Child's Life on a Canal Boat

Sidewheel tow boat pulling barges & sloops. Donald C. Ringwald collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum.

Editor's note: The following is from a November 9, 1888 issue of "New Zealand Mail" (Wellington, NZ) reprinted from "St. Nicholas: an Illustrated Magazine for Young Folks", September 1888. Thank you to Contributing Scholar George A. Thompson for finding, cataloging and transcribing this article. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written.

Eliza Hamilton was born on the Hudson River, somewhere between Albany and Catskill.  Her mother’s home was the good boat ‘Betsey Jane,’ of Buffalo, New York, whereof Mr. Thomas Hamilton was owner and sailing-master.  Eliza and the ‘Betsey Jane' began life about the same time, for the boat was on her first trip down the Hudson when the little child came to live on board.  So it happened that Eliza had always been upon a canal-boat, and had hardly ever spent a night in a house on shore.
           
​The ‘Betsey Jane' was her home, and her little chamber was a state-room.  The boat was a large and fine one, ninety-seven feet long and eighteen feet wide on deck.  It was eight and a half feet deep, and, when empty, stood more than seven feet out of water.  The bows were high and very full, or round, and the stern was nearly square, and there was a great square rudder behind.  Near the bows was a windlass, and a small raised deck which made the roof of the cabin used as a stable for the two horses.  At the stern was another house, or raised deck, about three feet high.  This had two square windows in front, looking towards the bows, and three on each side; and there were green blinds, made to slide before the windows.  Inside the windows were lace curtains fastened back with blue ribbons; but each window was so small that, when Eliza looked out, her round face nearly filled it.  At the back of the house was a door, a very strange door; one half opened on hinges and the other half slid back over the roof.  Before this door was the great wooden tiller for the rudder; and near it a hatch opening down into the hold of the boat.  The top of the house was flat and made a big outdoor table, where, in pleasant weather, the family often had dinner and supper.  In summer, there was also an awning, or big flat tent, covering the after part of the deck, house and all.  The great clear deck, with its two hatches, was Eliza’s playground, while inside the house, below the deck, was the strange little home where she lived a happy life with her father, mother, and baby brother.
           
From the door you went down five steps to the kitchen, parlour, and sitting-room, all in one, — the queerest place that ever was seen.  It was a square room, with windows nearing the ceiling on two sides, and two narrow doors opposite the entrance.  There was a tiny stove tucked away under the deck, and there was just room for one table and four chairs.  Around the walls on three sides were drawers and closets — lockers they were called — so that while the room was too small for much furniture, the lockers were really bookcase, bureau, sideboard, and all.  The two doors opened into the tiny staterooms — one for Eliza, and one for father and mother and the baby.  Her bed was the oddest thing imaginable; only one foot high, and tucked away under the deck like a berth in a ship.  There was a carpet, and pictures, and a clock, nice curtains, and a chair; and it was home, if it was afloat.  You may be sure Eliza thought it was as sweet a home as any in the world.  Although Eliza Hamilton lived on a canalboat, and her home was always afloat, she went to school, in Jersey City, half of every year.  From April to November, she sailed and sailed, backward and forward, hardly stopping more than for a day at a time, between Buffalo, on Lake Erie, and New York, by the sea. From November to April, the ‘Betsey Jane' lay at anchor in the basin of the Morris and Essex Canal, at Jersey City.  Here were scores of other boats just like this one, and each with a family aboard, all closely side by side in the water, thus making a great floating village.  

Eliza could walk from boat to boat all through the fleet; she could visit the other girls at their boats, or cross the planks to the shore and go with them to school in the city.  Thus, for her, every year was divided into two parts; the summer, when the boat sailed and sailed, day and night, always going on and on through daylight and dark; and the winter, when it rested for months in a vast fleet of other boats, snugly anchored out of the way of the storms.  Eliza liked the summer best.  The life on board her moving home was delightful; plenty of fun with the other children on the neighbour’s boats, or those living along the banks of the canal, and much to see every day, — ships, steamboats, the river, the winding canal, town and cities, great mountains, and the sea.  Once she made a long voyage, through as far as New Haven, on Long Island Sound; and twice she went up the canal to Lake Champlain, and then on to Montreal, in Canada.
           
It was in June when it all happened.  ‘It was just before Eliza’s twelfth birthday, and on the second trip of the ‘Betsey Jane' from Buffalo to New York.  They had come for several days and nights through the canal, much in the usual way; the horses walked along the bank, and her father steered the boat.  Sometimes Eliza rode the horse, or held the tiller to steer, while her father went down to dinner or supper.  At other times she sat on the top of the house, played dolls upon the deck, or helped her mother take care of the baby.  The steering was sometimes hard, but she could always manage the boat, and knew how to move the rudder to make the ‘Betsey Jane' keep just the right place in the canal, neither bumping her fat nose into the bank, nor running it into the passing boats.  
           
At Troy, the plank was laid to the bank, the horses walked on board, and went to their state-room at the bows.  Tugboats brought together a number of the canal boats that had come through from the west with the ‘Betsey Jane,' and arranged them on the river in a kind of procession.  An enormous tow-boat took place at the head of the line, and then great cables were run out, binding all the fleet together, and making what was called a ‘ tow'.
           
The tow was a strange affair, a village afloat; men, women, children, horses, dogs, and cats, living in thirty-nine canal-boats, and all dragged along by the tow-boat ahead.  The tow-boat was formerly a passenger steamer, but it had retired from that business, and all its lofty decks and balconies were gone.  There was nothing left but the great frames, the tall smoke-stack, the engine, and the pilot-house.  Behind the engine on the low deck were massive timbers, and about these were coiled four great cables that stretched astern over the water to the four canal-boats at the head of the tow.  The first four boats were loaded with lumber from Lake Champlain.  Behind, these came sixteen boats, four abreast, loaded with lumber, wheat, oats, and grain.  Next came eighteen more, two and two; and then one more, trailing behind them all. The ‘Betsey Jane' was the right-hand one of the last pair; and as the odd one was fastened to the other boat, there was clear water in her wake.
           
As the boats were lashed side by side, with the bows of one close to the stern of the one in front, and as there were planks laid from boat to boat, it was easy to go from one end of the tow to the other.  There were quite a number of children on board, and Eliza had plenty of playmates.  Two hours a day she studied with her mother in the cabin, and part of the time she took care of her baby brother.  The rest of the day she was at liberty to roam at will all over the fleet, leaping lightly from boat to boat.  She visited the two nice girls on the ‘Sunshine,’ of Syracuse; played dolls with the lame girl on the 'Ticonderoga,’ of Whitehall; or joined the boys and girls who played school on the white deck of the 'Polly Stevens,’ of Troy.  Of course, they could not play tag, use roller-skates, or trundle hoops on the deck of a canal-boat; but they often played jump-rope, jackstones, and ‘housekeeping’.  The weather was beautiful; and, while they were playing, the tow moved steadily forward with a smooth and easy motion that was delightful . They had passed the Catskills at sunrise.  

Eliza helped wash the dishes at Saugerties, studied at Rondout, and played with the other girls all the way down to Poughkeepsie.  After supper, it was said, there would be a concert on board the ‘Schoharie,’ of Buffalo.  Everybody was anxious to go, and Eliza got out her blue dress with the white bows, to go with her father.  But she couldn’t go, for mother had been ironing all the afternoon on deck, and needed a change; so Eliza must stay at home and take care of the baby brother.  She was terribly disappointed, and perhaps, when she put away the blue frock in its locker, there was a tear or two on the white ribbons.
​
It was eight o’clock when her parents took a lantern to go over the boats to the concert.  

Eliza sat at the side of the deckhouse looking wistfully after them, and as they crossed to the tow-boat she heard her mother say that the tow-line ought to be repaired, as it was nearly worn out.  Her father said that he would mend it in the morning, and then they were gone.  Eliza watched the lantern, dancing over the decks for a few moments, and then, with just a little sigh, she went downstairs to the cabin.  Sarah Tuttle, of the ‘Flying Fish,’ had lent her a book, and she sat down to read it.  The door over her head was open, and once in a while she caught a note in the music as it came floating over the water.  She had been reading for some time when she heard the deep droning whistle of the tow-boat.  Then, after a little pause, came another whistle.  She knew by this that there was a steamer coming up the river.  Presently she heard the beating of the steamer’s paddles, and knew from the sound that it was a large boat.  She heard it pass quite near; and then, as the sound died away, the boat slowly rolled from side to side.  She looked up from her book to see if baby brother had stirred.  Not much danger.  He had slept through many a long voyage, and the waves seemed to make his home all a rocking-cradle.

Hudson River. A Tow just North of West Point. Hudson River Maritime Museum collection.

​Then, for a long time, it was very still; but as the story-book was interesting, she did not notice how the time was passing.  When she finished the book she looked up at the clock.  Half ten.  She must go on deck to see if father and mother were coming.
           
Why, what was this ?  No lights!  Had everybody gone to bed?  No.  That could not be, for there were always lights burning on the deck of the last boat.  No tow in sight anywhere.  Not a boat to be seen.  She ran along the deck to the bow.  She was adrift!  The tow-line was broken, and the ‘Betsey Jane’ had separated from the tow.  The line had probably parted when the boat was rolled by the wake of the passing steamer.  She called her father again and again.  Not a sound in reply.  She was lost on the great river.  She looked all about her, over the grey and silent water.  Far away astern were the twinkling lights of a town. Here and there on each side were lights, and just ahead were gigantic shadows blotting out half the sky.  She knew at once where she was.  The lights astern were in Newburgh; the great shadows were mountains, for she was just entering the highlands, drifting along on the current.  The tow, after the ‘Betsey Jane’ broke adrift, had gone on, and was now out of sight beyond West Point.  
           
What did she do?  Run back to the cabin and hide herself in fright, or fall on the deck and cry for help?  Not at all.  She said, with a brave heart, though her voice was shaking: "Mother will come back for me, and perhaps if I try my best to take care of the boat, and baby, and the horses, God will take care of me.’
           
Eliza Hamilton was the captain’s daughter.  She could handle an oar like a sailor, and she knew just how boats behaved, and what must be done to control them.  The ‘Betsey Jane’ was her father’s boat, her mother’s home. It was worth, with the horses and cargo, thousands of dollars. She must take it safely down the river till help or day-light came.  

There were two dangers.  The boat might go ashore and be wrecked, or it might be run down by some passing steamboat.  She knew she must give the boat headway or it would not steer.  There was a cool, fresh breeze blowing, and as quick as thought she had contrived a plan to take advantage of the wind.
           
'If she drifts this way, she may go ashore!  I must rig up some kind of sail.’  
           
She picked up a boat-hook from the deck and pried open the forward hatch.  She went back to the cabin and pulled out from a locker a large sheet.  She made a knot in one corner, took the sheet on deck, and pushing the point of the boat-hook into the knot, she thrust the handle snugly into one corner of the forward hatch, and then closed the heavy siding of the hatch-cover against it to keep it steady.  She fastened a piece of rope to the opposite corner of the sheet, and tied it to the boathook near the deck.  With a longer piece of rope she made what sailors call a 'sheet,’ or line to control the sail, and by fastening this to the side of the boat, she had a 'leg-o’-mutton’ sail.  It was a small affair but it did the work.  She went to the stern and pushed the tiller over as far as she could, and in a few moments the ‘Betsey Jane’ obeyed her helm, came round, and headed downstream straight for the black portals of the Highlands.  
           
Just then the cat came on deck, and began to howl piteously. ‘Hold your tongue!’ said Eliza, ‘or I’ll throw you over board!’
           
Poor child!  She did not often speak so harshly, but she was excited and perhaps terrified at the. creature’s mournful cries.  She would have caught the cat and locked her up in the cabin, but did not dare to leave the helm.  The cat wandered all over the deck, moaning and crying.  Perhaps a tear or two came into Eliza’s eyes while she clung to the heavy tiller.  
She brushed them away, for she must see plainly in order to steer clear of the rocky shores. 

Ah, there were the lights of the hotel at West Point!  She knew the way pretty well; and she thought it best to keep as close to the east shore as was safe, in order to steer clear of the steamers.  Though the breeze was strong the ‘Betsey Jane’ moved very slowly . Still it did move, for she could see the mountains that towered above her on either side slowly change their shapes against the sky.  There were lights on the shore, as she passed Cold Spring, though she could not see the houses nor the Iron foundries. The town and the mountains behind it seemed one solid wall of blackness.  After a while, the cat seemed to think better of her fright, and came and nestled close to Eliza as she stood leaning against the tiller.  Ah! what’s that?  A bright light was shining directly ahead.  Thinking it was a steamer’s light, Eliza pushed the tiller with all her might, for the purpose of turning the boat shoreward.  Then came a deep roar, making the mountains echo, and she knew that a train was passing on the railroad.  It was the locomotive headlight, which she had mistaken for a steamer, and in a moment the whole train swept past her, close to the water.
           
‘I thought it was a steamer, sure!  If only I had a lantern, I wouldn’t care, for I might wave it as a signal.  If a steamer does come, I’ll hug the shore and keep out of the way.’
           
The train passed on, the roar and rumble died in the distance, and the echoes seemed to go to sleep; for it was very calm and still.
           
‘I do believe the wind’s gone down.’
           
No.  The boat had sailed into a calm corner under the shelter of the mountains.  Eliza ran forward and found the sail quite limp and useless.  She took up an oar to pull the boat off into the stream, and when she put it into the water it struck rock.  In a fright she pushed against the rock with the oar and the boat slowly swung off into deep water.
           
‘That was lucky.  A little more, and I should have been aground.’
           
The boat drifted sluggishly along for a few minutes and then the wind seemed to spring up again.  Ah, there was the light-house!  She would steer straight across the point and run the risk of meeting a steamer.  She listened intently to hear the beating of paddles, but the night was still, — not a sound anywhere.  The boat passed close to the friendly light-house, and then went clear across the bend to the opposite side of the river.
           
She now ran forward and altered the sheet of her leg-o’-mutton sail, bringing it back farther, for now the wind would be abeam. She must now, sail side to the wind, and as the boat had no keel, it kept drifting in toward the shore; but she felt she must take the risk, in order to keep out of the way of the steamers.  A steamboat hove in sight around the next bend below, just as she had fixed the sail.  She could see its red and green lights, and she gave it a wide berth, keeping close under the shadow of the mountains.  It passed swiftly and without paying any attention to her.  In the dark, she could not make out what it was.  She guessed it might be a night passenger-boat, and was glad it had gone past in safety.

The concert was a fine one, and as nobody was in any hurry to get home, the audience wished many pieces repeated.  It was late when the company broke up and scattered over the tow to their various boats.  Twice, on the way home, Mrs. Hamilton stopped at cabin doors to speak to friends, and at one place she even waited to have a cup of tea.  Mr. Hamilton said he would go on and look after the boat, and Mrs. Hamilton sat down on the deck of the ‘Flying Fish’ with Mrs. Tuttle and the other women.  While they were quietly sipping their tea, they heard loud shouts from the direction of the boats astern, and in a moment Mr. Hamilton came running back over the boats.

‘The man on the last boat has been asleep.  The “Betsey Jane” is adrift — lost!’
The news spread over the entire tow in an instant.  Where did it happen?  When did she break away?  It might have happened hours and hours ago, and perhaps the boat was then drifting about, miles astern.

Eliza’s mother heard the news calmly, without a word.  She merely picked up a lantern and resolutely started off over the tow as fast as she could walk toward the tow- Where are you going and what are you going to do?’ said the people.

 ‘I’m going to take the steamboat if it is possible, and go back for my children.’
All the men said it could not be done.  The captain would not stop for the lost boat.  The ‘Betsey Jane’ would certainly drift ashore.  No harm would ever come to it, stranded high and dry, and they could take a boat and row back and find it.

`My children are on board.  Some steamer will run them down in the dark.’

This seemed only too likely, and they all ran on toward the head of the tow; and in a moment or two there ware half a hundred men and women gathered on the great piles of lumber on the forward boats. The tow by this time had passed West Point, and was approaching the great bend just above Iona Island.  The men shouted and called to the steamer, but there was no reply.  The noise of the engine drowned their voices and the steamer went steadily on, dragging them all farther and farther away from the lost boat.  The steamer was two hundred feet ahead, and the water was beaten into creamy waves by her great paddles.  They were just then rounding the curve, and every one said the captain would not stop in such a dangerous place; so the poor mother had to stand there in the cold night-wind, while the long, snake-like tow crept round the bend in the black and silent river.

At last a boat was lowered overboard, and Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton and two men started to catch up with the steamer. By holding on to the towing-lines they managed to drag themselves up to her low stern and climb aboard, leaving the boat dancing on the creamy water in the wake of the steamer.

In a moment the poor mother climbed the winding stairs to the lofty pilot-house where the captain stood at the wheel.

'Oh, sir!  The boat is lost.’

 ‘Well, marm, I can’t help it.  The man on board must look out for her.’

‘There’s nobody on board but two little children.

The captain did not say a word for a moment, and then he lowered the window and looked all about the black river as if searching for something.

'We can’t stop here.  I’ll go on to the bay at Peekskill, and ---

‘Oh, sir, can’t you take the steamer back?’

 ‘Just what I was thinking o’ doing, but we must find a place to anchor the tow first.’
'The night-boats will be coming up.  They will run into the children’s boat.’

‘No, marm.  They are not due here yet.’

It took more than an hour to reach the wide place in the river, opposite Peekskill, and to swing the long tow close in shore out of the way of the passing steamers; and half an hour more to make the boats fast to a rock on the shore, to free the steamer from her charge and start her upon the search for the missing boat.

Two men were placed on the bows below.  There were four more on the upper deck, and from the windows of the pilot-house the poor mother looked out with, straining eyes into the vast blackness ahead.

How the firemen piled their roaring fires!  The engineer urged the great machine to full speed, and his men ran to and fro, oiling every joint.  Showers of sparks poured out of the tall smokestack, and the woods and mountains re-echoed with the furious beating of the paddles.  The crazy old boat seemed to awake to some remembrance of her famous speed in the day when she was the fast passenger-boat on the Albany day-line and was the pride of her captain.

 'Ah! what’s that?  See that black thing close under the shore?’

That's not the boat, marm.  She couldn’t get away down here by this time.  We will not find her this side of Cold Spring, for I reckon she broke loose at the time the “Poughkeepsie freighter” passed us.”

On and on they went, rushing round the sharp bend at West Point, and steaming straight ahead through the Highlands. The boat would be drifting about somewhere above Cornwall.  They would soon find it.

Nothing to be seen.  Not a sign of a boat anywhere. They went up even as far as Newburgh, and crossed the river, and crept slowly down-stream close inshore.  The winds would drive her over to that side, and she might be aground somewhere along the bank. Then they saw the lights of a steamer coming up-stream, and they turned out into the middle of the river to meet her.  It was the ‘Saratoga,’ of the Troy night-line.  There were warning whistles, and the two boats stopped and met in the darkness.  Black figures came out on the lofty decks of the passenger steamer, and the captain of the tow-boat shouted through his hands:
'Boat lost.  Two children on board.  Seen her as you came up along anywhere?’

No; they had seen nothing.  The Albany boat was just behind; perhaps she had sighted it.  The great white boat moved on again and left the tow-boat to continue her search.  The Albany boat was stopped, too, and the same report was made and the same question asked.

`No ; they had seen nothing.

‘I’m thankful,' said the mother, as she leaned out of the pilot-house window and saw the monstrous boat move slowly away in the darkness; ‘I’m thankful, — for that danger is past.  I’m glad they didn’t see it.  They might have gone right over it in the darkness.

So there was one of the perils escaped.  The ‘Betsey Jane’ had not been run down, and there would be no more steamers till daylight. Round and round went the towboat, crossing and recrossing the river, poking her slender nose into every nook and corner; stopping here and there, blowing her whistle furiously, and listening for any answering shouts or calls.  The sentinel, high on the bluffs at West Point, paused in his lonely tramp, and leaned on his gun to look down on the river, wondering what the strange steamer was about.  He called the corporal; and the corporal, too, looked down, on the black river.  He even called out the guard, and sent men down to the shore with a lantern. They thought the captain of the steamer must be crazy.  Then there appeared a pale glow in the eastern sky, and the steamer turned down-stream. The soldiers went back again to their posts upon the heights, for there was no solution of the mystery.

It grew lighter, for it was morning.  Now they would be sure to find the lost boat.  The steamer kept the middle of the stream, steaming slowly along, with every one on the lookout.  On and on they went, round the next bend, past Iona Island and into a bay near Peekskill.

'What's that near shore?’  The ‘Betsy Jane’, sailing serenely along close inshore, with her leg-o’-mutton sail spread out on the breeze!  At the stern stood Captain Eliza, bravely steering straight for the anchored tow just ahead.  Swiftly the steamer came up along side, and there was a grand rush on board the ‘Betsy Jane’; but the mother was first, and the father came next, with a tow line in his hand.  

How they did cheer!  All the people on her tow saw them. The steamer rang her bell and blew her whistle, till the woods and mountains echoed again.  The grim old captain, leaning out of his lofty window, wiped his eyes with a big red handkerchief, and told the engineer it was the biggest trip the old steamer had ever made.  Every one said Captain Eliza was a splendid navigator.  She had brought her father’s boat in safety down the river, and her little baby brother never awakened until he was safe in his mother's arms!

‘Hitch on that tow-line,' said the captain to the deck-hands.

Then he rang the bell sharply: ‘Full speed ahead!

Author

Charles Barnard was an American journalist and author; born in Boston, Feb. 13, 1838; died in 1920. 

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