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This article is part of a series linked to our exhibit: "A New Age Of Sail: The History And Future Of Sail Freight In The Hudson Valley," and tells the stories of sailing cargo ships both modern and historical, on the Hudson River and around the world. Gundalows were iconic wooden cargo vessels that operated primarily on the rivers and bays of the coastal regions of New Hampshire and Southern Maine from the mid-1600’s to the early 1900’s. These vessels evolved to become a practical and efficient method for transporting goods and materials to and from the deep-water port of Portsmouth, NH to the towns that were established in the Piscataqua River watershed and were classified as Piscataqua Gundalows. Considered to be the “18-wheelers” of the that era, gundalows helped to build the economy of the region by carrying raw materials to the various mills and factories in those towns while also facilitating the transport and trade of manufactured items that made their way up and down the East Coast of the United States and to as far away as Europe and the Mediterranean. EARLY YEARS – 1650 to 1800 Early European settlers in the Piscataqua region encountered a vast network of rivers, streams, and bays that had been used for centuries by the indigenous people of the area as resources for food, water and for transportation to and from ocean fishing grounds and their summer and winter encampments. As the area became settled by the Europeans the need for an efficient and timely method of bringing goods and materials to and from the many towns that developed in the watershed rose to a level that necessitated a solution. Roads in the area were nothing more than hunting trails established by indigenous people and were not set up to accommodate horses and carts which would have been the alternative to canoes or boats. Trips on land meant days of travel adding miles to a journey between Portsmouth and a town on Great Bay that could be traversed by water in a matter of hours. Having observed the reliance of the indigenous population on the water as an efficient transportation medium and realizing the swiftness of the tidal current and its periodicity – nearly two flood tides and two ebb tides per day – those involved in the commerce of the region came to conceptualize and develop the first gundalows. Drawing on their experiences in their former homelands and capitalizing on an abundance of building materials, local farmers, fisherman, merchants, and property owners began to build square ended, flat bottomed scows that could be loaded with cargo, floated on the water, and steered with long oars called sweeps. Early gundalows were undecked meaning that they resembled a rowboat or canoe. There were no raised platforms from which to gain a vantage point for steering and all cargo rested on the bottom of the scow. The flat bottoms and wide beams were necessary for trips that spanned more than one tide cycle allowing the gundalow to rest evenly on the exposed mudflats left after the tide ebbed. The flat bottoms also facilitated beaching to load and unload cargo and passengers for there was little infrastructure in the way of wharfs, docks, and quays available in those early days. Sweeps were used to pole the gundalow off the beach at high tide and acted as a rudimentary rudder for steering – like a Venetian gondola from which it is believed that the name gundalow was derived. Gundalows also had shallow drafts (usually < 3 ft) allowing them to reach to the head of the tide in many of the rivers that emptied into Great Bay, Little Bay and the Piscataqua. THE MIDDLE YEARS 1800 to 1860 From about 1800 until 1860, gundalow design changed as more and more people from Europe and the Mediterranean settled in the watershed. After 1800, the square ended scow configuration slowly faded replaced by a rounded stern which accepted a more sophisticated steering system consisting of a fixed rudder with a tiller attachment and a raised platform from which the gundalow captain could see to steer the vessel. The raised platform aft led to a similar platform at the bow from which the crew could look for hazards and landmarks that were used for navigating the treacherous waters of the Piscataqua River. Taking to heart the adage that “time is money”, gundalowmen began to introduce sails on their vessels around 1820, not as a way to steer the boat, but more as a way to gain speed above and beyond that of the fast-moving tidal current. These sails were typically square in shape and mounted on a vertical mast located at the bow. The mast and sail configuration, which was removable, could be turned to take advantage of the wind direction but required crew to work the rigging and stabilize the sail. This method of sailing in the sometimes-narrow river basin was neither quick (tacking and jibing would have been an adventure!) nor efficient and the extra speed could only be gained moving with the current and if the wind was blowing from sailing points abaft the beam. Along with the increased population came the desire to travel across the rivers and streams more efficiently on foot or horse. Bridges sprang up in several places in the watershed in the 1740’s which presented a new challenge for gundalow captains to overcome. The bridges were constructed in locations along the rivers where land masses were relatively close together not usually at the port or dock facilities in the towns served by gundalows. Clearance under the bridges was typically less than 25 feet even at low tide and a gundalow with a square-rigged sail could not travel up or down river with the mast and sail raised beyond where the bridge was erected. This dilemma forced gundalow captains to offload/onload cargo far from its destination or to forego the added speed created by the sail by transiting without the mast and sail raised. THE END YEARS - 1860 TO 1925 Because gundalows were not constructed in shipyards, they were not required to be registered with the local town, county or state governments. Many farmers, fisherman and property owners built gundalows without plans making up or changing the designs as they went to take advantage of improvements adopted by other gundalow builders. While the standard characteristics of gundalows remained uniform – flat bottom, wide beam, shallow draft, square rigged sail and tall vertical mast – other innovations were added to improve gundalow operations. These innovations such as adding cuddy cabins for the captain and crew to shelter in overnight or when the weather made it difficult to operate and changing the steering system to include a ships wheel connected to a drum that turned the rudder with a system of block and tackles located on the deck, were commonplace as gundalows multiplied in the Piscataqua watershed. It is estimated that over 1,000 gundalows were being used on the Piscataqua River and in the tributaries that fed Great Bay and Little Bay at some point in the 1800’s. Unfortunately for the entrepreneurial spirit of the gundalow captains there was one challenge that they could not overcome. With the introduction of the steam engine and subsequently railroads, a faster, more reliable mode of transporting goods and materials started to take over. The first railroad to reach New Hampshire established a train station in the town of Dover in 1832. Ironically, with the growth of rail transportation, infrastructure such as railroad bridges and train depots were needed to keep up with the popularity of the new transportation system. Gundalows were used extensively to deliver the materials needed to build that infrastructure unwittingly helping to diminish the reliance on those vessels as the rail system grew to take over their role. During this final phase of gundalow building one innovation stands out because it helped to overcome the problem of getting up or down river where a bridge had been built. Drawing on ship designs such as dhows and feluccas from the Mediterranean and the Middle East, a lateen rig was adopted by many gundalow owners. The lateen rig eliminated the tall vertical mast and square sail of earlier models and replaced it with a system that incorporated a shorter stump mast (approximately 20 ft high) and a long yard that was fixed to the mast at an angle with a block and tackle allowing the yard to be lowered and raised. With this rig, gundalow captains could now “shoot bridges” meaning they could lower the yard to the deck as they approached a bridge, “shoot” under the bridge, and raise the yard and sail back to its sailing position once they were clear. Even with this innovation, “shooting bridges” required a mastery of river conditions, vessel speed, and maneuverability because there were no other methods of propulsion to help steer the gundalow under the bridge. The last operating gundalow was launched in 1886 at Adams Point in Durham, NH. She was named Fannie M after the wife of her builder, Captain Edward H. Adams. Adams was a major force in gundalow design and construction. His innovative approach to the building of these vessels resulted in the classification of gundalows that operated in the watershed as Piscataqua River gundalows. These gundalows incorporated many of the innovations that have been described in previous paragraphs, but it was the ships wheel/tiller steering mechanism, the lateen sailing rig, and the spoon bow that set Piscataqua gundalows apart from gundalows operating in other parts of New England. The Fannie M. operated until 1925 far exceeding the typical lifespan of past gundalows and was beached along the shoreline (as were most gundalows that had exceeded their usefulness) at Adams Point in Durham, NH. Shortly after that, Captain Adams having the foresight to understand the impact that gundalows had on the history, heritage, and economy of the region, participated in a WPA (Works Progress Administration) effort to document the sailing and motor vessels in various regions throughout the country. Measurements taken from the many journals that Captain Adams kept for his gundalow construction projects, including the Fannie M, were used to create formal drawings that are now housed in the Smithsonian Institute preserving the legacy of the Piscataqua Gundalow. 20th and 21st Century Gundalows Captain Adams was not done building gundalows after the Fannie M was taken out of service. In 1931, he and his son Cass, set about designing and building a new type of gundalow which would carry only passengers and incorporated a gas-powered engine to propel the vessel. Over the next 19-yrs, Adams and Cass would work on the gundalow in their spare time using driftwood found along the shoreline of their property on Great Bay to fashion the hull and deck. Finally, in October of 1950, the new design, aptly named Driftwood, was ready for launch. Built with a deeper draft which allowed enough headroom for passengers in the cuddy cabin to stand when the weather was poor, the new gundalow also shed its lateen sailing rig using the engine from a Model-A Ford for propulsion. Launch day saw hundreds of people from the local community turn out to the Adams property along Great Bay. Speeches were made and a bottle of champagne was broken across the cutwater (bow). Driftwood slid down the ship ways and into Great Bay. The engine started and she motored out towards the middle of the bay for a test run of her steering and speed. Unfortunately, the valve that allowed water to circulate through the engine to cool it was left closed and after about 45 minutes the engine seized and would not restart. Driftwood was towed back to shore and hauled up on the beach next to the ship ways. She remained there never to sail again. Five months later Captain Adams passed away at age 91. Gundalows were not completely forgotten after the passing of Captain Adams. In 1978, several wooden boatbuilders in the Piscataqua region some of whom were apprentices to Capt. Adams, got together with the Strawbery Banke Museum and remembering the importance of these vessels to the history and the economy of the region developed a plan to build a replica of the Fannie M. Their objective was to use the replica as a floating classroom to educate the young people of the Piscataqua region about their rich maritime heritage, the importance of gundalows, and overall, the importance of a clean environment to the sustainability of the watershed. The CAPT Edward H. Adams was built on the grounds of the Strawbery Banke Museum and launched in 1982. Being a replica and keeping with the design of Piscataqua Gundalows in the late 1880’s, the new gundalow was not certified to carry paying passengers on the water. Instead, she was towed from town to town in the watershed where festivals celebrating the rivers and bays of the region were held. Local schools brought classes of students down to where the Adams was docked for onboard education programs and tours of the gundalow, concerts, and other maritime related events. In 1999, Strawbery Banke Museum deaccessioned the Adams because of the cost required to maintain a gundalow that had far exceeded its life expectancy. The group of volunteers that had been conducting the education programs on the Adams got together and formed the Gundalow Company. The Gundalow Company took ownership of the Adams and through fundraising and grants raised the funds to keep her running. Over the next 8 years the Adams continued to serve the Seacoast community but the officers and directors of the Gundalow Company realized that she was reaching the limit of her useful life. In 2009 a decision was made to build a second replica, but this time the organization made a conscious decision to build a gundalow that would be able to bring students, residents, and visitors to the area out for trips recreating the gundalow experience of sailing on the Piscataqua River, Great and Little Bay and the other rivers in the watershed. A capital campaign was started and materials for the build were purchased and assembled on the grounds of Strawbery Banke where in early 2011 construction of the successor to the Captain Edward Adams began. In early December of that year and after countless hours put in by professional shipwrights, boat builders and volunteers, the gundalow Piscataqua was launched from the boat ramp at Peirce Island in Portsmouth, NH. Piscataqua met all USCG safety regulations which included the installation of a 25 HP diesel engine, lifelines, a fire suppression system, and automated bilge alarms. Following her launch, she completed her fitting out with the installation of her lateen sailing rig and in May 2012 sailed with her first class of local school students. Since that time, she has sailed with over 75,000 passengers including 25,000 plus students and summer campers, and 50,000 residents and visitors to the Seacoast NH and ME areas, all with the mission of protecting the maritime heritage and the environment of the Piscataqua Region through education and action. To read more about Piscataqua, gundalows in general, and the mission of the Gundalow Company please visit gundalow.org AuthorRich Clyborne is the Executive Director of the Gundalow Company of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. 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 from two Australian newspapers printed in the 1890s. 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. "Crazy Uncle Gail's" Idea and What Came of lt. - Northern Star (Lismore, New South Wales, Australia), June 10, 1893. About forty years ago Gail Borden, a civil engineer of New England ancestry, conceived the idea that milk could be boiled down in a vacuum till from the liquid condition it became substantially solid, and in that state, preserved by means of another Yankee invention -- the sealed tin can -- it could be kept for any length of time. Mr. Borden had lived much in the south, particularly in Texas, and he had seen the great need of such an article as his invention would produce if his idea was practicable. He began experimenting on this and other ideas that teemed in his overflowing brain. Eighteen years he experimented with the milk condensing. He made a success of the condensation, but he could not make it a financial success. He spent all the money he got on his new ideas, for there were so many of them. People who knew him, especially the neighbors, made merry over the milk condensing notion. They would have believed a.man conld take wings and fly to heaven bodily as easily as he could condense milk and ship it all over the world. The man who would think of such a thing was nothing less than off his head. So they called him "crazy Uncle Gail," these kind neighbors. But Uncle Gail had a son, John G. No man except perhaps Edison is at once inventor and financier. Gail Borden had to wait till his son John was grown before the milk condensing became a financial success. Gail was an inventor, and Providence kindly sent him a son who was a financier, the only trouble being that Uncle Gail had to wait eighteen years till the son was old enough to take hold of the financial end of the business. Then it became one of the greatest successes on record. The elder Borden waited patiently and hopefully. At last, when it began to look as if the enterprise would be a go, Uncle Gail said one day, "If I thought the condensery would ever consume as much as 5,000 quarts of milk a day, I should be satisfied and happy." Well, there are now six great Borden milk condensing plants in various parts of the country. Two of them are in Illinois. Not long since 1 visited one of the New York factories. It was not one of the largest, yet it alone consumes 33,000 quarts of milk a day, manufacturing daily 10,000 pounds of the finished product. What the whole six factories consume may be calculated from this. The condensed milk goes all over the earth. Peary took it to the north pole with him. Explorers flavor their coffee with it under the equator in Africa. Best of all, "Crazy Uncle Gail" lived to see the enterprise he had set his heart on assume almost its present colossal proportions: then he rested from his labors with the sweet consciousness that he had helped mankind. Visitors are allowed in every part of the Borden condenseries. The tall and good looking superintendent of the one I visited in Wallkill valley, Mr. Smith, himself conducted me through the departments of the factory and gave me every facility for obtaining information. The milk, with granulated sugar stirred into it, is boiled down in vacuum in great shining copper tanks. I am proud that the invention belongs to America. The first thought of one visiting the condensery is that no one need ever be afraid to use condensed milk. The factory is absolutely the cleanest place I ever saw. The floor of the machine shop where the cans are made is scrubbed every Saturday; ditto the engine room. Gail Bordon, of blessed memory, had a sort of craze for cleanliness, a beneficent craze which his son held after him. The firm make their own tin cans at the factory, and you will be surprised to know that girl machinists do the work. They are cleaner and more deft with their fingers than boys would be, and making the little cans requires neatness and precision. They make excellent wages, I was told. At various conspicuous places this sign in big letters meets your eye: "No Smoking. Spitting on Floor Is Prohibited. Read the Other Side." When you turn it over the other side says exactly the same thing. lt requires nearly five pounds of milk in the natural state to make one pound of the condensed product. The condensery has its own set of milk farmers, who deliver the year round. They must obey strictly certain rules laid down by the firm. One of these is that no ensilage shall be used. They say they cannot use ensilage milk for making the condensed product. They declare further that feeding cows on ensilage through the season is much the same as feeding people on sauerkraut all the year. The superintendent of the factory said he had put his hand into some of what was called prime ensilage. He found it hot and fermenting. If his statement will add any new fury to the ensilage war 1 shall be glad. I have no cows and no opinion, and am not in the fight. The farmers furnish their own cans. The exquisite cleanliness that pervades the factory must extend also to the farms that supply milk to it. The farmers are expected to keep the outside of the cans clean, but the inside is cleansed at the factory itself. That is a task the condensers require to be performed under their own eyes. The milk is strained a second time after it comes to the factory, and is likewise passed through an aerating machine. Every can of milk that comes in is inspected separately. The inspector from the condensery visits constantly the cow stables on the farms to see that they are kept free from filth and odors. The farmers average about twenty-five cows apiece. No stagnant water, no dead animals must be allowed on the place. The barnyards must be kept clean. Written by Eliza Archard Conner, June 10, 1893 From the Queanbeyan Observer (New South Wales, Australia) December 1, 1896. Not less than 100,000 gallons of milk daily are consumed in New York city, Brooklyn and the smaller cities that all together come under the head of what we call greater New York. From Newburg, sixty miles up the Hudson, a milk boat carries 10,000 gallons daily to the city. Much of New York's milk supply comes from Orange, Sullivan, Ulster and Dutchess counties. 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. This article was originally published July 8, 1973. Since railroad trains have been operating along the east shore of the Hudson River for virtually its entire length between New York and Albany since 1851 and along the west shore of the river from Haverstraw to a point below West Park since 1883, Hudson River boatmen have had plenty of opportunity to observe the changes that have taken place over the years in railroading. One big change, of course, was the disappearance of the steam locomotive and its replacement by perhaps the more efficient but much less colorful diesel engine. I well remember the end of steam locomotives on the old West Shore Railroad. Late April 1953 marked the end of passenger trains on the West Shore pulled by the previously reliable iron horse. The morning of the last stem [sic] runs, shortly after sun-up, I was on the tugboat “Callanan No. 1" bound north with a tow. We were just south of Crum Elbow, in close along the west bank of the river to get out of the tide. Along came what we used to call the "paper train," the passenger train out of Weehawken with the New York newspapers for the communities all along the river. It was a cool April morning with a north east wind and the sun shining very bright out of the east. As the train was going up the West Park hill, black soft coal smoke was pouring out of the locomotive’s stack. I knew it marked the end of an era: As the train pulled abreast of us, I blew a one long, one short blast on the whistle which the locomotive engineer answered. Then I blew the traditional three long whistles of farewell. I can still see in memory of the three white plumes of steam from the train’s whistle as the engineer answered. As the train charged up the incline and out of sight, the wheels of the locomotive pounding, and black smoke and steam belching from the short, stubby, stack, I was reminded of the words of an almost forgotten poem of old, “Pulling up along the track, with the choo choo of the stack, how I love to watch the local as it comes along the track; Pulling up along the track, with the choo choo of the stack, up, up along the lonely track.” Another change in railroading caused by the passing years, was the disappearance of the track walkers. For many, many years, the railroad used to employ men to make regular foot patrols of their trackage, especially in the vicinity of rock cuts along the river’s shore. It was their job to watch for fallen rocks and to make regular inspections of the rights of way. For years, boatmen at night would see the track walkers on their lonely patrols carrying a lantern and later with a good flashlight. This was especially true in the Hudson Highlands from Stony Point to Cornwall where there were extensive rock cuts. In the lonely morning hours around 2 or 3 a.m., when seeing a track walker, I would always turn our searchlight on and blink it or raise it up and down. In return, they would waive their lanterns back to us. It was a friendly greeting at that hour. I used to think that it must have been very lonely for them walking along those tracks in the dark. A train would come roaring along if a passenger train or rumbling along if a freight, making a great deal of noise, and then it would be all peace and quiet again. You would see the track walkers going into their little flag shanties along the tracks to get warm and then go out again in another hour for another patrol. During the middle 1950’s there was a big stock proxy contest for control of the New York Central Railroad. A group, headed by Robert R. Young, won control and shortly after that the new management made a lot of changes in the operation of the company. One of the changes was to do away with the jobs of the track walkers. After that, no more did boatmen see their friendly lanterns moving back and forth as the track walkers walked their solitary way in the night looking for broken rails, loose spikes or rock slides. Before the days of radar on tugboats, when the boats were running in fog, the track walkers were a blessing to the boatmen. Sometimes we would be running pretty close to shore and see dimly the friendly light of their lantern. They probably over the years, unbeknown[st] to them, saved many a steamboat or tugboat from running on the shore or rocks. On other change is the demise of the hoboes or knights of the road. Either our affluent society has done away with the hobo or, if there are any left, they must have all taken to the highways. Back during the Great Depression of the 1930’s, when on the tugboats we would be bucking the tide with a large tow, we would get close to shore so the tide wouldn’t have such an effect on our tows. Then, when a freight train of 90 or 100 cars would come along we would try and see how many knights of the road we could count. Sometimes there would be as many as several dozen. Times change. Today, when the freight trains go by one never sees anyone riding the rails. Also, in those depression years, boatmen would see the fires of hoboes burning along the rails or in culverts under the tracks. If a box car were standing along the tracks on some isolated siding and if we threw our searchlight beam on it, you would frequently see someone slip out the other side or come to the half closed door and peek out. Like the seasons and the tides of the river, things along the Hudson are continually changing. Hopefully, the hoboes of yesteryear have all found the destination they were seeking and surroundings more hospitable than that formerly provided by the "water level route” of wooden ties and steel rails. 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!
Editor's Note: This article was originally published in Ships and the Sea magazine, Fall 1957. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. Learn more about Liberty Ships here. What could be done with the outmoded Liberty ships in the event of an emergency? The Maritime Administration is proving they can be turned into assets. During World War II, pressed by the dire need of the national emergency, U.S. shipyards produced thousands of merchant ships. During this era, even the most lubberly of land-lubbers came to hear of that famous-type ship, the Liberty. Shipyards on all coasts of this nation made headlines with the fantastic speed with which these large oceangoing vessels were constructed. The average time for the completion of a Liberty was an amazing 62 days! By the time the building program had been completed, some 2600 standard Liberty ships had splashed into the water and taken up their vital task of delivering war material overseas. This tremendous fleet had a carrying capacity of almost 30 million tons. But what has happened to this vast fleet of Libertys in the postwar era? Have their bluff-bowed and full-bellied forms, and their 2500-horsepower reciprocating engines which produced speeds of only 11 knots, managed to survive the competition of cargo vessels with speeds up to 20 knots? The best answer to that may be a blunt statistic – some 1400 Liberty ships are tied up in the U.S. Maritime Administration's reserve fleet sites in rivers and bays around our coastline. This figure, taken in conjunction with the fact that several hundred Libertys were lost due to enemy action and other causes, and that several hundred others have been converted to such speck-purpose vessels as colliers, oil tankers, troop transports, hospital ships, ammunition ships and training vessels, leaves us with but one conclusion – the Liberty is too slow and inefficient for modern shipping needs. Some Libertys, of course, are in operation, but these are mostly doing tramping duty under foreign flags or carrying bulk cargoes like grain, ore and coal. However, it is not the economic aspect of the outmoded Liberty which concerns the Defense Department and the Maritime Administration. Those 1400 Liberty ships in the reserve fleet are supposed to represent security in any future national emergency. In the last few years the conviction has been growing among these military experts that the Liberty ship in its present design does not really represent insurance in case of need. Can the Liberty, for example, keep up with the speeds of future convoys? Can the Liberty hope to elude atomic-powered, snorkel-type submarines with speeds under the water of, say, 20 knots? The answer is clearly "No." Even in the limited Korean emergency, very few Liberty ships were taken out of the reserve fleet in spite of the need. The faster (16-knot) Victory and C-type ships were taken out first. Then the Defense Department had to charter privately owned vessels. With these dismal facts confronting it, the Maritime Administration has now embarked upon and completed an experimental Liberty conversion program which proves that those 1400 ships still represent an enormous national asset. The program, using four ships, had as its objective the upgrading of the ships with regard not only to speed but also to over-all efficiency. Increasing the speed of the Liberty may sound, on paper, like an easy matter. Why not increase the horsepower and efficiency of the engines and build new streamlined bows to replace the bluff "ugly-duckling" bows? To be sure, this can be and has been done. The problems confronting the Maritime Administration, however, were not simple in deciding upon the extent of the alterations which should be made. It must be remembered, first, that to upgrade hundreds of Liberty ships quickly in case of emergency would require vast dry-docking facilities, a call for quantities of scarce steel, and a need for new and more efficient engineering equipment. There were other equally pressing problems of design. Could the war-built ships stand the pounding in heavy weather which the higher speeds would cause? The Liberty ships, as a matter of fact, have been quite prone to cracking, even at the lower speeds. It was apparent that the altered ships would have to be heavily strapped. Also, there were the problems of propeller vibration at higher revolutions per minute, greater stresses on the rudder, and the like. Defense authorities had indicated a desire for 18 knots for the upgraded Libertys, but were willing to settle for 15 knots as a minimum. The latter speed was finally selected in view of the numerous problems involved, although technically it is possible to obtain an 18-knot speed with an appropriately lengthened, strengthened, finer and more powerful ship. It was decided that one of the four ships, the Benjamin Chew, would have its speed increased to 15 knots merely by the expedient of installing 6000-horsepower steam turbines with no change in hull form. This was undertaken with some misgiving as to the seakeeping qualities of such a blunt form driven at a 15-knot speed. But the savings in steel and dry-docking capacity in an emergency dictated that the attempt be made. Early experience with the ship has, in fact, confirmed these misgivings to some extent since the ship has had difficulty in maintaining 15 knots in heavy weather. The rate of fuel oil consumption has also been relatively high. However, it has been proved that, if necessary, the Liberty in its original form can be driven at significantly higher speeds with a minimum of alterations. The second of the ships, the Thomas Nelson, has been given geared diesel engines with 6000 horsepower as well as a lengthened and finer bow. As expected, 15-knot speeds have been easily maintained with a very low rate of fuel consumption. It would appear that if time and facilities permit, this type of alteration is to be preferred over that of the Benjamin Chew. The third and fourth ships, in addition to having lengthened and finer bows, are also being used to pioneer a new type of prime mover for ships – the gas turbine. The John Sergeant is the first all-gas-turbine merchant ship in the world, although a few vessels have been fitted with gas-turbine engines combined with other types of power plants. A controllable pitch propeller, another innovation for large U.S. ships, is used in conjunction with the gas turbine. This enables the pitch of the propeller blades to be controlled from the navigating bridge. For those of our readers who are not acquainted with the principles by which a gas turbine operates, a brief description might be helpful. A gas turbine operates by first compressing air, then heating it before sending it to a combustion chamber where fuel is mixed with the air and burned. The resulting gas is expanded through turbine nozzles, thus providing the power to turn the propeller shaft. The gas turbine is claimed to produce high thermal efficiency with reduced size and weight of machinery. Low-cost bunker "C" fuel oil may be burned. The gas turbine will probably be most efficient in the 7500- to 15,000-horse-power range. The William Patterson, the last of the four conversions, went into service in mid-1957. She is equipped with a gas turbine, too, but it is of a somewhat different type from the Sergeant's. The latter has what is known as an "open-cycle" gas turbine, while the Patterson has a "free-piston" type. (in the free-piston machinery, the pistons are not connected to crank-shafts as is customary in other internal combustion engines. Instead, the air-fuel mixture is burned between opposed pistons which then spring apart, compressing air at both ends of a cylinder. The compressed air causes the pistons to bounce back, thus forcing the gas into the turbine.) The marine industry is watching with great interest to find, first, whether the gas turbine will produce a more efficient prime mover than the steam turbine or diesel drive and, second, to find which type of gas turbine is better from an over-all point of view. Another aspect of the Liberty ship conversion program deserves comment. The Maritime Administration is using the program to experiment with different types of cargo-handling equipment, the theory being that increased speed at sea is only part of the picture of more efficient utilization of ships, the time spent in port loading and discharging cargo being of equal importance. So we find that the Thomas Nelson, for example, is equipped with radically new cargo cranes of two different types. The Benjamin Chew has a conventional set of cargo booms but of an improved type. She also has a removable 'tween deck in No. 2 compartment. All in all, these four Liberty ships are vastly improved vessels from their 1400 sisters still resting in the reserve fleet. They are being operated on the North Atlantic run by the same operator, the United States Lines. This will ensure, as nearly as possible, the same weather and port conditions, so that the many differences among the ships can be evaluated to arrive at valid conclusions as to what the ultimate form of the converted Liberty prototype should be. Although the program has primarily been aimed at the objective of upgrading the reserve fleet of Liberty ships in time of national emergency, it is also proving of great value to U.S. ship operator. The new look in Liberty ships appears to be not only new but also very pleasing. AuthorThis article, written by John La Dage, appeared in the Fall 1957 issue of Ships and the Sea magazine. 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Editor's note: The following text is an except from "Terrible Explosion"., reprinted in the Queensland Australia newspaper "Maryborough Chronicle, Wide Bay and Burnett Advertiser." 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. TERRIBLE EXPLOSION. (From the Special Correspondent of the "New York Tribune.") Newburgh, June 3, 1868. Dwellers along the Hudson River for a distance of 30 miles north and south of this city were startled at six o'clock this morning by the shaking of their houses, the rattling of windows, and two distinct, heavy, rumbling reports. Many supposed that two shocks of an earthquake had taken place, and rushed from their houses in excitement. The cause of the excitement was the explosion of 10,000 pounds of powder, and the blowing up of two powder mills, owned by Messrs. Smith and Rand, about four miles west of this city, on the South Plank Road, leading to Walden, Orange County. A visit to the spot revealed the following facts: The graining mill, where the first explosion occurred, was a sort of double building, 20 by 16 feet, built of stone, with wooden sides and one story high. It stood about one hundred feet from the main road, separated from the latter by a clump of trees. In it at the time of the explosion was five tons of powder, the most of it being in the grain. The glazing mill was situated across a dam, about one hundred feet from the graining mill, and was about fifteen feet in diameter, octagonal in form, and was in no way connected with the graining mill. In it at the time of the explosion was about a ton of powder. At exactly six o'clock this morning the graining mill blew up, the fire shooting with great violence across the dam to the glazing mill, and in five seconds thereafter that was also blown to fragments. The scene is described as being fearfully grand. The foundation of the graining mill was scooped out as though with a shovel. Huge sticks of timber were thrown through the air for a quarter of a mile, small trees were uprooted, and hurled a long distance; while larger and older trees were entirely stripped of leaves and branches; and their trunks blackened and charred. At the foot of trees numbers of dead birds were found, having been instantly killed by the powerful shock. A large iron shaft four inches in diameter, led from the graining mill to another building on the south side of the road. It was seventy-five feet long. The end nearest to the building which exploded was bent almost double; while a portion of the shaft fifteen feet long was broken off and hurled over 400 yards from the scene. For more than a quarter of mile the ground is strewn with the debris. Huge timbers, blackened and splintered with powder, heavy and long limbs of trees, and in many instances whole trees, ragged and torn, block the paths and roads leading to spot. A storage building on the south side of the road, distant all of 150 yards from the graining mill, was badly shattered. It contained three tons of powder in kegs. The large door at the main entrance was blown off, the sides of the building crushed in, and the roof greatly damaged. Fortunately, the powder in the building did not ignite. Of course, as soon as the danger consequent upon the terrific explosion had passed away, there was a rush to ascertain if anyone was killed. At the time of the occurrence there, there was only one man in the graining-mill and none in the others. His name was Adam Schosser [?], a German. He was employed as Messrs. Smith and Rand's service for several years, and was considered perfectly trust-worthy. He had often asserted that he knew his business too well to be blown up. He was undoubtedly blown high in air, some suppose 1000 feet. His head and shoulders were found at a distance of 500-yards from the spot where the explosion occurred, mangled and torn beyond recognition. An arm was found, lodged in the crutch of a tree, while for a distance of a quarter of a mile pieces of flesh and parts of his limbs were found strewn along the ground and hanging to limbs of trees. All the parts found were collected and placed in a barrel. Coroner Thomas Bingham of Newburgh, who arrived soon after the occurrence, empannelled a jury, and an inquest was held over about two-thirds of the body, the jury returning a verdict in accordance with the facts. The shock in this city was terrific. Houses were shaken to their foundation and in many places windows were shattered. Standing in one of the streets and looking toward the spot where the explosion occurred a huge column of smoke and dust was seen to shoot upward fully 1000 feet into the heavens, presenting a scene grand beyond description. A vast ring of smoke whirled far up and gradually widening in area, was a sight never witnessed before in this vicinity. The concussion started persons who were thus slumbering, in many cases arose trembling and anxious to know the cause. For a distance of ten miles back, on the opposite side of the river, the explosion was distinctly heard, while West Point, Peekskill, Sing Sing and Poughkeepsie the report was also noticed. Three years ago a similar explosion took place at the same spot; when one man was killed. Had the explosion of this morning occurred one hour later, the loss of life would have been fearful, as at 7 a.m. the twenty men employed at the works commence labor, when, in all probability, every one of them would have been blown to pieces.-"Maryborough Chronicle, Wide Bay and Burnett Advertiser" (Queensland, Australia.), September 22, 1868 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!
The steamboat “Mary Powell”, built in 1861, sailed on the waters of the Hudson River over a period of 55 years. She was one of the fastest steamboats of her time, was pleasing in appearance, and reliable. She became known as the “Queen of the Hudson.” By the middle of the 19th century, commerce on the Hudson River was particularly vigorous. The Hudson River - Erie Canal corridor was one of the principal gateways to the west. The Delaware and Hudson Canal, opened in 1828, brought coal destined for use in the northeast from Pennsylvania to the Hudson River at Kingston. The railroads were just beginning to appear on the scene, all of which made the steamboat the principal method for the movement of people and freight. By the 1860s, the section of Kingston bordering the Rondout Creek had become the leading port between Albany and New York. Between 1861 and 1863, three large steamboats were built to take advantage of the booming economy and home ported at the village of Rondout (in 1872 becoming part of the city of Kingston). Two of the steamboats were night boats for the carrying of freight and overnight passengers. The third was the “Mary Powell,” designed as a day steamer solely for the carrying of passengers. For virtually her entire career, her schedule was to leave Kingston early in the morning and make landings at Poughkeepsie, Milton, Newburgh and Cornwall, arriving at her pier in lower Manhattan in the late morning. On her return she would leave New York at 3:30 p.m. and arrive back at Kingston in the early evening. Over the years, other landings were made or discontinued as traffic warranted, as did minor time changes in her schedule. The period of operation normally was from mid-May to late September or early October. The “Mary Powell” was built at a shipyard in Jersey City, N.J. to the order of Captain Absalom Anderson at a reported cost of $80,000. Captain Anderson was to be both her operator and captain. As it turned out, over a period of 40 years, the “Mary Powell” had but two captains- Captain Absalom Anderson and later his son, Captain A. Eltinge Anderson. Other captains commanded the vessel for relatively short periods of time. During her last two years of service, her captain was Arthur Warrington of Kingston. Initially, Captain Anderson was somewhat disappointed in his new vessel’s speed. After the close of her first full season in 1862, the “Mary Powell” was sent back to the shipyard, cut in two, and 21 feet added to her length. The added length achieved the desired result, and thereafter the “Mary Powell” was known as one of the fastest boats on the Hudson. Her reputation for speed was such that during the latter part of the 19th century, a number of newly built yachts were brought to the Hudson and run along with the “Mary Powell” to test the desired speed of the yacht. The “Mary Powell” was always superbly maintained and had almost a yacht-like appearance. Known as a “family boat,” Captain Anderson saw to it that all passengers conducted themselves properly. If they did not, it was said they ran the risk of being put ashore at the next landing. After the close of the 1902 season, the “Mary Powell” was acquired by the Hudson River Day Line, the largest operator of day steamboats on the river. Although the Day Line continued to operate her, as before, on the Kingston to New York and return run, a number of relatively minor physical changes were made to the steamboat, including new boilers and an enlargement of the second deck forward. In 1913, the Day Line placed in operation a new steamboat, the “Washington Irving,” the largest day boat to be built for service on the Hudson. Her appearance caused a realignment in service of their other vessels, including the “Mary Powell.” During the seasons of 1914 to 1917, the “Mary Powell” would start and end the seasons on her old Kingston to New York run. However, during the peak of the seasons, she would be used for charter trips, an excursion type operation from New York to Bear Mountain, and occasionally special trips to Albany. Finally, on September 5, 1917, she sailed on her old route. It was to be her last trip with passengers. She was subsequently played up at her old “winter dock” at Rondout Creek and in January 1920 was sold for scrapping, AuthorThis article was originally published in the 2000 Pilot Log. Thank you to Hudson River Maritime Museum volunteer Adam Kaplan for transcribing the 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 was originally published in an undated published booklet "Ice Yachting Winter Sailboats Hit More Than 100 m.p..h.. by John A. Carroll with additional information from the "New York Times" article from February 8, 1978. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to White Wings and Black Ice here. Ice yachting easily qualifies as the fastest winter sport in the world. Skiing? The ice yacht moves twice as rapidly. Bob-sledding? Nearly 25 m.p.h. faster. And ice yachts, unlike bob-sleds, do not have brakes. According to Ray Ruge, president of the Eastern Ice Yachting Association, the world ice yacht speed record over a measured course with flying start stands at 144 m.p.h. At Long Branch, N.J., Commodore Elisha Price in Walter Content's "Clarel" set the mark in February 1908, by covering one mile in 25 seconds. The time was clocked by five stop watches. The speed has been exceeded unofficially on several occasions. "From - Feb 6, 1978 - New York Times: Outdoors: Slipping Silently over the Ice by Fred Ferretti: One of the first lessons taught when you take up the speedy and somewhat dangerous sport of iceboating is to watch out for Christmas trees. Christmas trees mark thin ice or ice that has holes in it, that is rough and heavily pitted or that is overlaid with an invisible layer of water. These hazards can be disastrous to the spruce or fiberglass boats that tear across frozen rivers and lakes, sometimes at speeds of more than 100 miles an hour." While speed records remain a goal for winter sailors, most American ice yachtmen now center their attention on competitive racing and the annual regattas that have become an important part of the cold weather sports scene. Keen spectator and participant interest in this old sport are comparatively recent developments. Ice yachting, of necessity, has a limited appeal. There are few sections in the country where cold weather and hard-frozen lakes make the sport practicable. Moreover, the high cost of constructing the large yachts popular at the turn of the century restricted the sport to the very wealthy. The weather factor has remained fairly constant and ice yachting still is confined to a few choice locations - mainly in the American-Canadian border states and provinces. However, the financial requirement has undergone a radical change. The organization of the International Skeeter Association in 1939 is, to a large degree, responsible for the current boom in the sport. The "Skeeters," which are limited to 75 square feet of sail and cost as little as a few hundred dollars to build, outraced the larger boats in most of last year's major regattas. Approximately 75 per cent of all present ice boat construction follows this design. There are still large boats on the ice, although initial building expenses and prohibitive transportation costs have held construction to a minimum during the last few years. The two largest yachts currently in active competition are “Deuce”, owned by Clare Jacobs of Detroit and piloted by Joe Snay of the same city, and “Debutante”, owned by the Van Dyke family of Wisconsin and skippered by John Buckstaff of Oshkosh. Both yachts carry 600 sq. ft. of heavy Wamsutta sail cloth, but the “Deuce” is the longer of the two. The Detroit yacht, which is a thing of picturesque beauty with its huge jib-and-mainsail rig, is 52 feet in length and carries a 52-foot high mast. Its solid, springy runner plank measures 30 feet across. The Last of the Stern-Steerers: A starting lineup on Lake Winnebago at Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Left to right: “Debutante III”, Oshkosh I.Y.E., “Deuce”, Detroit I.Y.C. and “Flying Dutchman”, Oshkosh I.Y.E. Race won by “Deuce” shod with 8 ft. runners because of soft ice. Ray Ruge Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum. To the non-scientist, it seems unbelievable that any craft backed only by a stiff wind, can hit 100 miles an hour or better. The secret is the reduction of surface friction to just a few inches of sharp steel runner slipping across the ice, plus the small air resistance offered by a streamlined fuselage. Once an ice boat gets underway, the friction becomes almost negligible. And the speed is created by a partial vacuum of air currents ahead of the sail which pulls the craft forward until the boat is traveling from three to six times the velocity of the wind. Little is known of the origin of ice boats, although it has been established that Scandinavians in the Middle Ages were using a workable craft. Chapman's "Architecture Navalis Mercatoria" of 1768 mentions the sport by describing an ice yacht with a converted hull, a cross piece and a runner at each end. The Poughkeepsie Ice Yacht Club, an organization leaning to men of wealth and leisure, was organized in 1861. Using large, expensive craft, the club members specialized in racing trains along the river banks. The engineer tooted the whistle and passengers cheered, as the yachtsmen accepted the challenge and a contest was on. At the turn of the 20th century, new and more complete organizations began to take place. In 1912, new sportsmen formed the Northwestern Ice Yachting Association at Oshkosh, Wis., to embrace clubs in 'the Illinois, Michigan and Wisconsin region. Sail expanse classifications were drawn up to promote competition. As interest in the sport drew and new boats were built in greater numbers, new classifications were established. The Northwestern Association now lists the following: Class A, up to 350 square feet of sail; Class B, up to 250; Class C, up to 175; Class D, 125; Class E, 75. Sailing preparations are underway in the yacht basin at Hamilton, Ont., as enthusiasts ready their boats for the day's activity. Yachtsmen pray for blustery, windy weather to ensure higher racing speeds. The sport, which is aging in new followers every year, attracted an estimated 3,000 participants this winter. Ray Ruge Collection, Hudson River Maritime Museum. Patterning itself after the Northwestern, a group of eastern ice yachting enthusiasts met in 1937 at the Larchmont (N.Y.) Yacht Club to form the Eastern Ice Yachting Association. There are, however, a few differences in classification. The eastern body calls the up-to-250 square-foot group Class X, instead of Class B, and the newer organization lists an up-to-200 square-foot sail area as Class B, a type not recognized by the Northwestern. In addition to the standard classifications, the Scooter and the D.N. 60 (Detroit News, 60 square feet of canvas) attract considerable attention. The Scooter, a remarkable amphibian which sails serenely on ice or in water, is the pride and joy of the South Bay Scooter Club, a member of the Eastern Association. It is believed that Coast Guardsmen, tired of long winter walks across ice for supplies, developed the first Scooter. They put runners on the bottom of one of their flat-bottomed sailboats and it worked. The boat has no rudder for water sailing and no movable runner for steering on ice. Direction is controlled only by shifting weight and sail handling. The D.N. 60 sprang from that Detroit newspaper's hobby shop, as an economical boys' sailing craft. It has turned out to be another case of the parents playing with their kids' electric trains. Adults love them. Their surprising speed and easy construction resulted in the building of almost 100 in the Detroit area alone. And the News now sponsors annual competitions on Lake St. Clair for their popular “baby.” The skeleton of an ice yacht is T-shaped, with the fuselage forming the long part, and a cross-piece or "runner plank" the horizontal. There are three runners or skates. The ones at each end of the runner plank are fixed. The steering runner, at the end of the fuselage, is moveable. Originally, all yachts were stern steerers. The runner plank was forward, the steering skate in the rear, behind the yachtsman's seat. Stern steerers have one pleasant advantage: boats using this design do not capsize easily. But the winter sailors wanted speed, and in the 1920's the Meyer brothers of Wisconsin began experimenting with bow-steering. Boats with bow-steering have the runner plank crossing the rear seat. The steering runner is at the front end of the fuselage. The bow steerer is faster - much faster. And sufficient pressure is kept on the steering runner to afford traction and maneuverability. But to counteract these advantages, the bow steerer spills more readily. Championship regattas of both the Northwestern and Eastern Associations are run in three-heat series to determine the champion of each class. The Northwestern winds up with a Free-for-All in which all classes are eligible. The Eastern concludes with an Open Championship limited to class titlists. With the present pre-eminence of the Skeeter, the International Skeeter Association Championship Regatta now is widely regarded as the "World Series" of the sport. The I.S.A. runs a five-heat series, weather permitting. The international character of the organization stems from the fact that it has member clubs in both the United States and Canada. Winners are determined on a point basis. Ice yachting's man of the year for 1947 probably was Jim Kimberly of Chicago, formerly of Neenah, Wis. Kimberly, who took his first ice boat ride at the age of five, won last year's International Skeeter Association title and the Northwestern Free-for-All. The 40-year-old executive is seeking additional titles this season in his 22-foot Skeeter, “Flying Phantom III”, one of several boats he owns. In racing, all boats are staggered at the starting line to give each entry unbroken wind. Lots are drawn for post positions and the order is reversed in successive heats. Races begin from a standing position, and here the yachtsman discovers the importance of a good pair of legs. At the crack of the gun he must take off like a sprinter for 25 to 50 feet, pushing his yacht to get "way" on her. Once underway, he needs all his skill to keep the boat moving. Inept handling stops the boat and the runners take a freezing grip on the ice. Then, out steps the yachtsman to give another starting push. This, of course, means a tremendous loss of face for the winter sailor. The sport is dangerous and thrilling. The most exciting moments come at the turning markers around which racers try to cut as sharply as possible. When one yacht overtakes another at this point, the leader is required to leave "stake room" (sufficient space) for the overtaking yacht to pass between him and the marker. Sometimes the cry is not heard, or a racer figures he has left sufficient room. Then the spectator sees two strong-willed ice yachtsmen tacking toward the stake at 90 miles an hour on sheer ice with no brakes to soften any possible collision. To make matters worse from the yachtsmen's point of view, the slightest touch of craft to marker means automatic disqualification from the race. Even pleasure cruising has its hazards. Good natural ice surfaces of sufficient size are rare. And these are subject to pressure ridges, weak ice and stretches of open water caused by currents and thaws. A quick plunge into icy water in the middle of winter with the nearest helping hand miles distant, is a sobering consideration for any frost-bitten sailor. The Detroit Ice Yachting Club has fostered one of the more exclusive organizations in the world - the Hell Divers. To be eligible, a yachtsman merely has to take the plunge and survive to tell the story. While the Skeeter pilots crow about their superiority over the larger boats, they frankly admit that the speed record probably will remain in the hands of Class A men. Speed runs are made over a straight measured course, under ideal wind and ice conditions and from a flying start. It is under the varying conditions of ice and wind in competitive racing - where maneuverability is at a premium - that the big boats are left behind. THE END Editor's Note: A future History Blog will discuss the Hell Divers. 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Editor's Note: The following essay is by author and steamboat scholar Richard V. Elliott (1934-2014). His two volume history of Hudson River Steamboats "The Boats of Summer" is coming soon from Schiffer Publishing. More information about hospital ships can be found here. While "Dean Richmond" was being torn apart at Boston in 1909, the City of Yonkers ventured to consider purchasing the old steamer for possible conversion into a floating hospital. At the time, certain officials wanted a craft for use in providing quarantined care of convalescing children and contagiously diseased patients. Yonkers' Mayor Warren wrote to Alexander M. Wilson of the Boston Association for the Relief and Control of Tuberculosis, asking his advice about purchasing the "Richmond" for hospital duties. An Equity of $3,000 and a Sad State Mr. Wilson went to the yards of Thomas Butler in Boston, where the once well respected steamer was being dismantled, took a good look at her and sent his appraisal to May Warren. In a rather ambivalent manner, Wilson reported: "I have just returned from an inspection of the "Dean Richmond", and I must confess that I feel incompetent to render a judgement as to its value to you. It is difficult to determine just what you are to secure for $4,000 …. As the boat stands, it is in a sad state of disorder … would cost another $1,000 to tow her to New York …" Wilson was particularly impressed with the "Richmond's" hull, reporting that the copper plating of the hull was worth $3,000 alone, and exclaimed, "there is an equity of $3,000 in the boat if you take the bare hull." He then went on to say, "The hull, however, is apparently in good condition, it has not needed to be pumped out since July 2 … and if you are limited to a floating hospital, I should think that you could not secure so much room for so little money in any other hulk that you might find." His report came to Yonkers July 26. Yonkers Declines Offer The 'high cost' of acquiring the remains of the steamer, even though she hadn't leaked appreciably for 24 days, was the reason expressed by the City Mayor in declining the opportunity to purchase the "Dean Richmond's" hull. After reading Wilson's report, Mayor Warren stated, "…it would now seem that that (this floating hospital) was impracticable, because the cost to the city would be too great, and the same amount of money could be used to better advantage in the establishment of a land camp." Thus, with this last hope for further service dashed, the scrappers continued their job of dismantling. So ended the life of "Dean Richmond." 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: This post is prepared from newspaper articles from The New York Times, Sunday, January 28, 1973, By Woody N. Klose; Hudson Register Star, February 17, 1976 and Soundings December 1972 by Elizabeth Manuele. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to White Wings and Black Ice here. The New York Times, Sunday, January 28, 1973, By Woody N. Klose It is because of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's abiding love for the river and its winter ice that a slice of Hudson Valley history could be reconstructed last year in an 80‐foot‐long basement in a house high on a bill overlooking Newburgh. There, in the house of contractor, Robert R. Lawrence, a band of devoted valley men reconstructed the legendary gaff‐rigged ice yacht "Jack Frost". Had it not been for Roosevelt, the "Jack Frost" would long ago have become just another part of the rich valley earth. Commodore Archibald Rogers of Hyde Park owned the original Jack Frost, an iceboat of staggering dimensions. Built in 1883, the original "Jack Frost" carried 760 square feet of sail and measured 49½ feet from bow to stern along the backbone. In 1938 when the boathouse in which the "Jack Frost" was stored was destroyed by a hurricane, Roosevelt, concerned about the future of iceboating, gave the huge boat to Richard Aldrich of Barrytown. Aldrich had done much to keep alive the spirit of iceboating and, in the process, had amassed a sizable collection of antique ice yachts of Hudson River design, with the steering runner in the stern. Unfortunately, the original backbone, cockpit and runnerplank of the "Jack Frost" had been left in the open, near the remains of the boathouse, where they disintegrated and disappeared. But the hollow spars and much of the hardware were saved, and using dimensions on file in the archives of the Roosevelt Library, the "Jack Frost" was born again. Under the supervision of Ray Ruge, a foremost ice yacht expert, and Lawrence, the "Jack. Frost" was reconstructed, incorporating the pieces of the original boat. However, the craftsmen did not reconstruct the original "Jack Frost", designed and built in 1883 but refashioned the one of 1900, a slightly different model. As was the custom then, during all the modifications she never lost her name. While the owner might have a new backbone constructed or alter the size of sails or runners, he would not change the name of his prize boat. So the name, "Jack Frost", was transferred from boat to boat over two decades and down through half a century as the ice‐yacht was created, modified, almost destroyed and eventually reconstructed. Cockpit Box - Commodore Robert Lawrence of the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club tries out the partially restored cockpit box of the "Jack Frost". The box is made of Honduras mahogany, oak, whitewood and trimmed with brass. A crew will man this cockpit when the famous 19th century iceboat, the “Jack Frost” is completed. Photo by Robert Richards from the Ray Ruge archives. Hudson River Maritime Museum. It was a problem, locating and buying timbers large enough to reconstruct her. The Hudson River Ice Yacht Club procured 10 pieces of Sitka spruce from the West Coast. Sitka spruce grows only in Alaska and British Columbia and is especially prized for its uniform character and long, straight grain. The club paid $1,000 for this valuable wood. The racing history of the "Jack Frost" is as unusual as the craft itself. Sailing for the Poughkeepsie Ice Yacht Club in 1883, her maiden year, she won the Ice Yacht Challenge Pennant of America, beating sailors and boats from North Shrewsbury, N.J. She won again in 1887, under the colors of the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club. In 1893, she took on the Orange Lake Ice Yacht Club for the pennant, and the result was the same. There were two races for the pennant in 1902 and "Jack Frost" sailed home with the trophy both times. Since then, the race for the challenge pennant and even the "Jack Frost" have almost become forgotten. They began to be “things that can wait till next year.” By World War I, ice yachting on the Hudson had all but vanished. Thanks to the leadership of Ruge, Lawrence, Aldrich's son, Ricky, and many others, iceboating on the Hudson River is coming back strong. Hudson Register Star, January 17, 1976 Historic Ice Yacht Glides Down Hudson River Again “Jack Frost”, four-time winner of the ice yacht Challenge Pennant … was taken off the ice for many years. It was launched on Orange Lake in 1973 after the Hudson River Ice Sailing Club spent three years restoring it. In was put back on the Hudson (River) in January 1976 off Croton. In February it was trucked to Barrytown when the ice off Croton began to break up. It needs at least six inches of ice to support its 2,500 pound weight. Robert Bard of Red Hook, a Hudson River Ice Sailing Club member, said the restoration was completed by the combined effort of many persons who often met Tuesday evening after work to lavish attention on the boat. Reid Bielenberg of Red Hook assisted with the rigging, and Bard helped mix adhesive. Other local men who helped in different stages were Dick Suggat of Rhinebeck, Earl A’Brial of Red Hook, Bob Fennel of Barrytown and Rick Aldrich of Barrytown. Bard said the craft was launched at Barrytown with some difficulty, because of its weight and size. Its mast is more than 30 feet tall and seven inches in diameter. The boom is 33 feet long, and its main runners are 28 feet long. 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. The “Empire of Troy” was constructed in 1843, being 307 feet long, and was one of the leading Hudson river boats of her time, running in line with the steamboat “Troy” on the New York-Troy route. She was the second large steamboat built for the Troy Line and was supposed to be called the “Empire” but her owners feared that she might be mistaken for an Albany boat so they had the name “Empire Of Troy” painted in large, black letters on her paddle-wheel boxes. These owners had plenty of reason to be proud of their vessel because she was the largest of her type that had been built up to that time. However, despite her size and construction, she turned out to be a rather unfortunate craft, meeting with many mishaps. In April of 1845, she met with a most peculiar accident. During a dense fog she ran into the pier at the foot of 19th street in the North River. Although this pier was constructed of solid, ballasted crib-work, the impact was so great the steamer’s hull cut through the pier for a distance of 30 feet, doing little or no damage to the vessel but completely wrecking the pier. On the night of May 18, 1849, the “Empire of Troy” left New York bound for Troy. While proceeding up Newburgh Bay at 10 o’clock at night, she was in a collision with the sloop “Noah Brown”. The “Empire of Troy” began to settle immediately and the steamer “Rip Van Winkle” which was following the ill-fated vessel, succeeded in rescuing a great number of passengers, but even at that some 24 lives were lost. The “Rip Van Winkle” towed the “Empire of Troy” over to the flats on the eastern side of the river where she settled on the bottom. She was later raised and repaired, and continued to run on the Troy route until another accident of a similar nature eventually put her out of service. This second accident which wrote “finis” to the steamer’s career happened between two and three o’clock in the morning of July 16, 1853, of New Hamburgh. The pilot of the “Empire of Troy” saw the sloop “General Livingston” trying to beat across his bow. He threw over his wheel so as to give the sloop leeway, but the “General Livingston suddenly sheered off and struck the “Empire of Troy” on the larboard side, throwing her boiler from its anchorings and staving in the guards and paddlebox. The passengers, alarmed by the terrific crash and the noise of escaping steam, rushed from their berths and staterooms into the upper cabin and saloon, only to be submerged in the cabin and scalded in the saloon. A chambermaid, frightfully scalded, jumped overboard and was drowned. Captain Smith ordered the bell rung to call help but before any aid arrived, the vessel had careened to the leeward and was rapidly filling. The sloop “First Effort” and the propellor-driven “Wyoming” then came alongside and took off the passengers, and later the “Wyoming” pushed the “Empire of Troy” into the shallows on the eastern shore where she sank in eight feet of water. The accident caused the death of eight people and injured 14 others. Those that were scalded were given first aid at the residence of Mr. Van Renssaleer at New Hamburgh. The “Empire of Troy” was finally raised but it was found that her hull was badly damaged and so she was dismantled after a record of only 10 years service. 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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