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. 

Deemed one of the most handsome steamboats of her class ever to sail the waters of the Hudson river, the “Rosedale” enjoyed an existence of 45 years in which she saw service on many routes and finally was consumed by flames in the same port where she was launched many years before.

The wooden hull of the “Rosedale” was constructed at Norfolk, Virginia in 1877, being 216 feet long. She had a breadth of beam of 34 feet two inches, depth of hold 10 feet. The gross tonnage was 938 with the net tonnage rating of 677, and she was powered with a vertical beam engine with a cylinder diameter of 50 inches with a 12 foot stroke.

The “Rosedale” was built for service on the James river but was soon brought north to New York waters. Her first appearance in New York harbor created much favorable comment among steamboat men who admired her trim lines and considered her a very handsome vessel for her class. Few steamboats in and about New York harbor at that period carried their boilers in the hold and forward of the engine as did the “Rosedale.”

​In the summer of 1878 the “Rosedale” was placed in service between Peekskill and New York as a dayboat. This period of service was short-lived and the “Rosedale” next appeared as an excursion vessel around New York harbor, also making trips to Coney Island.

On September 18, 1879, the “Rosedale” inaugurated a day service under the management of Captain Anning J. Smith, between New York and Bridgeport as an opposition vessel, and the fare from Bridgeport to New York was reduced to sixty-five cents or one dollar per round trip. This opposition was continued until 1892 when the “Rosedale” was taken into the rival steamboat line.

1902 marked the advent of several new steamboats for use on this route, with the result that the “Rosedale” was laid up for a time. During the summer months of 1905 and 1906, Captain Smith engaged in the excursion business, running the “Rosedale” to Coney Island and Rockaway Beach.

The spring of 1907 found the “Rosedale” running on the James river during the Jamestown Exhibition; the following fall the steamboat was back in New York harbor. In the spring of 1908 the “Rosedale” was again used on the Rockaway Beach route and for short routes around New York.

​Philadelphia was the next port of call for the “Rosedale” as she appeared in and around the Quaker city on the Delaware river in 1917 and continuing there until 1920. She was then taken to Norfolk, Virginia and laid up at the Merritt & Chapman yard. Fire ravaged the Rosedale in 1922 while she was laid-up at Norfolk, ending the career which had begun 45 years previous at the same port.

A few years ago the Metropolitan Museum of Art release this beautifully shot film of New York City in 1911. Made by a team of cameramen with the Swedish company Svenska Biografteatern, these views of New York were just one of the films they made chronicling famous cities around the world. 

Some of this footage may look familiar, as you may have seen a shorter version (basically they cut the steamboats out!) published in 4K on YouTube a few years ago that went viral. A genealogist even did a follow-up investigation of some of the people featured in the film, and tracked down their ancestors!  

But for the maritime historians at HRMM, the version published by MOMA was super fun to watch because we got to see several historic steamboats in action! The Orient, Mary Patten, Rosedale, and the sidewheel steam ferry Wyoming are all featured, and the Rosedale and the Wyoming are both depicted underway with their walking beam steam engines rocking away. It's interesting to see how slowly the walking beam is moving when compared to the speed of the boats, which indicates that those pistons are moving with an incredible amount of force to turn the paddlewheels so quickly. 

Although the rest of the film is fun to watch, the steamboats are in the first two minutes, so we thought we'd give a little history of some of the vessels you're seeing!

The sidewheel steamboat Orient was originally built in 1896 as the Hingham for the Boston & Hingham Steamboat Company. In 1902 she was purchased by the Montauk Steamboat Company and renamed Orient, where she operated until 1921 when she was sold to a company in Mobile, Alabama and renamed Bay Queen and continued to operate until 1928. 

Built in 1893 in Brooklyn, NY the Mary Patten was operated by the Patten Steamboat Company, running between New York City and Long Branch, NJ, which was a resort area in the late 19th century. The Patten Line (also known as the New York and Long Branch Steamboat Company) was founded by Thomas G. Patten in 1890 and in 1893 he built a new passenger steamboat named the Mary Patten after mother, Maria (Mary) Patten, who had died in 1886. (It is not, sadly, named after heroic Cape Horner Mary Ann Brown Patten.) The steamboat Mary Patten stayed in the family and on the NYC run until 1930, when the Patten Line folded and the Mary Patten was sold to the Highlands, Long Branch, and Bred Bank Steamboat Company, where she may have operated for a year until being taken out of operation. 

The history of the sidewheel steam ferry Wyoming was not easy to track down, especially since there were a number of other vessels named Wyoming, including an earlier sidewheel steamboat immortalized by James Bard. But thankfully Brian J. Cudahy's Over and Back: The History of Ferryboats in New York Harbor had some answers. 

The iron-hulled, walking beam sidewheel steam ferry Wyoming was built in 1885 by Harlan & Hollingsworth in Wilmington, Delaware for the Greenpoint Ferry Company (1853-1921). The Wyoming was in service as a ferry on the East River until around 1920, when she was sold to the City of New York. She "later ran for upper Hudson River interests" (p. 444 of Cudahy) until she was scrapped in 1943, likely a victim of both bridges and the war effort.

The above photo, taken in 1940 by steamboat historian Donald C. Ringwald, may have been one of her last. 

If you'd like to learn about the last steamboat visible in the film above, the Rosedale​, stay tuned! We'll featured more on her later this week.

I was awfully glad when a friend proposed a trip to Saratoga.  I had been awfully jolly in New York, but New York had gone out of town, leaving nothing but its streets and its tram-cars behind it.  In London we have such a perpetual flow of visitors — over one hundred thousand daily — that a fellow doesn't so much miss the "big crowd" as here, consequently when Saratoga was decided upon I felt extremely pleased indeed.  I had heard much of the palatial river steamers, and expected much.  I was down at Pier 41 at an early hour, and found the whole place occupied by one boat.  Such a boat! white as the driven snow, and larger than many an English village.  The people kept going into her until I imagined some game was up, and that they were stepping out at the other side.  No such thing; there was room for all ay, and more.  It was something immense to see the men getting into line for the ticket-office, with as much precision as if they were on parade.  No hurry, no crush, the regular "first come, first served" business, not as with us, when the biggest man comes to the front, and muscular Christianity tops over everything.  And the luggage! Mountains of it, from enormous nickel-bound boxes, fit to carry Cleopatra's Needle, to dainty hand-bags, such as Queen Victoria's take with them when rushing at sixty miles an hour "Upon Her Majesty's Service.'

It was awfully amusing to see this mountain gradually dissolving, as truck after truck bore its load within the recesses of the palpitating Drew.  For the first time I made acquaintance with a Saratoga trunk, and from what I see of it, it seems a first class invention — for another man's wife.  Near the gangway stood a handsome, gentlemanlike man, whose semi-naval uniform looked as though cut by Smallpage, of Regent Street.  This, I was informed, was Captain Roe, one of the most courteous and best-respected captains of the sea-like rivers of America.  I was instructed by my friend to take a state-room — at home I would have asked for a berth — and, having paid my money, became intrusted with the key of a charming little bedroom, better fitted up than that of my club, and boasting an electric bell. 

As I turned out of my newly acquired apartment I was much struck by a very stylishly attired young lady, gotten up to the pitch of traveling perfection, and as new as Lord Beaconsfield's Garter.  The man with her was also as if recently turned off a lathe.  He carried a couple of hand-bags that had never seen rain or shine before.  He hung lovingly around the lady, bending over to her, whispering into her ear, touching her hand, or her dress, or her parasol.  "By Jove!" thought I, "this is a brand-new bride and bridegroom, and what a doosid [sic] queer place to select for the moon."  Mentioning tis to Captain Roe, with a smile, he ordered a portly colored stewardess to open a door tight opposite to where I stood.  "This," he said, "is the bridal chamber — we have two on board.  As the pink one happens to be occupied, I can show you the blue."  Availing myself of the captain's kindness, I entered the [room], which is a symphony in blue and white, with a ceiling resembling a wedding-cake.  It is sixteen feet long, twelve broad, and nine feet high, and piquante as a boudoirette in Le Petit Trianon.  The walls are white, supported by fluted pillars with gilt capitals; the cornices of gold, and in each corner stands a statuette of Cupid.  The ceiling is a perfect broidery of white and pink and gold, frozen lace-work, ornamented with medallions representing appropriate scenes in mythological history.  Wreaths of orange blossoms entwined with forget-me-nots decorate it, within which are amorous love-birds, while in the centre of the ceiling, in relief, a pair of turtle doves bill and coo upon a perch composed of hymeneal torches, and the new spent arrows of the rosy god.  The chamber is lighted by two windows, hung with blue satin curtains trimmed with gold fringe, the inner curtain being of lace.  A mirror, whose gilt frame is composed of Cupids and orange-blossoms, extends from floor to ceiling; an inlaid table upon which is placed a richly chased tray, with ice pitcher and goblets, an easy-chair a caressing lounge, a rosewood toilet-stand fitted n blue, and the bed, constitute the furniture of this fairy-like apartment.  Such a bed! rosewood, gilt to the carpet, with a blue satin spread covered with real lace, pillows to match, and a rug as soft as the tenderest sigh ever breathed by love-stricken swain.  The president of the company, too, is the happy possessor of a special room fitted up in the extremity of good taste.

​A gong sounded for dinner, and, following a strong lead, as we do at whist, I found myself in a large, brilliantly-lighted apartment, set with several tables.  The menu was extensive enough to meet the requirements of the most exacting appetite, while the viands bore witness to skillful cookery.  After dinner I went for a stroll, yea, a veritable stroll — always striking against the bride and bridegroom — in a saloon picked out in white and gold, the chandeliers burning gas, and the motion being so imperceptible that the glass drops did not even waggle — on a carpet fit for Buckingham Palace, and in a grove of sumptuous furniture; then for'ard, where many gentlemen in straw hats were engaged in discussing the chances of General Grant for something or other, I know not what; then aft, where many ladies sat in picturesque traveling attitudes, gazing at the soft outlines of the shore on either hand, some alone and some doing the next best thing to flirting.

What a sleep I had!  No more motion than if I was at the club.  No noise, no confounded fume of train-oil and its rancid confrères.  I slept like a humming-bird, and next morning found myself at Albany.  This place is on a hill, surmounted by a white marble building, and Capitol, which, when competed, will be an awfully imposing affair.  I took the train for Saratoga —  a drawing-room car — and such a boudoirette on wheels! —  I felt as if I was in a club-window all the time.

Saratoga is awfully jolly.  It is the best thing I have seen, with its main street as wide as the Boulevard Malesherbe or Haussman, and lined for a mile and a half with magnificent elms, which shade hotels as big as some European towns.  It is always thronged with carriages just like Rotten Row in the season, and lots of people on horseback.  The piazzas of the hotels are crowded with stunningly pretty girls, dressed, all over the place.  Overhead is an Italian sky, blue as sapphire, and a golden tropical light falls around, picking out the shadows in dazzling contrast.  "I guess," as the Americans say, I'll drive my stakes pretty deep here.

For Sail Freighter Friday last week, we visited the cautionary tale of the John F. Leavitt, a wooden sailing ship built between 1976-79 and launched in October of 1979 in Thomlinson, Maine. Conceived of by amateurs as a way to revive sail freight in the wake of the Oil Crisis of the 1970s, the vessel would go on to become a cautionary tale, and set back the idea of sail freight for decades. 

Several years after he began filming the project, filmmaker Jon Craig Cloutier released "Coaster: A true story of the John F. Leavitt." In 1982, the year "Coaster" won best feature documentary at the American Film Festival, the New York Times interviewed Cloutier:

The waves were over 20 feet high and the winds stronger than 60 miles an hour on that eighth day at sea. ''The sun was setting in the west and we were sinking in the east,'' Jon Craig Cloutier said.

Mr. Cloutier, a film maker, was one of nine persons aboard a 97-foot schooner, the John F. Leavitt, on its maiden and final voyage. The ship was 187 miles off the coast of Long Island on Dec. 29, 1979, and night was approaching when the nine aboard and 3,600 feet of film were saved by two helicopters from the 106th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Group.

A Russian trawler had received the ship's call for help and sent an S O S to the New York National Guard in Westhampton. ''Two large jolly green giants appeared in the sky,'' Mr. Cloutier said. ''The last thing to go into one helicopter was my film.'' Fifty thousand dollars worth of photographic equipment was left on the ship.

Watch the full film below.

The film covers the ship's construction, launch, maiden voyage, and disastrous end. Narrated from the point of view of Ned Ackerman, the school teacher who dreamed up the idea of the John F. Leavitt, the film runs just over 90 minutes long. 

Although the official release date is 1983, the film was shown as early as 1981. This November 23, 1981 review from the Washington Post reads:

"Coaster," which opened Friday at the Inner Circle, is the story of the John F. Leavitt, the trading schooner that was launched in a crescendo of windship romanticism two years ago and sank on her maiden voyage.

She was the dream of a former college teacher named Ned Ackerman, a young man with a sea captain's beard and an unflagging desire to construct a 98-foot, 100-ton sailing vessel for glory and profit.

From the beginning he was dogged by cameramen, and this 90-minute film is the result of their chronicle. It appealingly records the Leavitt's construction, from the laying of her keel to the fitting of the "shutter plank" that sealed her hull. The Maine craftsmen, and their tools and techniques, are fascinating to watch and listen to. It took Ackerman four years to get the Leavitt built, but she came out right.

​He then cast off for Quincy, Mass., to pick up his first payload -- a cargo of chemicals and lumber bound for Haiti. Just before Christmas, heavy laden, the Leavitt set out into the North Atlantic. The temperature in Quincy was 8 degrees, and her crew was looking forward to the tropics.

Less than a week later, beset by a winter gale 150 miles southeast of Cape Cod, the Leavitt had received superficial damage to her rig, found her main bilge pump inoperable, and was reporting a 30-degree list to port. With more bad weather on the way, Ackerman put in a distress call to the Coast Guard. Helicopters arrived to evacuate him and his eight-person crew. The Leavitt apparently sank sometime thereafter.

The end of the John F. Leavitt was sad and inconclusive, and that is a condition that affects this documentary as well. Movie footage of the rescue itself was either lost, or not shot, so the tale simply stops. This is understandable, but difficult to forgive.

Even more difficult to forgive are the relentless sea chanteys, full moons and echoing narrative that give "Coaster" an overeager heroism. Had things come out all right, that would be merely annoying; as things are, it is bizarre. "Coaster" would make more sense on television, perhaps on a weekend morning. It is not what you expect to find in a movie theater.
​
As for Ackerman, brutal questions remain unanswered. After four years of willful publicity, in which he sought to bring back a lost era of seagoing, he abandoned ship in his first gale. Given the ambiguous ending of "Coaster," we are free to assume that Ackerman abandoned his dream ship while she was still afloat, rather than risk the lives of his crew in saving her.
That is the new tradition of the sea, not the old. Ackerman probably did the right thing. But he proved the wrong point. And since he is a first-class publicity hound, he proved it big.

What do you think? Do you agree with the Washington Post's review? 

If you'd like to learn more about sail freight and the Oil Crisis, visit the Hudson River Maritime Museum in-person or online to see our new exhibit "A New Age of Sail: The History and Future of Sail Freight on the Hudson River."

Most steam and many diesel tugs were what were known as "bell boats".  This means that the Captain in the wheelhouse - in charge of steering -  had no direct control over the machinery in the engine room. The Captain communicated his orders to the Engineer - in charge of the speed -  by using a code of sounds run on two bells which the captain rang with controls in the wheelhouse. Many companies had their own distinct bell codes. In general, the "gong" called for a change in engine direction and the "jingle" called for a change in engine speed. The engine room was very noisy so the bells had to be loud to be heard.

​Simplified Bell Signals:
When the boat was stopped: 1 gong - work ahead; 2 gongs - go astern
When working ahead or backing: 1 gong - stop

"Artifact donor Thomas Gerber was born and raised in downtown Kingston on Meadow Street.  Tom’s interests were many but he was particularly interested in ships and tugs and spent a great deal of time, as a young boy, at the shipyards on the Rondout Creek.  He said it was always so exciting to see a ship finally launched into the creek, ready for duty, after months and months in the making.  His Uncle, Dan Murphy, who helped raise him, was an engineer on the tugs. Many summers, his Uncle Dan would take him along on the tug, the "James F Dwyer", and they would go up through the locks.  Tom loved going on this two week (sometimes more) journey as he learned so much and got to spend time with his Uncle.  Tom’s dad died when Tom was just 5 years old so his Uncle was more like his dad.  

​When they were going to scrap the "James F. Dwyer", Tom wanted something to remember the tug by and was able to salvage the communication system between the pilot house and the engineer room which includes the bell, the large bell, which looks similar to a gong, and the pulls.  He had them restored to their original luster by a great craftsman, William C. Washburn.  Tom wanted this piece of history to be seen by many so donated them to the Hudson River Maritime Museum."  Thank you for Melodey Daley for this history.
​
Because of the growth of New York City into a major port and population center as immigrants poured into the city in the 19th century, the need for food and building materials soared.  The Hudson Valley produced many of the products needed, and shipped them by sailing vessels called sloops and schooners for at least two hundred years from the beginning of settlement in the 1600s.  Steamboats came on the scene gradually after 1807 carrying mostly passengers for many decades. Eventually steam towboats pulling multiple barges and canal boats took over the freight traffic on the Hudson. Though not speedy, these long tows were the cheapest way to ship bulk cargoes. Older passenger steamboats such as the Norwich were used at first as towboats.  Sidewheel steamboats such as the Oswego were built as towboats starting around 1850.  Propeller driven tugboats in the familiar shape that we know today began to be seen in the 1860s.

​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!​

In the early 20th century the Port of New York was one of the largest and busiest in the world. But all those steamboats, ocean liners, tugboats, barges, cargo vessels, and ferries meant sometimes accidents happened, and accidents on boats often meant fires. 

The New York Fire Department had a marine unit as early as the 1860s, using sidewheel steamboats to assist with waterfront fires and fires on ships. But some of the longest-serving fireboats were the John J. Harvey (1931-1999) and Fire Fighter (1938-2011), both of which are featured in this historic 1953 documentary (you can see the Harvey briefly in the beginning and most of the action takes place on the Fire Fighter​), and both of which are preserved as museum ships today.  

'Smoke Eaters" is slang for firefighters, and watching this historic film you can see why: no face masks or oxygen were being used in those days! 

The New York Fire Department still maintains a marine unit, as New York City is still one of the biggest ports in the world, albeit less busy today than a century ago. 

To learn more about the Fire Fighter, visit their website, or see her in Mystic, CT! 

To learn more about the John J. Harvey, visit their website, or see her this fall at HRMM!

To learn more about "Sea Going Smoke Eaters" in World War II, check out this this article from the May, 1944 issue of Popular Mechanics!