As the 19th century gave way to the 20th century, the Cornell Steamboat Company of Rondout was the largest and most progressive marine towing organization in the country.  In 1902 they had built what was to be their largest and most powerful tugboat.  When completed, it appropriately bore the name “Cornell.”

By whatever standard of measurement, the “Cornell” was a most impressive tugboat.  At a few inches less than 150 feet in length, she was 25 feet longer than any of Cornell’s other big tugboats.  Her 1,400 h.p. engine exceeded by over 500 the horsepower of other units of the fleet. 

Boatmen used to refer to her as the "Big Cornell" and her two big boilers had a ravenous appetite for coal to make enough steam for her powerful engine.  As a result, she had the reputation of being a very hard boat to fire.  Many boatmen from Hudson River towns one would talk to in the early 1920’s would almost always say how at one time or another they had fired on the “Big Cornell.”  Some would stay only a few hours, some a few days and rarely would she end the season with a fireman who had started out on her in the spring. 

On Lower River
Because of her size and deep draft, she was used almost exclusively on the lower river.  During her service on the Hudson, the channel north of Athens had not been dredged for deep draft vessels like it is today.  During her career, the “Cornell” made only one trip to Albany and this trip was her most notable exploit while carrying the colors of the Cornell Steamboat Company.  It took place in early March, 1910. 

The winter of 1910 had been an old fashioned winter with plenty of ice in the river.  During late February and early March the weather turned unseasonably warm, causing high water at Albany as the result of the melting of the winter’s snow and ice in the Mohawk River.  A huge ice jam formed in the river below Albany which caused the water to back up and flood the waterfront areas of Albany and Rensselaer.  Fears were also expressed that the ice crowding the Albany railroad bridges might move them off their abutments. 

In order to relieve the ice and flood crisis at Albany, the federal government was asked to take action.  The government's plan was to use dynamite on the ice jam to break it up and to charter the most powerful vessel they could find to go up river to break up the river ice so the broken ice could move down river.  The “Big Cornell” was chosen for the job. 
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The “Cornell" left Rondout Creek on March 3, 1910 with the tug “Rob" to follow and assist in any way possible.  I have been told the whole operation was in charge of Captain Ulster Davis, Cornell’s agent at Rensselaer, and the regular crew of the “Cornell” whose captain was Tim Donovan and pilot Irving Hayes.  Although the upper Hudson was at flood stage, the “Cornell” carried minimum amounts of coal and water in order to keep her draft at a minimum so she would have clearance over the shallow spots north of Athens.  

Very Heavy Ice
The “Cornell” encountered very heavy ice from Kingston to Athens, sometimes as much as two feet in thickness. 

The ice was so heavy, the “Cornell’s” steel hull plating was scalloped inward between her frames at the water line forward caused by her smash into the rock-like ice. 
At Athens, the "Cornell” went up the wider Athens channel rather than the deeper Hudson channel along the east shore, since men going ahead on foot had determined the ice in the west channel wasn’t quite as thick.  She passed Athens through 15 inches of ice on March 5.  All along the river, men and boys would come out on the ice to watch the “Cornell” go by. 

The “Cornell” arrived at Rensselaer on March 6, the river opened and the ice jam broken.  Once the ice jam was broken, I have been told one could literally see the water begin to drop at Albany.  Although the crisis to Albany was over, a new problem arose for the “Cornell.”  The Company was afraid the water might drop so fast, they would not be able to get their big tug back down river in time to clear the up river sand bars and ledges. 

An Early Start
The “Cornell” took on coal, fresh water and grub at Rensselaer as fast as she could.  Due to the strong current in the river, when they started to turn the "Cornell” around for her return trip, the tug “Rob” had to push wide open against her stern in order to get the “Cornell” headed down stream.  At first, they were going to wait for daylight all the way, but because of the falling water decided to start down as soon as possible.

When they started back for Rondout, I have been told it was a clear, cold March night.  The water in the river was running down stream so fast, they ran the “Cornell's” engine dead slow — just enough to keep steerage way.  They were reluctant to run her any faster as they did not want to scrape or hit bottom and possibly smash her rudder shoe or break her propeller. 

They had had such good luck so far, they didn't want to tempt fate any more than necessary. 

Everything went fine until the two tugs came to Dover Platte Island off Coxsackie.  Captain Donovan of the ‘'Cornell’’ knew there had always been a sand bar there and figured the freshet in all probability might have built up the bar higher than usual.  When they reached that point, they stopped the “Cornell's” engine and just let her drift.  Sure enough she fetched up on the bar, stopped and rolled over very slightly to port.  To be sure there was only sand, they sounded all around with pike poles.
 
Over the Bar
Once they were certain there were no rocks on the bottom, they decided to have the “Rob” go up ahead and put a hawser on the “Cornell's” bow — and then to open up both tugs full throttle and to try and “bull” the ‘‘Cornell’’ over the bar.  When all was in readiness, the “Cornell” gave the signal for full speed ahead and for the “Rob” to start pulling.  I can readily imagine on that cold March night the load “chow chow” of the “Rob's” high pressure engine. 

They tell me when the “Cornell’’ hooked up, she lay down on her port side, her propeller part out of the water for a few moments.  Some of her crew thought her towering smoke stacks would topple over, the starboard guy lines being incredibly taut and the port ones having about two feet of slack.  However, in but a few minutes the ‘‘Cornell’’ had inched her way over the bar. 

Once she cleared the sand bar, though, the ‘‘Cornell’’ leaped ahead so fast before they could stop her engine she almost ran over the “Rob’’ pulling on her bow. 
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Quick action by a deckhand on the “Rob” saved the day.  By wielding a fast, sharp axe he cut the connecting hawser.  From that point back to Rondout Creek they encountered no more difficulties.  From Athens south, the river ice still held, but by following the channel they had previously made going northward the going was relatively easy.  

Renamed Her
The difficulty in keeping firemen on the “Cornell” continued to plague her and led to the end of her career on the Hudson River.  Shortly before World War I she was sold to the Standard Oil Company of Louisiana.  Her new owners renamed her “Istrouma,” converted her to an oil burner, and operated her on the Mississippi River out of Baton Rouge where she remained in service until the late 1940's. 

I have been told the Cornell Steamboat Company always maintained it was not feasible to convert the “Cornell” to an oil burner, since it wouldn't be possible to install sufficient oil storage capacity aboard her.  It is my understanding before purchasing her, the Standard Oil people, unknown to Cornell, sent some men to Cornell who hired out on her as firemen.  The masquerading firemen thoroughly examined the “Cornell” and apparently concluded she could successfully be converted to oil firing.  In any event, she was — and remained in service for another 30 years. 

Many years later, during World War II, my friend Roger Mabie was the commanding officer of a submarine chaser in the U.S. Navy.  One day his ship was in a shipyard at Algiers, Louisiana, across the river from New Orleans.  There, in an adjacent dry dock was the “Istrouma,” the old “Cornell.”  He went aboard. 

Her shell plating forward was still scalloped between frames from her bout with Hudson River ice in 1910.  Her brass capstan caps were still inscribed “Cornell.”  In her engine room, her steam and vacuum gauge faces still were etched ‘‘Cornell,” Cornell Steamboat Company, Rondout, N.Y. 
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A few days later, Roger told me his ship was leaving New Orleans to go back to sea.  Out in the river, the old ‘‘Cornell” was going upstream.  He blew her a whistle salute, which the former “Cornell” answered with her old deep steam whistle.  I thought it was a nice gesture, both a greeting to an old work horse from the Hudson River and a sort of salute to the maritime greatness that was once Rondout’s.

The tug/fireboat "Istrouma" was scrapped in 1949. If you've seen a large red tugboat named "Cornell" on the Hudson River or New York Harbor, it's not the same as this "Cornell," but nearly as big! She was built the same year the "Istrouma" was scrapped. Learn more.

​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

By some manner of coincidence steamboats whose names began with the letter “S” were known to rivermen as “hard luck boats,” and to this group belonged the steamboat “State of New York.”

Built at Brooklyn in 1866 by C. & R. Poillon, the “State of New York” had a wooden hull measuring 268 feet long, a breadth of beam of 36 feet, and depth of hold of nine feet six inches. Her gross tonnage was rated at 1,417 and net tonnage at 1,047. Her vertical beam engine was built by Cobanks & Theall of New York, and the cylinder diameter was 65 inches with a 12-foot stroke.

The “State of New York” was constructed for the Hartford and New York Steamboat Company and her name was scheduled to be “Vermont,” but when she was launched she was christened the “State of New York,” under the command of Captain D.A. Mills. Costing $200,000 the “State of New York” was the largest steamboat built up to that time for use of the Connecticut river, and her passenger rating was listed at 800 people.

For many years the “State of New York” ran in line with the “City of Hartford” and the “Granite State,” and in 1880 she was in service on a route from Stonington to New York. During her entire career the steamboat was dogged by accidents, although no lives were lost as a result of these mishaps.

When the Saybrook breakwaters were built in 1872 a huge boulder rolled into the ship channel - and the “State of New York” hit it and was forced to lay over a day in New York City for repairs. Later, in avoiding a tow in Hell Gate, the steamboat struck another rock and had to be beached at Hallets Point. Her stern was submerged on this occasion but the 90 passengers aboard were saved and most of the freight was salvaged. Captain Peter Cahill, a former wheelsman on the “State of New York” under Captain Peter Dibble, was at that time owner of a salvage tugboat and was called to haul the freight of the wrecked “State of New York” to Hartford. The owners of the “State of New York” refused to pay Captain Cahill’s claim of $300 for this job, and a suit followed in which the tugboat captain received his claim.

On August 28, 1881 the “State of New York” struck a snag on the Salmon river above East Haddam, Connecticut, tore out two planks, and was beached again to save her from sinking. Her bow rode up on the bank and her stern sank in deep water, and this episode cost her owners $40,000 before she could again be placed in service.

​Under Captain R.K. Miner the ill-fated steamboat met with another serious accident while coming out of Peck Slip in a strong ebb tide. Before she could straighten out in the river she was hurled into the Brooklyn docks, carrying away one side of her deck house and damaging wharves and dock houses to the amount of $80,000.

Following these latest mishaps, the name “State of New York” disappeared from the steamboat and in its place came the name “City of Springfield”. This change was not long in force before the steamboat broke her walking beam and was laid up for some time at Middle Haddam awaiting repairs.

The spring of 1883 was the occasion for the “City of Springfield” to appear on the Hudson river- and became known to local rivermen. In that year she was chartered to the Cornell Steamboat Company of Rondout, because of two events which had happened previous to the spring of 1883. On March 27, 1882 the steamboat “Thomas Cornell” had been wrecked on Danskammer Point, and the steamboat “City of Catskill” had been chartered to replace the “Thomas Cornell.” After running one season on the “Thomas Cornell’s” route, the “City of Catskill” was destroyed by fire at Rondout on February 11, 1883, and then the “City of Springfield” (“State of New York”) was chartered to run on the route of the “Thomas Cornell.”

The “City of Springfield” plied the route of the “Thomas Cornell” for one season, under the command of Captain William Van Keuren. Henry Briggs served as pilot and Nicholas M. McLean was chief engineer. The following year marked the appearance of the steamboat “City of Kingston,” and brought to a close the term of service of the “City of Springfield” on the Rondout route.

The next account of the former “State of New York” concerns a collision with the “City of Boston” off Cornfield Point Light. In this encounter one of the “City of Boston’s” boilers was rolled off her guard and her smokestack tumbled onto the deck of the “City of Springfield.”

​The “City of Springfield” remained in commission until 1895 when she was tied up and later sold and converted into a coal barge named the “Jimmy Hughes”. Fate still watched over the former “State of New York”- for the converted coal barge finally foundered in a storm off the Jersey coast, ending her career.

Today's featured artifact is a unique one. The museum has several of these tin foghorns in its collection, but this is one of the only ones with a name attached! This dark green tin foghorn belonged to the William S. Earl, often abbreviated to Wm. S. Earl, a Cornell Steamboat Company tugboat in operation on the Rondout from 1884 until 1947. Built in 1859 in Philadelphia, PA, she was seriously damaged by fire on three separate occasions - on December 1, 1881 in Greenbush, NY; on December 13, 1903 at Rondout, and on May 30, 1936 also at Rondout. Each time she was rebuilt and continued to operate. One of the oldest propeller tugs in the Cornell fleet, she was beaten in age only by the Terror, an aptly named tugboat built in 1854, purchased by Cornell in 1892, and condemned by steamboat inspectors as unsafe in 1910. 

The Wm. S. Earl was finally abandoned July 20, 1949 and scuttled in Port Ewen, NY at 90 years old. Her long life and frequent rehabilitation was attributed Edward Coykendall (grandson of Thomas Cornell), who considered the Wm. S. Earl a favorite. 

The foghorn itself appears designed to be blown by the mouth and the sound likely would not have traveled very far, but it would have been enough to notify other boats of the Wm. S. Earl​'s presence in a fog. Essentially, foghorns like this helped prevent boats from hitting each other! 

The Smithsonian National Museum of American History also has several tin foghorns, including this one, which was used on fishing dories off the Grand Banks in the 1880s.

To learn more about the history of fog signals, check out this detailed article from the United States Lighthouse Society. 

​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 May 11, 1975.

Sooner or later almost every boatman finds himself involved in the intricacies of maritime law, the courts and the questioning of lawyers.  Generally the reason is a fog caused grounding, a collision, or some leaky old scow or barge that should have been retired from service many years earlier. 

Before the days of radar and years ago when New York harbor was much more crowded than it is today, it seemed the boatman’s days in court were more frequent.  Court appearances could be unnerving to a boatman since this was not his bag of tricks.  In some instances, however, a boatman could hold his own.  Two instances come to mind. 

One such instance took place around 1921 and involved a deckhand on one of the tugboats of the Cornell Steamboat Company.  The man was then about 40 years of age and had been a deckhand all his working life, at that time not having advanced to a pilot or captain.  He was testifying in a lawsuit involving a collision between two tugs, each towing some scows. 

The deckhand was on the witness stand being questioned by the lawyer for the opposition.  The lawyer was about the same age as the deckhand and during the questioning, apparently was not getting the answers he desired.  It would appear the lawyer then decided to try another tack and attempted to discredit the competency of the witness.  The lawyer started by asking the deckhand how long he had worked on tugboats, his age, all in a rather derogatory manner. 

Finally, the lawyer said, “You have been working on boats for over 20 years and you are still a deckhand?”  The decky answered, “Yes Sir,” to which the lawyer shook his head and sort of snickered. 

With that, the deckhand turned to the judge and said, “Your Honor, could I please ask this man a question?”  The judge, perhaps being a student of human nature, replied.  “You may.”

The deckhand then turned and said, “Mr. Lawyer, how long have you been practicing law?”  The lawyer sort of threw out his chest and replied, “Since I was 23 years of age.” With that, the deckhand turned his palm upward towards the judge, and said, “Then why aren’t you on the bench like this man?” 
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They say the judge just put his head down on his arms on his desk and shook with laughter — as did the whole courtroom.  It may or may not have had anything to do with the deckhand's questions, but it is said the case was thrown out of court.

The other instance could be called “The Case of the Wrong Log Book.” As I guess everyone is aware, every vessel keeps a log book of events as they happen, weather changes, etc.  It is kept in the pilot house by the pilot on watch. 

On this occasion, many years ago, the Cornell Steamboat Company owned a tugboat named the “Eli B. Conine." She was involved in a collision in New York harbor with, I believe, a Delaware and Lackawanna Railroad tugboat towing a car float.  There was quite a bit of damage to the port stern, railing and cabin of the “Conine."

As time went on, the case came up on the court calendar.  The lawyer for the railroad was a very highly dressed, very dignified person to look at.  One would think from his looks he should be on the Supreme Court. 
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The “Conine's" pilot, who had been on watch at the time of the accident was on the witness stand.  All the regular questions were asked by the railroad’s lawyer.  As the questioning went on, the lawyer was getting a little impatient with the pilot and his answers, as it seemed the pilot just could not recall, he forgot, etc. 

Finally, the lawyer literally grabbed one of two log books that had been impounded by the court, and said, “Is this your tug’s log book?”  The pilot answered, “Yes Sir." Said the lawyer, “Is this your writing?”  Answered the pilot, “Yes Sir." Queried the lawyer, “Did you make a report in your log book about this collision?”  to which the pilot again replied, "Yes Sir."

By this time the lawyer was raising his voice very high and, in an almost shrill command, ordered, "Well then show it to me.” The pilot started to leaf through the log book of a couple of hundred pages, taking his time, almost as if he were reading each entry and savoring his written word.  The lawyer continued to fidget and grow ever more impatient and, in apparent exasperation, turned to the judge and said, "There, he can't even find it himself.”

The judge, frowning on the pilot, said, "Are you not supposed to keep all events involving your tugboat recorded in your log?’’ The pilot said, "Yes, Your Honor, we do." “But," the judge said, “it seems this collision was not recorded.  Why is that?" 

The pilot, keeping his face as sober as the judge’s and knowing he was getting the best of the railroad lawyer, replied, "Your Honor, this is the wrong log book.’’ The court, for a moment at least, was in disarray. 
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It seems the collision took place just as one log book had been filled and a new one was being started.  The events surrounding the collision were entered in the new book.  Both log books had been brought into court, but the lawyer, in his exasperated state, had picked the wrong one to pin down the wily pilot.

Sometimes you run across history when you least expect it. In selecting today's steamboat biography, chosen on a whim for the name, we unexpectedly encounter steamboat captain Samuel Schuyler. Schuyler was a Black steamboat captain based in Albany operating in the 1840s and, as you'll see from the article below, a shrewd and savvy businessman. His sons later took over the family towing business. You can learn more about the Schuyler family in one of our past blog posts "Exploring the History of the Black Hudson River Schuylers."

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

The “Rip Van Winkle” was built for the Hudson river, to run between New York and Albany as a day boat. The career of this vessel forms one of the most interesting chapters in steamboat history on the river which carried the historic “Half Moon” in her quest for a short route to India.

George Collyer built the wooden hull of the “Rip Van Winkle” in 1845, and her horizontal half-beam engine was built by W.A. Lighthall. She was 242 feet, three inches long with a breadth of beam of 25 1/2 feet. She was rated at 640 tons. Her cylinder was 50 inches with a 10 foot stroke, and she carried two iron boilers on the guards, each boiler being 28 feet long with a 7 1/2 foot shell diameter.

When she first appeared, the “Rip Van Winkle” was a wonder both in performance and appearance, and she was dubbed the “steam yacht.” She was placed on the Day Line in opposition to the Troy boats, “Niagara” and “Troy,” but she failed to make the time required and was hauled off the route.

Staterooms were added to the “Rip” and she then became a night boat competing with the old People’s Line and with the famous steamboat “Belle.” The “Express” was running with the “Rip Van Winkle” at this time- making three different night lines running out of Albany in 1845. Towards the end of this season, the People’s Line bought the “Rip Van Winkle,” and in 1846 she was sent to the Delaware river to run between Philadelphia and Cape May.

​In the fall of 1846 the “Rip” was returned to New York by the People’s Line and was placed in service in opposition to the “Belle,” the only opposition vessel to the People’s Line during that period.

One morning when the “Belle” arrived in New York, her captain, Samuel Schuyler, found the “Rip Van Winkle” berthed in the slip at Park Place. Old Captain Schuyler was incensed at this action and posted bills that he would continue to operate despite all opposition, and would carry passengers to Albany free of charge [editor's note - to undercut the "Rip Van Winkle" and drive them out of business]. This was the only time in the history of the Hudson river that passengers were regularly carried on river vessels for no charge, although in later years various opposition lines did charge as low as 25 cents per person. The result of this move on the part of the foxy old captain was the retirement of the “Rip Van Winkle” from the field, leaving the “Belle” to run the balance of the season alone.

​The following year Captain Schuyler purchased the “Rip Van Winkle” and ran her in opposition to the People’s Line until 1851 when he sold her to Daniel Drew and retired from passenger traffic, devoting his time to the towing business. Daniel Drew rebuilt the “Rip Van Winkle” and during the year of 1852 ran her to Albany. Then he sold her to Captain Jacob H. Tremper who placed her in service between Rondout and New York. Later the “Rip” worked out of New York as an excursion boat, and then in 1859 she returned to Hudson river traffic, running out of Coxsackie. In 1865 she was placed on the Troy route, running in line with the “C. Vanderbilt.” She remained on this line under the direction of Captain O.T. Simmons, until 1867 when she again went to New York for excursion purposes.

During 1870 the “Rip Van Winkle” ran to the Fishing Banks, and then in 1871 she was purchased by Thomas Cornell of Rondout. In the spring of 1872 she was chartered to the Citizen’s Line, taking the place of the “Thomas Powell.”

On April 16, 1872, while on her way from Troy to New York, the “Rip Van Winkle” ran into the Maiden Lane bridge at Albany, carrying away her starboard wheel and shaft, and seriously damaging her engine and hull. No lives were lost in this accident, but the “Rip” was taken to Port Ewen and laid up until 1879.
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In the fall of that year, the “Rip Van Winkle” was towed to Rondout where her boilers and engine were removed. Back she went to Port Ewen, and there her hull was broken up by Daniel Bigler in the year 1880. Today the bell of the “Rip Van Winkle” can be seen by local residents, hanging in the tower atop the Cornell Shops in Rondout- a reminder of the once fine steamboat which sailed the waters of the Hudson.