn mariners away from the flats and prevent future shipwrecks.

HFX Studios (Historical Film Experiences) has produced a number of great videos on a maritime history theme (including some which credit HRMM!), so be sure to check out their YouTube channel. 

​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 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. For more of Murdock's articles, see the "Steamboat Biographies" category.

​It was 2 o’clock in the morning, just 63 years ago today, December 1, 1875, that the magnificent steamboat “Sunnyside” met her fate. This memorable early morning disaster which claimed many lives, still remains a vivid picture in the memory of George W. Murdock, who was a member of the crew of the ill-fated vessel.

The wooden hull of the “Sunnyside” was built by C.R. Poillon of Williamsburg, New York, in 1866. The vessel was 247 feet, six inches long, with a 35 foot, four inch breadth of beam. She was rated at 942 gross tons and was powered by an engine with a cylinder diameter of 56 inches with a 12 foot stroke, built by S. Secor & Company of New York.

The “Sunnyside” and “Sleepy Hollow” were sister steamboats, built for service on the lower Hudson river, running in passenger service between Sing Sing and New York. Both vessels were fine examples of modern steamboat construction of that period and both were possessed of good speed. They began operating in the spring of 1866, making landings at Yonkers, Irvington, and Tarrytown, with one vessel and covering the identical route but extending to Grassy Point with the other vessel. This double service continued until July of the following year (1867), when the “Sunnyside” was placed in operation running to Newburgh for the balance of the season, and was then laid up.

In July, 1870, Joseph Cornell in partnership with Captain Black, bought the “Sunnyside” at auction for $45,000. She was then converted into a night boat and placed on the Coxsackie route, continuing in service on this route for the balance of that season and through the year 1871. She made a landing at Catskill on alternate days with the “Thomas Powell,” which plied the Hudson river only as far as Catskill.

During the winter of 1871-1872, Joseph Cornell, George Horton and Thomas Abrams organized the Citizens’ Line, placing the “Sunnyside” and “Thomas Powell” in service in opposition to J.W. Hancox, who was operating the “C. Vanderbilt” and the “Connecticut.” In July, 1872, the Hancox steamboats were withdrawn and the Citizens’ Line was without opposition.

​The “Sunnyside” was one of the fastest night boats carrying staterooms on the Hudson river during that period, and in July, 1874, she made the run from New York to Troy in eight hours and 55 minutes.

The hand of fate seemed to hover over the “Sunnyside” almost from the time she first slid into the waters of the Hudson river. She met with numerous accidents during her career, some of little consequence, while others caused damage to the vessel and claimed lives of some unfortunates. One night, on her down trip from Troy, in the latter part of May, 1874, the “Sunnyside” collided with the abutment of the Congress street bridge at Troy, staving in her starboard boiler which was located on her guards. The escaping steam caused the death of one man. In November of the same year she ran aground on Fish-house bar between Troy and Albany, striking with such force that she stove a hole in her hull and almost sunk. During the month of August 1875, she caught fire from spontaneous combustion in some bales of cotton on her main deck, but the flames were discovered in ample time to avert serious damage.

On Tuesday afternoon at 2 o’clock on November 30, 1875, the “Sunnyside” left Troy for her last trip of the season, and what later proved to be the final sailing of her career. The following account is told by George W. Murdock, a member of the crew on this last trip, who was an eye-witness to the fateful voyage and who narrowly escaped the clutching fingers of death which claimed many victims in that early morning catastrophe.

​We left New York Monday, November 29, and headed up river with a heavy cargo of freight. The thermometer in New York registered from 40 to 45 degrees above zero at the time we left the dock. Coming up the river, the temperature rapidly changed, becoming much colder until at Kingston we began pushing our way through thin ice. We arrived at Troy at 8 o’clock Tuesday morning, November 30, with the thermometer registering zero. Unloading was accomplished as quickly as possible with the temperature hovering at zero throughout the day.

On reaching Albany we took the steamboat “Golden Gate” in tow to follow us down the river. We broke through the drift ice from Troy to Kinderhook, there encountering solid ice. The steamboat “Niagara,” with a tow of canal boats and several schooners, lay ice-bound at this place. We left the “Golden Gate” also ice-bound, and backed and filled several times, breaking a course through the ice and relieving the ice-bound fleet; after which we proceeded down the river.

At Barrytown it was discovered that our vessel was leaking, and the pumps were started. At Esopus Island we ran through clear water which washed away the fine ice which had formed about the hole which had been made on the port side when we had crashed through the ice at Kinderhook. We were off West Park and endeavored to make shore at Russell’s dock as we were leaking badly by this time. The “Sunnyside” went through thick ice on the west bank of the river, but slid back into deep water. The flood time swung the bow of the vessel up the river until the pilot house was filled with water, and all that remained out of water was about 40 feet of the hurricane deck, aft.

This was 2 o’clock in the morning and the weather was bitter cold, the thermometer registering five below zero. Captain Teson, in charge of the “Sunnyside,” ordered the boats to be lowered, sending Mate Burhonce in charge of the first one. It capsized, drowning 11 out of 18 passengers and crew. The mate swam ashore. We then succeeded in getting a line ashore from the steamboat and so established a rope ferry. It was now 5 o’clock in the morning.

In this fashion we pulled the life boat through the ice and the passengers and crew of the ill-fated steamboat were landed on snow-covered shore of Ulster county. They climbed the rocks along the shore and made their way to the farm houses in the vicinity where every attention possible was given them, but several died from the results of too long exposure.

Among those lost were Sarah Butler and Susan Rex (colored), of New York, chambermaids; John Howard (colored), of New York, officers’ waiter; Samuel Puteage (colored), waiter, of New York; Matthew Johnson (colored), of Albany; George Green (colored), second cook, of Norwich, Connecticut; Mrs. Haywood of Tenafly, N.J., Mrs. Stewart of New York, Mrs. Walker of Troy, an Irish girl called Bridget, resident of Jersey City; and an unknown peddler of silks and jewelry.

At the request of my uncle, Abram Parsell, of Port Ewen, who was chief engineer on the “Sunnyside,” I set out afoot for Port Ewen at 6 o’clock on that bleak morning of December 1, to break the news of the disaster to his wife and the people of the town. At that time the thermometer had gone down to six degrees below zero and hiking that distance of about 10 miles was rather a task. Stories of the tragic accident had already arrived at Port Ewen so my news that my uncle was safe was joyously received by his many friends in the town.

The crew of the “Sunnyside” were: Captain Frank Teson of Lansingburg; first pilot, Robert Whittaker of Saugerties; second pilot, Watson Dutcher of New York; mate, Jacob Burhonce of Troy; chief engineer, Abram Parsell of Port Ewen; assistant engineer, Jerry Deyo of Port Ewen; purser, John Talmadge of New Baltimore; steward, George Wolcott of New York; freight clerk, Edward Johnson of Troy.

​The “Sunnyside” was raised and her hull broken up, while her engines were placed in the steamboat “Saratoga.”

On the night of Sept. 17, 1919 —53 years ago tonight — the steamboat “Point Comfort" ran aground on Esopus Island and became a total loss.  Her wreck remained there until it was finally removed in the early 1930's.  On the night of the accident, the steamer had been bound for Catskill and her presence on the river was due to a great reduction in service by the Catskill Evening Line. 
​
The Catskill Evening Line was one of the first of the Hudson River steamboat companies to run into financial difficulties.  In early 1916, control of the steamboat line was acquired by the Hudson River Day Line, which operated the company until the end of the 1917 season.  During 1916 the Line's passenger steamers "Onteora’’ and “Clermont” ran to Troy and in 1919 were layed up, one steamer at Catskill and the other at Athens. 

The Catskill Evening Line did remain in business at a greatly reduced level, operating a single freight steamer — the “Storm King.” Some businessmen at Catskill, however, were dissatisfied with the service.  They wanted service every night, which the "Storm King" by herself could not do.  The group of businessmen banded together and chartered a steamboat from the Keansburgh Steamboat Company in New York harbor called the “Point Comfort."

The “Point Comfort’’ had originally been named the “Nantucket" and had been built in 1886 for the route between New Bedford, Woods Hole, Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.  She operated on that route for 26 years, year round, and she had a reputation of being a very good boat in salt water ice.  In 1913 she was purchased by the Keansburgh Steamboat Company, which changed her name to “Point Comfort” and — until 1919 — she was operated in and around New York harbor.  

A Trim Sidewheeler
When purchased by her new owners in 1913, her second deck was extended out to the bow stem and other alterations were made to the steamer.  She was a trim looking sidewheeler, looking somewhat like the Hudson River steamer “Jacob H. Tremper," with about the same speed. 
​
When the “Point Comfort” was chartered by the Catskill people in September 1919, she made one round trip to Catskill before her fatal accident.  On her second trip, on Sept. 17, 1919, she left New York with a large load of sugar and other freight for Catskill and Athens. 

As told to me by a man who was on board the “Point Comfort” that fateful night, the day was one of those of late summer that had been very clear, the sun warm, but quite cool in the shade.  On such a day, rivermen usually predict that after midnight banks of fog will start to appear where creeks run into the river and around flats. 
When the “Point Comfort” left the harbor, the other river night boats were also underway for Albany and Troy and the Central Hudson steamers to Newburgh, Poughkeepsie and Kingston.  Being much faster, they soon left the “Point Comfort” astern. 

As it was related to me, banks of fog were encountered in the Highlands north of West Point and the night turned very cool.  At first, the pilot house crew of the “Point Comfort" thought they would tie up at the recreation pier at Newburgh.  At Newburgh, however, the weather cleared and they decided to keep on going.  When they reached Crum Elbow, the steamer ran into another fog bank and they thought about tying up at the Hyde Park steamboat dock.  The river, though, was up to its old tricks and off Hyde Park it again cleared.  They keep going. 

Off Esopus Island the “Point Comfort" again ran into fog.  About a half mile above the island, a decision was made to turn around and go back to Hyde Park until the fog lifted, since a good echo from a steam whistle is hard to get on going around Esopus Lighthouse, the lighthouse being so far from shore.  On turning around in the fog, on board the steamboat they thought it was still flood tide.  Instead it was slack water. 
On the way back down the river, it was the intention of the men in the “Point Comfort's” pilot house to pass to the west of Esopus Island.  Because of the slack water, they were further downstream than they thought.  They were also too far to the east.  Going along at about 10 miles per hour reduced speed, the steamer piled up on the rocky reef just off the north end of the island.  At the time they were headed due south.  When the steamboat's stern settled in deep water and the ebb tide started to run, the tide turned her so bow pointed east, as if she had been going across the river instead of down stream. 

No one was injured in the mishap and the crew put over a life boat and rowed to Hyde Park.  The ‘‘Point Comfort" lay in the position she ran aground and her wooden superstructure gradually disintegrated.  Parts of it were removed by salvage men, some of it was later burned and the rest was chewed away by drifting winter ice. 
The “Point Comfort’s” boiler, remains of the engine and paddle wheels remained on the rocky ledge until about 1930.  It was right off "Rosemont," the estate of the late Judge Alton B. Parker at Esopus, and was a recognized eyesore.  At that time, Mrs. Parker wrote a letter to Franklin D. Roosevelt, then Governor of New York State, to ask if something could be done to remove the remains of the wreck.  He was able to influence the Army Corps of Engineers to take action on the request.  Gov. Roosevelt's reply to Mrs. Parker is, I believe, in the Governor's Room of the Senate House Museum on Fair Street. 

The Army Engineers removed the visible remains of the wreck of the “Point Comfort” and took them up to the Erie Barge Canal.  There they were dumped behind Lock 10 at Cranesville, far from the salt water those old paddle wheels had churned in summer and winter on the old “Nantucket's” trips between Nantucket and the mainland of New England.  Still today, at very low water, one can see parts of her old strong ribs, part of the keel and iron rods from her spars rusting away between the rocks on the north end of Esopus Island.

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 June 23, 1974.

Of all the steamboats operated by the Hudson River Day Line during its long history, only one was lost by accident while in scheduled service. The accident unfortunately involved the largest and grandest Day Liner of them all — the “Washington Irving."

The accident occurred In New York harbor on June 1, 1926 just as the “Washington Irving” was leaving her New York pier on a routine trip to Albany. She was in collision with an oil barge which tore a gash in her hull and led to her sinking a short time later off the end of a pier at Jersey City. 

The accident took place at a time when the Day Line was at the peak of its operational history. Only the year before, during the season of 1925, the Day Line had carried 1,968,744 passengers, the most ever. The company had seven steamers in operation and had embarked upon the 1926 season with high hopes and considerable promotion for what it called its “Centennial Season."As a result, the loss of the “Washington Irving,” virtually at the season’s start, was a severe blow. 

The “Washington Irving," which the Day Line used to call “the flagship of its fleet,” had opened the season of 1926 on May 12 with a special trip on the river with invited guests of the company. On May 14 she opened the regular season to Albany. On Saturday, May 29, Sunday, May 30 and Monday, May 31 — the Memorial Day weekend — the “Irving” had made three special round trips from New York to Kingston Point. 

In those days of long ago, the Day Line had three New York landings, one at the foot of Desbrosses Street in downtown New York, one at West 42nd Street, and an uptown landing at West 129th Street. While their steamers were underway in the crowded waters of New York harbor, it was also the customary practice of the Day Line to have the captain and second pilot at the main deck gangway to make the appropriate bell pull signals while making or leaving a landing. 

On that fateful hazy morning of June 1, 1926, as the “Washington Irving" lay at her Desbrosses Street pier she was the picture of everything that characterized the Hudson River Day Line in its heyday.  Gleaming white on the exterior, spotless interior, and with her orchestra playing and flags flying, there was scant evidence of the fate that would soon befall the huge steamboat. Promptly at her departure hour of 9 a.m., the “Irving’s” first pilot, Harry Kellerman of Kingston pulled the main deck gangway bell pull three times to signify to the pilot house that the gang plank was ashore, all mooring lines except the bow line and a stem line were cast off and the steamer was ready to get underway. 

As the “Washington Irving” began to move ahead out of the slip. Captain David H. Deming blew the customary long blast on the whistle to warn river traffic she was underway. Out in the river, the tide was ebbing strongly and the tugboat “Thomas E. Moran” was coming up stream with an oil barge lashed to each side to refuel a trans-Atlantic liner. ​

​Because of the ebb tide, the tugboat was in close to the ends of the piers to escape the full brunt of the tide, effectively hiding her from view while the “Irving” was still at her pier. 

On leaving the slip, the paths, of the “Washington Irving” and the “Thomas E. Moran” with her two oil barges rapidly converged. If it were not for the strong ebb tide, probably all would have been well. The “Irving” — just getting up to speed — was caught broadside by the tide and was borne down towards the tow. Captain Deming threw his wheel hard over in an effort to throw the “Irving’s” stern away from the oil barges. The maneuver, however, failed and the corner of the starboard oil barge cut a hole in the hull of the “Washington Irving’s” after boiler room. The “Irving” moving ahead caused a gash about 20 feet long which also ripped through a water tight bulkhead into the steamer’s galley. It was a mortal blow. 

The “Washington Irving” was equipped with six transverse water tight bulkheads. If the hole had been in but one compartment, she probably would have survived. However, with two water tight compartments ruptured, the blow was too much. 

Captain Deming made a quick survey of his predicament and headed his wounded steamboat towards the New Jersey shore. In that crowded part of New York harbor there was no place to beach her. Crossing the river, with her whistle blowing the distress signal, harbor craft sped to her aid. The “Irving’s” passage was accompanied by a thunderous roar as her engineers opened her steam escape valves to “blow her off” and reduce the pressure on the steamer’s boilers. 

The “Irving” was expertly maneuver by her captain to the end of Pier 9, Jersey City. He neatly placed her forward guard over some piles to help keep her on an even keel so the passengers could get ashore. There she sank to the bottom in a matter of minutes with the water reaching the third deck. 

The “Washington Irving" sank right on top of the Holland Tunnel which was then under construction. The tunnel, however, was far enough beneath the surface so that no damage resulted.
 
When the “Washington Irving” was sunk, she was only 13 years old — the prime of life as far as steamboats go. She bad been built in 1913 by the New York shipbuilding Company, Camden, N.J. and was a steamboat of superlatives. She was the largest of the Day Liners, the most luxuriously furnished and reportedly the fastest. She was licensed by the federal government to carry 6,000 passengers, at the time the most for any inland steamer. 

Steamboats, like people, have their faults. Yet, possibly because absence makes the heart grow fonder, I have never heard a boatman who was associated with her ever say a bad word about the “Washington Irving." Despite her size, former pilots used to sing her praises as to her ease of handling and maneuverability, particularly at landings. 

Fortunately, at the time of her sinking, the “Washington Irving” had aboard only about 200 passengers and her crew of 110. All but two passengers and one crew member were saved. The crew member, a mess-boy, at the time of the accident was asleep in a berthing compartment in the after part of the hull.

The two passengers — reportedly the only passengers lost by accident in the Day line’s history — were a young mother and her three year old daughter who allegedly refused to leave the second deck until she had found her other two children, aged 5 and 7, who already had safely been taken off by a tugboat.

A fourth indirect victim of the sinking was said to have been the “Washington Irving's" captain, David H. Deming, the only master the steamer ever had. Although he survived the actual sinking and the following season commanded the Day liner “Hendrick Hudson," the accident was said to have preyed heavily upon him and he died at his home in Albany in 1927. 

The salvage of the sunken steamer proved to be extremely difficult and almost another year had passed before the “Irving’s” hull was again afloat and the hole in her hull patched. Before being raised almost her entire superstructure had to be removed. What was left of the once proud steamboat remained tied up to a New York pier for years. Finally, in 1933 she was towed away for scrapping. Ironically, the tugboat that towed the “Washington Irving” away on her final voyage was reported to be the “Thomas E. Moran" — the same tugboat that was towing the oil barge that holed her seven years before.
​
Today, nearly 50 years have passed since the “Washington Irving" was lost. Few remain of those who played leading roles in the events that took place on that June morning of long ago. As far as I know, two are Thomas Kraljic, the “Irving’s” second mate now living in New York, and Perry H. Banks, who was the Chief Engineer of the “Washington Irving," and now nearly 90, lives at Catskill.  ​

​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!​

In the 1960s, historian, expert boat modeler, and former antiquities thief Forrest Van Loon Ryder published a column in the Greene County News called "Old Timers: Boats of the Hudson."

In this article, entitled "Steamer Redfield burns at Sandbar between Athens and Hudson on 1910-06-20," published on September 16, 1965, Van Loon Ryder recounts the history of the steam freighter William C. Redfield. 

Although not a sidewheeler, at the time of her appearance the WILLIAM C. REDFIELD was considered one of the most modern freight boats on the Hudson River. She carried one stack and had four large openings on each side of her housing for loading freight and also boasted a small saloon for passengers on the second deck. The vessel was named for a man who made historic contributions to steamboat navigation, William C. Redfield of Cromwell, Connecticut. At a time when frequent boiler explosions were creating a fear of steamboats, Mr. Redfield devised Safety Barges, built in the manner of steamboats, but without power and towed by a steam boat. These lavishly furnished barges were popular from 1825 to around 1830 when their favor diminished, due to lack speed, and to fewer boiler disasters which eventually restored the public's confidence in steamboats. Mr. Redfield, who was superintendent of the Swiftsure Towing Line, also suggested the system of towing lets of canal boats, rather than having one of two canal boats on either side of the towboat. Quite often he would have towboats towing as many as 40 or fifty canal boats and barges.

The REDFIELD was constructed for Commodore Alfred Van Santvoord for service between New York and Albany. After serving on this route five years she was sold to new owners who placed her in service between Stuyvesant, Coxsackie and New York as a freight and passenger carrier. Running in line with the THOMAS MCMANUS these two large propeller vessels were a familiar site on this route for many years. Eventually the Catskill Evening Line acquired title to the REDFIELD and MCMANUS, and the two steamers continued to run in line until August 27th, 1902, when the MCMANUS burned at her pier in New York.

Finally the REDFIELD was returned to the route for which she was originally built and in later years was used only as a freight carrier.  

The REDFIELD was destined for a fate similar to that of her old running mate, the MCMANUS. On June 20th, 1910, as the REDFIELD was being tied up at her Athens dock, a fire was discovered in her hold. In flames, she was towed to the Middleground, a sandbar between Athens and Hudson, where she burned to the waters edge and became a total loss.
​
STATISTICS: Lewis Minnersley, builder, East Albany, NY. Wood hull, 370 tons. Length 182 feet; beam 33 feet; depth 10 feet. Fletcher & Harrison No. 49, single cylinder engine having a 36 inch cylinder with 34 inch stroke.

An article from the Boston Globe dated June 21, 1910 recounts the accident:

ANCIENT STEAMER BURNED. 
Sidewheeler W. C. Redfield, Built in 1864, Destroyed on the Hudson at Athens. 

HUDSON, N Y, June 20 - The freight steamer W. C. Redfield, owned by the Catskill & New York steamboat company, was destroyed by fire this afternoon, while lying at Athens, across the river from here. Her crew escaped unharmed. 

The vessel was at her dock when the flames were discovered and buildings along the water front were endangered. A ferryboat towed the steamer onto the flats, where she burned to the water’s edge. 

The Redfield was a sidewheeler of 700 tons, built in 1864, and was for many years of her early usefulness in passenger service on the Hudson.

​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 April 2, 1972.

For nineteen years prior to 1882, there were two very elegant, fast sidewheel steamboats operating between Rondout and New York City.  Both steamers were owned by different companies, but operated on the same route on the same schedule on alternate nights, giving a daily service for passengers and freight to New York.  One steamboat named “Thomas Cornell” was owned by the Cornell Steamboat Company.  The other, slightly smaller, was named “James W. Baldwin” and owned by the Romer and Tremper Steamboat Company.

On March 27, 1882 — 90 years ago tomorrow — the "Thomas Cornell” was to leave Rondout on the final, fateful trip of her career.  On her last voyage she had a fairly large load of freight on her main deck forward, the principal item of which was Delaware and Ulster County butter for the New York market, and for that time of year quite a few passengers, approximately 90.

One of the passengers was the late Mrs. Edith Schryver of Port Ewen.  She was a young girl on that March night and lived beyond the age of 90.  I talked to her several times about the “Thomas Cornell’s” last sailing.

A Rainy Day

The afternoon of March 27, 1882 was hazy with intermittent rain.  Promptly at 6 p.m., her regular departure time, the “Thomas Cornell" cast off her mooring lines, backed down on her stern line to swing her bow out into the creek, and blew one long whistle to let go.  Small patches of snow could still be seen in the hills of Sleightsburgh.
 
As the “Cornell” slowly paddled down Rondout Creek, she passed several Cornell sidewheel towboats tied up at the lower Cornell repair shops and a number of ice barges and D. and H. canal boats waiting for repairs at the Morgan Everson shipyard at Sleightsburgh.
 
As the steamer passed out of the mouth of the creek and past the Rondout Lighthouse, which then stood on the south bank of the creek, Mrs. Murdock (the keeper) came out to wave to Mrs. Schryver.  Mrs. Murdock was a relative of Mrs. Schryver and knew she would be a passenger on the “Thomas Cornell” that evening.
 
As the "Cornell" headed down on the lower ice house at Port Ewen, they could dimly see through the rain and fog banks several schooners and Hudson River sloops anchored in the bad weather and waiting for the tide.
 
A Thick Fog

Down off Esopus Island, the fog set in very thick.  At that point occurs what rivermen call a fog hole, because it comes from both sides of the river.  Beaver Creek on the east shore and Black Creek on the west shore.  Off Hyde Park, they overtook the towboat "Silas O. Pierce" with a schooner alongside and passed at a nice distance.
 
The regular landings were made at Poughkeepsie, Milton and Marlborough.  As the “Thomas Cornell” left the dock at Marlborough at 8:10 p.m., she grazed the bowsprit of a schooner and broke some slats in her gangway railing.
 
A few minutes earlier, while still at the Marlborough landing, the "Cornell’s" captain, William H. Cornell, had expressed the opinion it might be wise to lie there until the weather improved.  First Pilot Henry W. Briggs, however, assured the captain there was no danger and the steamer got underway.
 
From Poughkeepsie to Danskammer Point, about 2 ½  miles below Marlborough, the river is relatively straight.  On around Danskammer Point, a pilot would alter course and head straight for Smith’s Bluff above Newburgh.  Danskammer Point itself is a headland that projects out from the west bank and on its northern side sweeps around in a curve which ends in a narrow formation of rocks bearing north and rises about twelve feet above the water.
 
Visibility Worsens
 
After the "Thomas Cornell" left Marlborough the fog seemed to lay on the water, like the rain was trying to push it back in the river.  Both First Pilot Briggs and Second Pilot Louis Shultis were in the pilot house.  They could just see the top of Hampton Bluff, a large hill about half way between Marlborough and Roseton.  The visibility got worse, but pilot Briggs, known as an ace pilot, was confident that his course would take him past Danskammer and into upper Newburgh Bay.
 
Something, however, went wrong.  Perhaps the pilots misjudged the strength of the tide.  Perhaps some metal object had drawn the compass off a couple of points.  In any event, Captain Cornell entered the pilot house and shortly afterward Second Pilot Shultis shouted, “Heave! Heave!” and rang to stop.  At that instant, the “Thomas Cornell” ran right up on Danskammer Point.
 
If she had been but 25 or 30 feet to the east, she would have just missed, but this was not the case.

Since the “Cornell” was just in too close, her bow plowed up on the rocks and knocked down scrub pines and alders.  Her deck beams and planking must have made a terrific cracking and splintering sound on that quiet rainy night as she climbed up that rocky arm protruding out in the Hudson.
 
Life Boats Over

Her stern began to settle in the water and in a few moments life boats were put over and ladders placed from the bow to the ground.  Some passengers and crew went down the ladders directly to terra firma.  In 20 minutes all of the passengers and their baggage were ashore.
 
Over 50 years later, I was told by a man who worked at the brickyard below Danskammer Point that he had lived in the area and was about 14 years old the night of the accident.  He told me how he had heard a loud crash like trees crashing in a high wind.  When he started up to where the noise came from, he could hear loud talking and a bell ringing, like the sound of a distant church bell.  The bell had actually been the bell of the “Thomas Cornell” being tolled by her officers to attract attention.
 
The man told me that when he got to the scene through the fog and rain over the rocks, there were all these people and that great white steamer with her bow standing high out of the water among the rocks and trees.  He said he was so frightened he couldn’t say a word.  Everybody else seemed to be talking at once.
 
The tolling of the "Cornell’s” bell attracted the attention of the passing steamer “John L. Hasbrouck," the Poughkeepsie to New York night boat.  The “Hasbrouck”’ took aboard most of the passengers and part of the crew.  At Newburgh, the crew members and 30 passengers, who had had enough steamboating for one night, went ashore and spent the night.  The remaining passengers continued on to New York.
​
The Salvage Job
 
Preparations were immediately undertaken to salvage the wrecked steamboat and the Coast Wrecking Company with a bid of $17,500 was given the job.  Under the direction of Wrecking Master Merritt, the "Thomas Cornell” was pulled off Danskammer Point on May 5, floated and towed to Port Ewen.  She had suffered so severely in the accident, however, a decision was made to abandon her and build a new boat to replace her.  The hull was later made into two barges.
 
Pilot Briggs was deeply affected by the accident.  Some second guessers blamed him for running in the fog.  Others approved his action, pointing out that the steamboat owners took a dim view of employees who lost valuable freight and passengers by tying their boats up at docks along the river.  It would appear the second group were sounder in their thinking, at least at that time, as all other boats the night of the accident were reported by Poughkeepsie on time.
 
The accident led indirectly to several other later incidents.  For the balance of the season of 1882, the steamboat “City of Catskill” was chartered from the Catskill Line to run in the place of the lost “Thomas Cornell.”
 
Next winter, the Cornell office on Ferry Street in Rondout caught fire and was destroyed.  The fire spread to the steamer “City of Catskill” which was layed up in the ice behind the Cornell office and totally destroyed the steamboat.
 
The next year, the new steamboat the “City of Kingston,” which was built to replace the “Thomas Cornell,” appeared on the river.  In 1889, she was sold and went all the way from Rondout around Cape Horn to Puget Sound, where she was later sunk in a collision.  This, however, will be the subject of a later article.