 Tin foghorn from the "William S. Earl" tugboat, painted dark green with "W. S. EARL" stenciled in white. Hudson River Maritime Museum Collection. 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.  Tugboat "William S. Earl" docked at the Cornell Steamboat Company headquarters on Rondout Creek, likely getting minor work done, judging by the floating dock tied alongside. Donald C. Ringwald Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum. 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.  Mouthpiece of the foghorn of the Cornell Steamboat Company tugboat "William S. Earl." Hudson River Maritime Museum Collection. 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!
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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.  Cornell Steamboat Company tugboat "Eli B. Conine" and crew. Note the prominent Cornell eagle on the pilot house. Saulpaugh Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum. 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?” 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 "Eli B. Conine" after the collision - note the damage to the cabin. Tied up at Rondout with the "J. Arnold" and "Eugenia." Donald C. Ringwald Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum. 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. 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. 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.  In 1926 the "Eli B. Conine" had her steam engine and boiler removed, a diesel engine installed and her name changed to "Cornell No. 41." As a diesel tugboat, she remained in service until the old Cornell Steamboat Company went out of existence in 1958. "Cornell No. 41" is pictured here tied up at the Cornell Steamboat Company docks. Hudson River Maritime Museum Collection. AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River. 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!
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 Hudson River Steamboat "Rip van Winkle" by James Bard, 1854. Museum of Fine Arts. 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.  Advertising lithograph for the "Rip Van Winkle" when it was owned by Captain Samuel Schuyler, operating under the "Independent Line Between Albany and New York." Donald C. Ringwald Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum. 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.  The steamboat "Rip Van Winkle" (center) sandwiched between the steamboat "Oswego" (left) and "John Marshall" (right) near the Newark Lime & Cement Company on Rondout Creek. Saulpaugh Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum. 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. 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. AuthorGeorge W. Murdock, (b. 1853-d. 1940) was a veteran marine engineer who served on the steamboats "Utica", "Sunnyside", "City of Troy", and "Mary Powell". He also helped dismantle engines in scrapped steamboats in the winter months and later in his career worked as an engineer at the brickyards in Port Ewen. In 1883 he moved to Brooklyn, NY and operated several private yachts. He ended his career working in power houses in the outer boroughs of New York City. His mother Catherine Murdock was the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse for 50 years. 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!
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