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.

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In February of 1946, tugboat crews in New York Harbor had had it. They had been trying since October, 1945 to negotiate an end to the wartime freeze on wages, to reduce hours from 48 per week to 40, to receive two weeks paid vacation per year, and perhaps most importantly, to end the practice of stranding workers in far-away ports and forcing them to pay their own way home, without success. Although the war was over, the federal government was still regulating the price of freight, which meant that shipping companies didn't want to raise wages. Frustrated, the tugboat workers struck. Starting February 4, 1946, tugboats did not move coal or fuel in the nation's busiest port. 

Manhattan is an island, and maritime freight played a huge role in supplying the city with fuel, food, and other supplies, as well as removing garbage by water. At the time of the strike, officials estimated the city has just a few days of reserve coal. 

​The strike was covered in several newsreels at the time. ​British Pathe put together this short report on the strike:

​Universal put together this newsreel, sadly presented here without any sound:

Newly-elected mayor William O'Dwyer did not react well to the strike. Facing a fuel shortage for one of the nation's most populous cities in midwinter was no laughing matter, but O'Dwyer implemented measures that many later deemed an overreaction to the strike. He essentially rationed fuel for the entire city, prioritizing housing for the sick and aged, but enforcing a 60 degree maximum temperature for all other building interiors, turning off heat in the subway and limiting service, shutting down all public schools on February 8, and by February 11 shutting down entirely restaurants, stores, Broadway theaters, and other recreational venues. The bright lights of Times Square and elsewhere were also turned off to conserve electricity, as illustrated in this second newsreel from British Pathe: 

After 18 hours of shutdown, the shipping companies and the tugboat unions agreed to end the strike and enter into third party arbitration for their contract. Tugboats started moving fuel again, and the lights turned back on. And that's the end of the story - or is it? 

On February 14, 1946, the New York Times published an article entitled "Lessons of the Tug Strike," whereby they largely blamed O'Dwyer for the costly shutdown. "New York tugboat workers and management have sent their dispute to arbitration after a ten-day strike that endangered life and property, cost business millions of dollars and paralyzed the whole city for a day. We may well breathe a sigh of relief and at the same time examine some aspects of this incident that offer guidance for the future," the Times wrote, and went on to ask that O'Dwyer never do that again "unless the need is clearly established." 

​As for the tugboat workers, it would take nearly another year for the threat of a strike to fade completely. Negotiations continued throughout 1946, with little movement, until the threat of another strike emerged in December of 1946. It was avoided by additional arbitration with Mayor O'Dwyer's emergency labor board. Finally, the arbitrators won concessions from both sides, and on January 5, 1947, the New York Times reported that a settlement had been reached. The tugboat workers got their 40 hour workweek, but not the same wages as 48 hours of work. They did get an 11 cent per hour wage increase along with a minimum wage for deck hands, a five day workweek, and time and a half for Saturdays and Sundays. However, the contract was only for 12 months, and in December of 1947, another strike was on the table as workers struggled for another wage increase. The strike was averted with more concessions from the companies, including a ten cent raise, food allowances, and more. But in the fall of 1948, the contract was up again, and the specter of the February, 1946 shutdown arose as a strike was once again on the table as part of the negotiations.

Strikes were common in the years following the Second World War, in nearly every aspect of American society. In particular, the Strike Wave of 1945-46 impacted as many as five million American workers across all sectors. The strikes, although sometimes effective in improving worker wages and conditions, were largely unpopular with the general public. In 1947, Congress overrode President Truman's veto of the Taft-Hartley Act, which limited the power of labor unions and ushered in an era of "right to work" laws. Learn more about the strike wave in this podcast from the National WWII Museum. 

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During the early years of the 1900’s, there was a stone quarry at Rockland Lake, a few miles south of Haverstraw.  The Cornell Steamboat Company towed the stone from the quarry on scows to the metropolitan New York market.
 
The winter of 1912 was very severe with heavy ice in the lower river.  Cornell tugs, however, continued their efforts to break the ice so the stone could be towed to New York for use by the construction industry.
 
One one particular day that winter, the Cornell tugboats "S. L. Crosby” and "Hercules" were in the river off the quarry breaking ice — trying to get into the dock to break out the loaded scows that were frozen in.  First, one tug would slam into the ice, which at the time was seven to eight inches thick, until she was stopped cold by the solid ice.  Then that tug would back off and the other tug would slam into the track until she was stopped dead.  Gradually, the two tugs were working their way towards the dock.

Two Good Tries
 On one try the “Crosby” went ahead a short distance and stopped.  On this try, however, she made a good crack in the ice.  Next, the “Hercules" came up astern, hit the crack the “Crosby” had made, and plowed her way right up to the dock.
 
The general manager of the Cornell Steamboat Company was standing on the dock at the time.  And, admiringly, he said, “What a great ice breaker we have in the “Hercules”!”  Quite obviously, he had not noticed the crack in the ice made by the “Crosby.”
 
When spring came, Cornell had the "Hercules" sent to the Cornell repair shops at Rondout and ordered extra stout oak planking and steel straps put all around her bow.  From that point on, the “Hercules" was thought to be the greatest ice breaker of them all.  For years after, whenever ice was to be broken, the “Hercules” was sent out to do the job.
 
At the time of the ice breaking at Rockland Lake, Aaron Relyea of Bloomington was the captain of the "Crosby” and Mel Hamilton of Port Ewen was captain of the "Hercules.”  Nearly 20 years later, I worked for Captain Relyea as a deckhand on the "Crosby" and he was the one who related this incident to me.  Captain Aaron A l w a y s maintained the “Crosby” was the better tug of the two in breaking ice.
 
In later years, I also talked to Captain Hamilton about that day at Rockland Lake.  Captain Mel said, "Aaron was right.  Between the two tugs, the “Crosby” was the best in the ice.  But,” he added with a wink, "never argue with the boss.”

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 January 21, 1973.

​Back around 1908, there was a stone quarry at Rockland Lake south of Haverstraw and the Cornell Steamboat Company towed the quarry's scows to New York from early spring until hindered by ice the following winter.  At the same time, the steamers "Homer Ramsdell" and "Newburgh" of the Central Hudson Line were carrying milk on a year round basis between Newburgh and New York. 

In early January of that long ago time, the Cornell tugboats "Hercules" and "Ira M. Hedges" were sent up river to the quarry to bring down five loaded scows of stone.  Ice had been forming in the river and, as any man who has worked on the river soon finds out, the river sometimes closes over night.  He also discovers that at times salt water ice is harder to get through than fresh water ice.

When the tugs arrived at Rockland Lake, the river was covered with ice from shore to shore and making more ice rapidly.  It was now about 5 p.m., very dark with a northeast wind, and it looked as if a storm was brewing.  Captain Mel Hamilton of the "Hercules" telephoned Cornell's New York office and suggested they stay there overnight.  He knew by waiting until daylight to start down, he could better find open spots in the floating ice and that the "Ramsdell" and "Newburgh" on their milk runs would be breaking up ice and perhaps keep it moving.  The Cornell office, however, would not listen to Captain Hamilton's suggestion and told him they wanted him to start out immediately and get the tow to New York as soon as possible.

Trouble at Tarrytown
On leaving Rockland Lake with five wooden scows, the "Hercules" was in charge of the tow and the "Hedges" was supposed to go ahead and break ice since she had an iron hull.  The ebb tide was about half done and everything went all right until they were about two miles north of the Tarrytown lighthouse. 

The "Hedges” wasn’t too good as an ice breaker and she would get fast in the ice herself.  The "Hercules" with the tow would creep alongside and break her out.  After this happened a few times, both tugs tried pulling on the tow.  Finally, the tide began to flood, jamming the ice from shore to shore, and the two tugs couldn't move the tow at all through the ice. 

The only thing to do was to lay to until the tide changed.  After about an hour it started to snow from the northeast and the wind increased to about 20 m.p.h. Captain Hamilton of the "Hercules" told Captain Herb Dumont of the "Hedges” to go back to the tail end of the tow and keep an eye out for the "Newburgh" he knew would be coming down.  The "Hercules" lay along the head of the tow on watch for the ‘"Ramsdell" on her way up river. 

Both tugs started to blow fog and snow signals on their whistles, as they lay in the channel and knew the Central Hudson steamers would be going through the ice and swirling snow on compass courses at full speed in order to maintain their schedule and not expecting to find an ice bound tow in their path.  Neither tugboat captain relished the thought of his tug or the tow being cut in half by the "Ramsdell" or "Newburgh."

​“Newburgh” Heard First
The first of the two Central Hudson steamers to be heard was the "Newburgh” by the crew of the "Hedges."  Coming down river with the wind behind her, the men on the tug could hear the "Newburgh" pounding and crunching through the ice and her big base whistle sounding above the storm.  Both the "Hercules" and "Hedges" were blowing their whistles to let the "Newburgh" know they were fast in the ice and not moving.  The snow storm had now become a blizzard. 

On the "Hedges" at the tail end of the tow, her crew was relieved when they could hear the crunching of the ice seem to ease off, indicating the "Newburgh" had probably heard their whistle and was slowing down.
 
In a few moments, the bow of the "Newburgh" loomed up out of the blowing snow headed almost directly for the "Hedges."  Above the storm, the men on the tugboat could hear the bow lookout on the "Newburgh" yell to the pilot house, "There's a Cornell tug dead ahead."

The "Newburgh'' eased off to starboard and crept up along side of the tow.  When abreast of the "Hercules," the captain, Jim Monahan, hollered through a megaphone to the "Hercules" captain, asking if he wanted "Newburgh” to circle around the tow and try and break them out of the ice’s grip.  Boatmen always tried to help one another out, even though they might have been working for different companies. 

Moved and Stopped
The "Newburgh" cut around the tow twice before continuing on her way to New York and disappearing into the swirling snow of the winter's night.  The "Hercules" was able to move the tow about one tow’s length and was then again stopped. 

In about half an hour, the crew of the "Hercules” could hear the whistle of the "Homer Ramsdell" blowing at minute intervals as she was cutting through the ice on her way to Newburgh.  On the "Herc," they were sounding her high shrill whistle to let the "Ramsdell" know they were in the channel.  In those days, long before the radio telephones of today, the steam whistle signals were the boatman's only means of communication. 

The "Ramsdell" came up bow to bow with the "Hercules," backing down hard, the bow lookout yelling to the pilot house a tow was ahead.  Coming to a stop with only a few feet separating the two vessels, Captain Fred Miller of the "Ramsdell" tramped out on his bow and yelled down to Captain Hamilton, asking if he could be of any help.  When told the tow was fast in the ice, Captain Miller said he was ahead of time and would try and free the tow. 
​
Captain Miller took the "Ramsdell" around the tow twice and then continued on his way up river.  This time, the "Hercules" was able to move the tow about two tow lengths and again came to a dead stop.  All they could do now was wait for the tide to change.  However, at least they knew no other steamers were moving on the river and they were relatively safe.  

​Leaks Develop
When the crew of the "Hercules" was sitting in the galley and having a cup of hot coffee, one of the scow captains hollered over and waving a lantern, said his scow was leaking and his pumps were frozen.  Men from the "Hercules" then had to climb over the snow covered scow and try to find and stop the leak.  One of the deckhands found the leak in the dark and patched it up.  After about two hours, the same thing happened to another scow, the oakum having been pulled out of the seams at the water line by the ice. 

Finally, the tide began to ebb again and they were able to once again move the tow.  Shortly after daylight the snow storm abated and the wind moderated.  As the "'Hercules" and the "Hedges" moved further down river, the ice became more floes than solid ice.  However, before arriving in New York, they were overtaken by the "Ramsdell" again the following night off Manhattanville.  
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After the crews’ long battle with ice and snow and on arriving in New York, their reward was to have their tugs tied up and to be layed off for the winter.  In those days their pay was extremely modest.  As a matter of fact, the pay of deckhands and firemen was a bunk, food and a dollar a day, — for a twelve hour day, seven days a week.  As the boatmen used to say.  "Thirty days and thirty dollars."

​​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 December 17, 1973. More information can be found at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Claus_(steamboat)​.

St. Nick Paintings
The steamboat “Santa Claus” had been built in the early 1840's and first ran as a day steamer between New York and Albany. In 1847 the steamboat was used in a service between Piermont and New York, and then briefly returned to her old Albany run before starting her service from Wilbur in 1848. An unusual decorative feature of the steamboat were paintings of St. Nick himself going down a brick chimney with a bag full of all kinds of toys of the era which appeared on her paddle wheel boxes.

During the early 1850's, the local landing of the “Santa Claus" was shifted from Wilbur to the fast growing and lusty village of Rondout. Operated by Thomas Cornell and commanded by David Abbey, Jr., she now ran as a night boat on opposite nights to the steamer “North America,” commanded by Jacob H. Tremper. The “Santa Claus" would leave Rondout for New York on Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights at 5 p.m. and return the following nights. 
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During the latter part of the 1850 decade, Thomas Cornell withdrew the "Santa Claus” from the passenger trade, removed the passenger accommodations and converted the steamer to a towboat. During the winter of 1868-69, she was thoroughly rebuilt at South Brooklyn. When she came out in the spring of 1669, the name “Santa Claus" disappeared and on her name boards instead appeared the name “A. B. Valentine," in honor of the man who was the New York agent and pay master for the prospering Cornell Steamboat Company.

Down River Tows
As the "A. B. Valentine,” the sidewheel towboat was first used to pull the down river tow between Rondout and New York. But as some of the older boatmen told me their father had told them, she was not quite powerful enough for the large tows that were coming out of New York — sometimes with over a hundred canal boats and barges. Cornell then put more powerful side wheelers on the lower river and shifted the “A. B. Valentine" to towing between Rondout and Albany. 

On the upper river the “Valentine" ran opposite one of the best known towboats of them all, the old faithful sidewheeler “Norwich." I have been told their helper tugboats were the sister tugs “Coe F. Young” and “Thomas Dickson," the “Young” working mostly with the “Norwich” and the “Dickson" with the “A. B. [Valentine."]

For many years a man lived in Sleightsburgh by the name of Fred Cogswell. He had been the pilot on the “A. B. Valentine" in her latter years. At the time the “Valentine” was withdrawn from service, Mr. Cogswell was a man well along in years and I am told S. D. Coykendall pensioned him off on a pension of $7 a month. He passed away in the early 1920's well into his nineties. 

At the turn of the century, the “A. B. Valentine" had outlived her usefulness and was layed up at Sleightsburgh at what later became known as the Sunflower dock. In the late fall of 1901 she was sold for scrapping. By a quirk of fate, on the day she was sold, the man for whom she was named, A. B. Valentine, died after serving as the New York superintendent of the Cornell Steamboat Company for half a century. 

The steamer left Rondout on Dec. 17, 1901 for Perth Amboy, N.J .where the steamboat built as the “Santa Claus” was finally broken up. 
​
Although there are a number of photographs of the steamboat as the "‘A. B. Valentine,” I know of no photos of her as the “Santa Claus,“ probably because during service under her original name photography was in its infancy. However, during the early 1930's there was a saloon on Abeel Street, just off Broadway, that had a lithograph of the "‘Santa Claus.” It was a broadside view with her Rondout to New York schedule imprinted on the sides. To my knowledge, this was the only likeness of the old steamer as the “Santa Claus." Now, this too, has long since disappeared.

If you'd like to learn more about the steamboat "Santa Claus," check out this extensive Wikipedia article. 

​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 December 12, 1971.

Back in the days before boatmen were unionized, steamboatmen would go to work as soon as the ice broke up in the spring and work continuously until their boat was layed up when the river froze over in December.

In those days of long ago, almost all of the steamboats had wooden hulls and as soon as the river would freeze, all navigation would cease. The ice would raise havoc with those wooden hulls. New ice in particular was dangerous. It would be as sharp as a knife and as a steamboat went through the new ice, the ice would take the caulking right out of the seams and cause the hull to leak.

When I was a deckhand on the tugboat “S. L. Crosby” of the Cornell Steamboat Company in 1930, I recall Harry Conley, the pilot, telling me about the time in the 1890’s when he was quartermaster on the “City of Troy,” one of the steamboats between New York and Troy.
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When the first snow of the season would come, the crew would be happy because they knew then that it wouldn’t be long before the ice would be forming and the “City of Troy” would be laying up for the winter. After the men had been working since early spring, with no time off, they would welcome their winter time vacation.

He would tell me how with the first real cold snap, they would leave Troy and the crew would listen for the first sounds of fine ice forming. On a still, bitter cold, clear December night you can hear the snap and crackle of the new ice. It is a sound a boatman never forgets. Generally, the new ice would begin to first form in the river around Esopus Meadows Lighthouse.

Then, the crew would be all smiles, knowing in a few days orders would come for the last trip of the season and the “City of Troy” and the crew would have a two or three months rest. The would go home, Harry to Schodack with about one hundred dollars saved from his wages and live real good. During the winter, most of them would work at one of the ice houses, harvesting the winter’s crop of ice.

I still look forward to the first snow of the season, despite the fact today the tugboats all have steel hulls and many work all winter long.

How different the river shores look all covered with the first snowfall. It seems like only yesterday the wild flowers and purple loose leaf were blooming all along the up river shore line. Now everything looks cold and bleak.

With snow on the shores and hills, one can see paths going up from the river that you cannot see in the summer when the foliage is thick on the trees. Also houses and stone walls stand out in startling clarity. How a snow storm changes the landscape into a wonderland when the river becomes locked in winter’s cold embrace!
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The first snow storm also changes other things. A few years ago I remember leaving Coeymans right after the first snow. As we were leaving, my deckhand said, “Bill, this sure makes us think what we did with our summer earnings, doesn’t it?”

​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 January 9, 1972.

​Fog, snow and ice were always tremendous hazards to the steamboatmen who plied the Hudson shortly after the turn of the century. Before the days of radar and other electronic aids to navigation, boatmen had little to rely on but their own acquired knowledge of the river – and the tricks played by wind and tide.
 
With the always heavy river traffic and narrow channels, accidents were bound to occur, especially in fogs and snow storms. One of the more spectacular groundings took place in 1903, when the big tugboat “Osceola” of the Cornell Steamboat Company ran up on the old dock at Piermont.
In the winter of 1903, the Cornell tugboats “Osceola” and “John H. Cordts” were both bound up river with separate tows, both of them very large. The “Cordts” was about a mile ahead of the “Osceola.” Off Yonkers, a heavy snow storm set in with a raging northeast gale.
 
Was It Irvington?
When the “Osceola” was off what the crew believed to be Irvington, the captain said to the pilot, “I think we had better round up and head into the tide.”
 
The pilot suggested, “Let’s go on, the ‘Cordts’ did.” But the captain still thought differently and rounded up. However, by going around to the west, they lost the echo of the whistle on the east shore and could not pick it up again.
 
Feeling their way along, they felt a slight jolt and a slight list to port.
 
But it was snowing so hard they couldn’t see anything, or could they pick up any echoes at all of the whistle. And, attempt after attempt to back off from whatever they had hit proved fruitless.

​By Morning’s Light
When morning came, they understood why. The “Osceola” was perched right on top of the old dock at Piermont!
 
The Piermont dock had originally been built by the Erie Railroad back in the 19th century when the State of New Jersey refused the Erie permission to run trains in that state. As an alternative, the railroad proceeded to build a long pier out into the river at the southern most point in New York State on the west shore. The trains would be run out on the pier and passengers were taken from there to New York City by steamboat.

​By 1903 the pier was no longer used and the end of the dock had fallen into ruin. At the time of the grounding, the tide was much higher than usual because of the winter storm, and the "Osceola" went right up on top of the old dock.
 
And there she remained, with her bow all the way out of the water, for some two weeks before workmen were successful in getting her off. Still, she came through her misadventure surprisingly well and continued towing on the Hudson River until October 1929.

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 September 3, 1972.

Today, when there are only two passenger vessels operating on the lower Hudson River during the summer months, it is difficult to realize how many passenger steamboats were once in operation on all parts of the river.  It is even more difficult to realize there were once so many passengers that at times extra steamboats on the same run were necessary to handle the crowds.

When I was a deckhand on the Day Liner "Albany" during the seasons of 1928 and 1929, the Hudson River Day Line operated a fleet of seven steamboats with a total passenger capacity in excess of 25,000.  On weekends and holidays it was not unusual to see all seven steamers loaded to full or near capacity.  Since the "Albany" was then the oldest Day Liner in service and had one of the smaller passenger capacities, she was often used as the extra steamer on the regular runs.

Labor Day weekend in particular was always a big weekend with especially large crowds.  In those days, many families still spent the summer in the Catskill Mountains and it seemed that during those first few days in September everybody would try to return to New York City at the same time.

Carrying the Crowds
On Labor Day weekend 1928, the "Albany" left New York on Saturday at 1:30 p.m. to help carry the crowds leaving the city for the last big weekend of summer.  After making all the regular landings, we landed at Catskill at about 8:30 in the evening.  There, we were to lay overnight and precede the regular down steamer from Albany on Sunday to carry the big crowds returning to the city from Catskill and Kingston Point.  

I remember that early September Sunday morning at Catskill Point almost as if it were yesterday.  When I came out of the foc’s’le, the up river air seemed so fresh after being in New York for a month or so.  The smell of the flats at low water was just like being home.

The fog banks of September were rising over the river.  I could hear a boat’s whistle blowing one long and two short, meaning a tow was coming down.  As the sound of the whistle got louder, I recognized it as the whistle of the Cornell tugboat "Osceola." 
​
As I looked out on the river, I caught a glimpse of the “Osceola" just above Catskill Point between one of the banks of fog.  She had brick scows, cement barges, canal boats and a small schooner in the tow, strung out astern on about 450 feet of cable.  The tug “George W. Pratt" was the helper and pulling alongside the tow.

A Strange Scene
As I stood on the deck of the "Albany," the scene assumed a strange look, for suddenly I couldn’t see the “Osceola" or the tail end of the tow.  The fog banks closed in on both ends, leaving only the middle of the tow exposed to view.  As a good ebb tide was running, it did not take long for the tow to be lost out of sight down river.

When the morning sun cut the fog away and the river cleared about 7:30 a.m., there was nothing in sight either way up or down the river.  Later in the morning after leaving Catskill, the “Albany” overtook the “Osceola” and her tow down off Saugerties.
 
We preceded the regular down boat, the "Alexander Hamilton," landing at Kingston Point, Poughkeepsie and Newburgh about 15 minutes ahead of the "Hamilton," the two steamers being necessary to handle the large crowds returning to the big city.
​
The next day, Labor Day, we were the regular up boat to Albany since the big crowds were all going down river.  To give an idea of the large crowds, that Labor Day there were three departures from Kingston Point for New York - the “Alexander Hamilton" at 12:40 p.m., the “Hendrick Hudson” at 1 p.m. and the “Robert Fulton" at 3 p.m.  That night the “Hendrick Hudson” dead headed back to Catskill and the next day, Tuesday, preceded the old “Albany” to New York, two steamers again being required to adequately handle all the passengers returning to New York.

Unusual Caper
On Labor Day weekend in 1930 occurred an incident to the “Hendrick Hudson” which turned out to be just about the only unusual caper of her long, virtually accident free career.  As was the general practice of the late 1920’s, on that Labor Day the “Hudson” was the regular down boat for New York and the "Albany" the regular up steamer.  After arriving at New York, the “Hendrick Hudson" was to dead head back to Albany so as to make her large passenger capacity of 5,500 available for the still large crowds expected on Tuesday.
​
Going north the weather was hazy and on the upper river there were patches of fog.  North of Hudson the river is quite narrow.  Running through the fog banks, the pilot on watch apparently kept too close to the west bank and the "Hendrick Hudson” ran hard aground on the sandy bottom just below Van Wie’s Point — only about five miles from her destination.  Unable to back off under her own power, she was pulled free at high water on Tuesday by the Cornell tugboats "Pocahontas" and “W. A. Kirk.” She then went back to New York, but too late to be of any help for the waiting passengers.

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 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. 

The tale of the steamboat “Sarah E. Brown,” known for a period in her existence as the “fish market boat,” begins in 1860, travels through the Civil War and comes to the Rondout creek harbor, and finally ends as the wreckers tear apart the remains of the vessel which lost a battle with the ice in the creek and was wrecked beyond repair, in the year 1893.

The wooden hull of the “Sarah E. Brown” was built at Brooklyn in 1860. She was 91 feet long, breadth of beam 19 feet five inches, depth of hold five feet eight inches. Her gross tonnage was listed at 45, with a net tonnage of 22, and she was propelled by a vertical beam engine with a cylinder diameter of 24 inches with a six foot stroke.

As can be ascertained from the above dimensions, the “Sarah E. Brown” was a small side wheel steamboat, which was built for towing service in and around New York harbor. There were many vessels similar to the “Sarah E. Brown” in use for the same purpose at that period in steamboat history. Shortly after the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861, the “Sarah E. Brown” was taken over by the war department and placed in service on the Potomac river, being used principally in places where the river was too shallow for the larger vessels to navigate safely.

In 1865, at the close of the war, the “Sarah E. Brown” was brought north to the Brooklyn Navy Yard and tied up, and the following year she was sold to Thomas Cornell along with another side wheel steamboat, the “Ceres.” These two vessels, both painted black according to the practice of the federal government during the war, arrived at Rondout and were used for towing purposes in and around the Rondout creek.

Under the command of Captain Sandy Forsythe, the “Sarah E. Brown,” with Peter Powell as chief engineer, became a familiar sight along the river in the vicinity of the mouth of the Rondout creek.

The year 1869 marks the event which brought the nickname of the “fish market boat” to the “Sarah E. Brown.” A collision with an ice barge stove in the wheelhouse of the “Sarah E. Brown” carrying away much of the woodwork and leaving only the letters S.E.B. of her full name. Immediately some wag along the docks found the three letters could be the initial letters to the words “suckers,” “eels” and “bullheads,” and so the “Sarah E. Brown” came into the name of the “fish market boat.”

During the winter of 1870 the “Sarah E. Brown” was rebuilt at Sleightsburgh by Morgan Everyone, and Major Cornell was asked what name he wished for the rebuilt craft. It is reported that Major Cornell in turn asked Captain Sandy Forsythe what name he thought would be appropriate, and the captain replied that the name “Sandy” would do. Thus the “Sarah E. Brown” became the towboat “Sandy.”

​​The “Sandy” was in use around the Rondout harbor until the fall of 1892, and then it was an accident which occurred during the period when she was tied up for the winter, that brought the career of the “Sandy” to a close. N March 13, 1893, the ice in the upper section of the Rondout creek broke loose due to a spring freshet, and thousands off tons of ice rode the raging torrent down the creek. The onslaught of this mass swept many of the tied-up vessels from their moorings, and the side of the “Sandy” was crushed, causing the wrecked steamboat to sink. She was raised but was found to be in such condition that she was no longer of any use, and she was sold to Jacob Herold and broken up at Rondout.