​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. 

The Albany Day Line's success with the famous Albany of 1880 led to the creation of a grand sister-ship named New York. With her addition to the Line the company had two fine, big and speedy paddle wheel day passenger steamers each named for a terminal of their Hudson River service. The Álbany's´sister was completed in 1887, some seven years later. Though she has been traditionally regarded as a true sister-ship, they were markedly different in appearance.

The New York was designed with her three stacks running athwartships as on the Albany and the C. Vibbard, but unlike the other two, her stacks were located forward of the paddlewheels, while the others had the opposite arrangement. Ironically, many people of the day regarded the New York's design as "backwards" and the Albany's style to be "correct." Historically, however, this general local opinion does not seem to have a firm foundation, since a good many of the contemporary steamboats throughout the northeast section of the U.S. had been designed with stacks forward, followed in order by the walking beam and paddlewheels last. This was true to an extent on the Hudson River as well, but some folks from other areas regarded the Hudson River development of wheels, walking beam and stacks aft to be out of the ordinary. Looking at photographs of the New York, however, the location of the boat's wheels do seem to be somewhat extraordinarily near the stern. The New York's lines, especially her hull lines, were streamlined and graceful and she was as fast as the lines suggested that she would be.

Much expected and delivered on Maiden Trip
Costing some $250,000 and equipped with 4,000 horsepower in a fine hull, much was expected of the New York's performance, by the Albany Day Line and the contemporary steamboat conscious traveling public as well. One New York newspaper heralded the news of her 1887 maiden voyage up the Hudson River in the following detailed description: "The new steamboat New York, with a thousand passengers on board, made her first regular trip up the Hudson to-day, and was enthusiastically received at all points by shouts and cheers, bells ringing and whistles blowing. She left New York at 9:40 a.m. and was two minutes behind at Yonkers, twelve minutes ahead of time at Stony Point, and made West Point, fifty miles from New York at 11:40 a.m. She ran from Hampton Point to Milton, five miles against tide and wind, in thirteen minutes or at the rate of 23 miles per hour, and a fraction and from Milton to Poughkeepsie, four miles in 10 minutes, or at a rate of 24 miles per hour." She had made the 50 mile distance to West Point in two hours flat, making her average for this stretch of the trip some 25 miles per hour, an accomplishment many of the modern steamboats and diesels operating on the Hudson River in modern days would envy. Many of today's motorists still don't make the trip in as good time. New York proved she was a top-ranking "flyer" on the Hudson on her first trip and kept that reputation for the rest of her days.

Since I began writing this series of steamboat articles for “Tempo,” I’ve received some 50 letters and more than 100 telephone calls from interested readers. It has been amazing to me, at least, to discover the wide audience reached by the articles. Letters have been received from such diverse points as Alaska, California, and Florida.
           
One of the more interesting of these came from Mrs. Richard Dawson of Silver Springs, Maryland. Her father, Frank Luedike, was the Barrytown agent of the Saugerties and New York Steamboat Company from 1901 until the company ceased operations at the onset of the Great Depression of the 1930’s. She mentioned an incident that was previously unknown to me and had given me permission to use her letter. It follows:

Dear Captain Benson: I have not been able to resist writing to you about the journey into the past afforded by your most enjoyable articles in The Freeman on the well remembered Hudson River steamboats. Of deepest interest and nostalgia to me was the “No More Night Boats from Saugerties.”
           
You see, my father (Frank Luedtke) was Agent-in-Charge of the Barrytown dock of the Saugerties and New York Steamboat Company from 1901 until the company went out of business. My parents lived, and I was born, in the house right on the bank of the river - reached by a flight of stairs from the dock. This property was purchased by the company with the express purpose of providing a place for their Barrytown agent to live.

In particular, the account of your visit aboard the “Robert A. Snyder” on that afternoon in New York at Pier 43, North River, foot of Christopher Street (how often I heard that address!) brought back many wonderful memories of my childhood and Captain Richard W. Heffernan. He was so wonderful to a small girl who thought that, next to her father, he was about the greatest thing that had ever happened to her and the resplendent gold braid of the Captain’s uniform really cinched it! I am happy to say I never had occasion to change that opinion in later years when the gold braid was long gone - the wonderful person that he was still continued to shine!
           
I also remember well the pilot with whom you spoke and who gave you such timely advice. Strangely enough, I’ve always remembered his name as Harry Gough - not grough has the paper had it. However, I could be wrong about that. The helmsman or quartermaster that I remember was a blond haired young man by the name of Johnnie but his last name escapes me at this point.
           
Incidentally, Captain Heffernan was instrumental in literally saving for us the home I mentioned earlier. Just to the north was a piece of property on which had stood one of the ice houses owned by the Knickerbocker Ice Company. With the advent of electric refrigerators, ice harvesting from the river was no longer profitable and the ice house, badly deteriorated, was pulled down and the materials mostly left where they were. Each summer at least one careless individual walking through would flick a cigarette butt which would ignite the sawdust remaining from the ice house.
           
This, of course, was the most difficult fire to conquer as, while it would seem to be extinguished, it was smouldering beneath the surface only waiting for a breeze to fan it into flame. On this particular late afternoon, a strong breeze from the north sprang up and a really large fire took hold. The Red Hook Fire Department responded but, at that time, they had no pumper so could only stand by with the chemical engine to use on the house should it catch.
           
Just as my mother had some treasured items and clothing ready to be moved out, the “Robert A. Snyder” hove into view. Captain Heffernan immediately sized up the situation and as soon as she was made fast at the dock, the captain ordered her hoses broken out and the pumps manned. The fire was shortly under control, the house was saved and the freight loading operation went on! But, it had been an unforgettable experience I assure you.
            I
also enjoyed your article on the “Old Steamboat Whistles at Rondout.” However, since none of these boats put into “our” dock, with the exception of the “Jacob H. Tremper,” I do not particularly remember their various whistles. Aside from the “Robert A. Snyder” and “Ida,” probably my most vivid recollections are of the beautiful picture the Night Line boats presented gliding by on a mirror-like river with each of their lights from seem to stern reflecting a double glitter. As I recall, they would pass Barrytown going downriver at about 11:15 p.m.
           
I hope you will forgive the presumption on your time of these rambling reminiscences of a total stranger. I can only blame the contagion of your articles which I have just received from relatives in Kingston. Thank you for writing them!  
Sincerely yours, Wilhelminia Luedtke Dawson

​Very few persons who journey up and down the Hudson River either upon the palatial steamers or upon the railway trains that run along both banks of this great waterway know how great an amount of wealth is daily floated to this city on the canalboats and barges that compose the immense tows that daily leave West Troy, Lansingburg, Albany, Kingston, and other points along the river bound for this city. Twice each day-—early in the morning and in the evening—a large number of tows made up of boats that have come through the Erie Canal from Buffalo, the Northern Canal from points along Lake Champlain as far north as Rouse's Point, and through the Delaware and Hudson Canal from the anthracite coal regions of Lackawanna and Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, leave the above places in tow of huge side-wheel towboats and of puffing little screw propeller tugs, all moving toward one objective point, which is New-York City.

​Frequently these tows will be bunched together, so that, within a distance of three or four miles on the river, there can be seen several hundred barges and canalboats afloat carrying in their holds hundreds of thousands of dollars in merchandise, produce, lumber, grain, and ore. Many of these single tows contain as much as 100 boats, and sometimes a larger number, marshaled six and eight abreast, and reaching back at least a quarter of a mile from the stern of the leaders to the sterns of the last boats. Few persons would believe it, if told that enough freight was carried in a single tow of this kind to load a couple of dozen large trains of freight cars; yet such in the case.

During the past week several such tows have arrived from Albany in tow of the powerful tugs of the Schuyler Steam Towboat Line of 15 South-street. Their largest steamer, the huge side-wheeler Vanderbilt, only a few days ago brought down from Albany 120 grain barges, each barge carrying from 8,000 to 10,000 bushels of grain, weighing 240 tons, with a gross tonnage for the entire tow of nearly 40,000 tons. On Tuesday last one of their smaller boats, the Belle, Capt. John Oliver, assisted by the propeller James T. Easton, brought seventy-four boats from Albany and Troy, many of them laden with iron ore from Lake Champlain, while the others were loaded with grain and lumber and lying so low in the water that much of the time they were partially submerged. The gross tonnage of this tow was over 25,000 tons.
​
In taking a trip from this city to Albany, frequently as many as fifty of these tows are passed, it taking about thirty-six or forty hours for them to reach port at this city after leaving Albany. From Kingston, which is the tide-water outlet of the Delaware and Hudson Canal, another class of merchandise is shipped in the same manner. From the mouth of the Rondout Creek, which forms the harbor of the thriving and busy city of Kingston, can be seen emerging every evening huge rafts of canalboats, tall-masted down-Easters, and barges of various sorts, laden with coal, ice, hay, lumber, lime, cement, bluestone, brick, and country produce. Many of these craft have received their cargoes at the wharves of Kingston, while others have come from the coal regions about Honesdale and Scranton, in Pennsylvania, all bound for this port and consigned to, perhaps, as many different persons as there are boats in the tow.

Of the heaviest part of the traffic of the entire river at least two-thirds is monopolized by the two great towing companies, the Cornell Transportation Company of Kingston and the Schuyler Steam Towboat Line of Albany. The Schuyler Company practically has a monopoly of the trade coming from the Erie and Champlain Canals at Albany and Troy, as well as the towing for the Pennsylvania Coal Company from Newburg, while the Cornells hold in a tight grasp the business of the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company from Kingston, both north and south, on the river. The business of the Knickerbocker and other ice companies, which is something immense in volume, is scattered about among individual towboat owners, the two companies spoken of above, and several smaller towing lines.
On the arrival of the tows that come from various points up the river at this port a complete transformation takes place from the sleepy quiet that has reigned on the boats while slowly, but steadily, on their way creeping down the river. As soon as a large tow is sighted far up the river, a number of tugs belonging to the various towing lines in the harbor start with a full head of steam and race with each other to reach the tow. Each tug carries orders from the consignee of some particular boat to take it from the tow and place it in some selected berth. The boats to be dropped first from the tow are always placed on the outside or on the tail end, and as soon as the tugs reach them they begin to cast off and the tow begins to break up. They are then picked up by the tugs sent for them and taken to their several destinations.

The boats from the Albany tows, laden with flour and grain, are mostly taken to the piers along the East River from Pier 3 to Coenties-slip, the Erie and Atlantic Basins, and the elevator docks at Dow’s stores in Brooklyn. The boats laden with lumber, brick, cement, lime, building material, and bluestone from Kingston and other points are docked at the brick, stone, and lumber yards along the North and East Rivers, the coal barges go to Weehawken and Perth Amboy, and the ice barges to various stations along the North and East Rivers.
​
Among the famous towboats plying between this city and up-river points are the America, Anna, Belle, Cayuga, Connecticut, Niagara, Ontario, Syracuse, Vanderbilt, Oswego, Mount Washington, Austin, Sammy Cornell, James T. Easton, the famous old ice king the Norwich, and many others. Many of these boats have labored upon this great waterway for at least thirty years, and some of them for a longer period. They have earned fortunes for their owners, and have also furnished employment for a huge army of men whose lives have been spent on the river and whose occupation promises to descend to their children in turn. The wealth that has been transported to this city in tow of this fleet of steam vessels is incalculable, and probably far exceeds if not doubles that of any other waterway in the world.

Fortune Telling – A system of fraud has been lately followed in this city, to a considerable extent, which is important the public should have a knowledge of, that they may guard against impositions. A man named Pierce has been in the practice of enticing people from the country to houses on pretence of getting their fortunes told, and he would then fleece them out of their money. His practice was to leave the city until he ascertained that the cheated person had gone off, and he would then return and practice his villanies on others. Complaints had sometimes been made to the police officers, but they could never get Pierce, until the complainant had left the city, and there was then no evidence to convict him. But last week the biter got bit.

One or two weeks ago, a man from Vermont, named Carey, who had engaged a passage to the west, in a canal boat, was accosted by Pierce, who told him he was going in the same boat, and by his attentions to him become ingratiated in his favor. He proposed to C. to go and get their fortunes told.

In going across one of the pier bridges, they met a man named Brown; P. pretended to be a stranger to him, and asked him where there was a fortune teller. B. said he was one. They then went into a store on the pier, where B. commenced telling P's fortune, and the latter expressed his great astonishment that he could tell him so correctly, how old he was and where he was born, & c. He then urged Carey to have his fortune told, but C. declined. P. and B. then began to bet on the turning up of cards.

Finally B. offered to bet $50 that he would turn up a particular card after the pack had been shuffled by his adversary. Pierce said he had but $210 with him, and after much urging, he persuaded Carey to lend him forty dollars. The particular card was not turned up, when P. seized the money and immediately left the room. Carey could not find him afterwards. He made complaint to the police, but Pierce could not be found, having gone off as usual. The police advised Carey to leave the ciy in the boat in which he had engaged to go to the western part of the state, but to stop a few miles out for town for a short time, and advise where he could be found, in case they secured Pierce. The plan succeeded; Pierce, having ascertained that Carey had gone, and supposing him far away from the city, returned, intending no doubt to renew his schemes on others. But the officers of Justice laid their hands on him, and having obtained the attendance of Carey, the cunning Mr. Pierce was committed to prison, and will be tried next week. He has been taught the lesson that simple honest is better than the deepest craft.
​
Brown left the city at the same time with Pierce. He also has since been arrested. Albany Gazette

eThe steamboat “John Sylvester” is another sidewheeler which began her career on “foreign waters,” came to the Hudson river for use as an excursion vessel, and finally ended her career under a different name in southern waters.
               
The wooden hull of the “John Sylvester” was built by Michael Allison at Jersey City, N.J., in 1866; and her engine was the product of Murphy, McCurdy & Warden of New York. Her hull was 193 feet in length, (overall length of 207 feet) breadth of beam 30 feet, over the guards she measured 50 feet; depth of hold nine feet seven inches. The gross tonnage of the “John Sylvester” was listed at 495, and the net tonnage was 338, and her engine was the vertical beam type with a cylinder diameter of 44 inches with a 10 foot stroke.
               
Originally the “John Sylvester” plied the waters of the James river as a dayboat between Norfolk and Richmond, Virginia, carrying passengers and mail. She was a swift sidewheel steamboat of very trim lines, and was capable of a speed of 18 miles per hour. The “John Sylvester” made her first trip on the James river on April 7, 1866, and remained on this route until March 22, 1878, when she was transferred for a very short term of service on the Delaware river.
               
During the summer of 1878 the “John Sylvester” made her first appearance in New York waters where she was employed in the excursion bussiness. For a number of years the steamboat was in service during the summer months carrying excursionist to the picnic groves along the lower reaches of the Hudson river as far as Newburgh. She was also in service on Long Island Sound to Sands Point, Bay Ridge, Coney Island, Rockaway, and several other smaller resorts.
               
While she was in use as an excursion steamboat in the summer months on the Hudson river and Long Island Sound, the “John Sylvester” spent the winter months on the St. Johns river in Florida as a dayboat. Unlike many of the river steamboats familiar to the folks of the Hudson valley, the “John Sylvester” did not lie idle during the winter while the river was ice-bound; and thus while she was plying the waters of the St. Johns river she established a speed record between Jacksonville and Palalka- a distance of 75 miles- of four hours and 15 minutes.
               
The “John Sylvester” was finally purchased by Anning Smith who operated her around New York harbor for a time. Later he took the steamboat to Bridgeport, Connecticut- running her on excursions out of Bridgeport on Long Island Sound.
               
On June 20, 1920, the “John Sylvester” was sold to a concern in Baltimore, Maryland. Her new owners renamed her the “Starlight,” and put her in service carrying excursionists along the shores of Chesapeake Bay- until she sank at a wharf in Baltimore, bringing to a close her career.

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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.
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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 

"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.

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published ​ 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. 
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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.

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.
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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.
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The new look in Liberty ships appears to be not only new but also very pleasing.

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