History
Sometimes, people are so serious about their cause, that they decide to stage a sit-in. Sometimes that, in itself, can become extreme. Such was the case when four students at the University of California, Berkeley, decided to occupy the treetops of an oak grove on campus on December 2, 2006. They were there to show their opposition to the university’s intention to clear more than an acre of forest for a new athletic center, sparking an epic 21-month standoff. This event marked one of the longest tree sit-ins in historical record. When I read that they were there that long, I was stunned. To give up almost 2 years of one’s life for a protest…unbelievable.
I understand the desire to save trees, but I guess, I can’t understand fighting such a losing battle. Tree sit-ins are “a method of civil disobedience” where protesters physically inhabit a tree to protect it from being felled, sometimes remaining there for extended durations. During the height of the Berkeley protest, more than twelve individuals resided among the branches of the grove’s oak and redwood trees, with volunteers and supporters providing them with food, water, and other necessities. This was not just civil disobedience, but it 
was assisted by more than a dozen people, to make sure that no one could cut down those trees, and they were the property of the university.
Of course, it wasn’t just the students either. They also had the backing of the Sierra Club and the California Native Plant Society, as well as facing lawsuits from three entities, including the Berkeley City Council, due to the project’s closeness to the hazardous Hayward Fault. A conservation analyst noted that the grove served as a habitat for over 300 animal species, such as deer, squirrels, woodpeckers, and moths. There were a number of “logical” reasons why the grove should be spared, but the fact remains that the animals would find another place to live, and they weren’t taking all the trees. I don’t mean to sound cold, and I’m as willing as the next guy to fight for things I believe in, but this made no sense…not to me anyway.
Nevertheless, the students held their ground until 2007, when an Alameda County judge issued an injunction that halted the plans to cut down a grove. It was a temporary “stay of execution” for the trees, but by July 2008, the court decided in favor of the university. Once the decision was made, campus police arrested protesters and dismantled their redwood encampments. There was an appeal, of course, to a state appeals court in September 2008, but they declined to halt construction, permitting the university to remove the entire grove within the next three days. A week later, the last four tree-sitters descended from one of the final two redwoods near the stadium and were arrested. The students had wasted 649 days of their lives, on a battle they couldn’t win. I guess hope springs eternal.
Being in the fur trade, especially back in the 1800s was no picnic. While the trapper was the one with the traps and the guns, that doesn’t mean that the wild animals couldn’t get the better of them from time to time. In addition, the hardships endured by even the most resilient of trappers, such as being alone in the wilderness and in constant danger of conflict with both wild animals and men, are beyond our ability to comprehend. Most perished in the quiet of remote areas, their names now lost, the valor of their final struggles unrecorded. Only the archives of the major fur companies offer scant references to such events deemed significant enough to document.
These events typically took place in the great mountains, where trappers held rendezvous and spent the majority of their lives. The catastrophic Battle of Pierre’s Hole, the valiant exploration of Utah, and the initial advance into California are all laden with dramatic episodes. However, these incidents occurred too far to the west to be included in the scope of this current work.
In the initial years of exploration, with beaver trapping along the streams, the Great Plains served primarily as a thoroughfare from civilized regions to the more lucrative mountainous areas beyond. Travelers, whether alone or in groups, journeyed up the Missouri River by boat or trekked along the Platte River valley on foot, aiming for the distant mountain ranges. Undoubtedly, they experienced considerable hardship, adventure, and conflicts with Native Americans along those extensive prairie stretches, yet these events were deemed too mundane to merit inclusion in the fur companies’ matter-of-fact records.
One man had a harrowing experience, and somehow it was deemed important to make it into the annals of history. The remarkable survival of Hugh Glass is a testament to the resilience and fortitude of these frontiersmen. Glass was part of Andrew Henry’s group on an expedition to the Yellowstone River. While hunting near the Grand River, a grizzly bear charged from the brush, knocked him down, ripped a chunk of flesh from him, and fed it to her cubs. Glass attempted to flee, but the bear quickly attacked again, biting his shoulder and causing severe injuries to his hands and arms. At that moment, his fellow hunters arrived and killed the bear. Glass was grievously injured and barely alive. He was not expected to live. In the hostile territory of the Native Americans, the group had to move on swiftly. Eventually, Major Henry persuaded two men to stay with Glass by offering a reward, while the rest continued on. The two were John S Fitzgerald and a man named “Bridges,” who some say was a young James “Jim” Bridger, the same Jim Bridger who would become a renowned trapper. That has not been confirmed. They stayed with Glass for five days, but losing hope in his recovery and seeing no signs of imminent death, they departed, taking his rifle and gear. Upon rejoining their group, they reported Glass as deceased.
Yet, Glass was still alive. Regaining consciousness, he dragged himself to a nearby spring. There, he found wild cherries and buffalo berries, which sustained him as he gradually regained his strength. Eventually, he embarked on a solitary trek to his destination, Fort Kiowa, on the Missouri River, 100 miles distant. He began his journey with barely enough strength to move, without provisions or any means to obtain them, in a land where any wandering Indian could easily overpower him. However, his will to live and a burgeoning desire for vengeance against those who had abandoned him spurred him on. Luck appeared to be on his side. He stumbled upon wolves attacking a buffalo calf. After the wolves had killed it, he scared them off and took the meat, consuming it as best as he could without a knife or fire. Carrying as much as possible, he continued determinedly and, despite immense suffering and difficulties, ultimately arrived at Fort Kiowa, located in what is now South Dakota.
Glass returned to the field before his wounds had fully healed. Heading east with a group of trappers along the Missouri River, they approached the Mandan villages, and he chose to traverse a bend in the river on foot. That turned out to be a wise move when Arikara Indians attacked the boats, killing everyone aboard. Glass, who was too weak to fight, narrowly escaped and was rescued by friendly Mandan Indians who took him to Tilton’s Fort. Driven by a desire for revenge against the two who had abandoned him in the mountains, he left Tilton’s that very night. So, Glass set out, braving the wilderness alone. He traveled for 38 days through territory hostile with Indian tribes, until he arrived at Fort Henry near the confluence of the Big Horn River in what is now Montana. There, he learned that the men he was after had headed east. Undeterred, he seized an opportunity to deliver a dispatch to Fort Atkinson, Nebraska.
Then, after completely healing from his injuries, Glass resumed his quest to locate Fitzgerald and “Bridges.” He made his way to Fort Henry on the Yellowstone River, only to discover it abandoned. A left-behind note revealed that Andrew Henry and his group had moved to a new encampment at the Bighorn River’s mouth. Upon reaching this location, Glass encountered “Bridges” and seemingly pardoned him due to his young age, before rejoining Ashley’s company.
Glass eventually discovered that Fitzgerald had enlisted in the army and was posted at Fort Atkinson, now in Nebraska. Glass chose to spare Fitzgerald’s life, knowing that the army captain would execute him for murdering a fellow soldier. Nevertheless, the captain demanded Fitzgerald return the rifle he had taken from Glass. Upon returning it, Glass cautioned Fitzgerald to never desert the army, or he would face death at Glass’s hands. A later account by Glass’s companion, George C Yount, which wasn’t published until 1923, revealed that Glass received $300 in restitution. I’m sure Fitzgerald felt he got off easy and had no plans to leave the army.
In early 1833, Glass, along with fellow trappers Edward Rose and Hilain Menard, was killed on the Yellowstone River during an Arikara attack. A monument honoring Glass stands near the location of his mauling on the southern bank of what is now Shadehill Reservoir in Perkins County, South Dakota, at the confluence of the Grand River. The adjacent Hugh Glass Lakeside Use Area also offers a state-maintained campground and picnic site at no cost.
When my Aunt Sandy Pattan and I go to lunch, she will usually forego vegetables for a double portion of mashed potatoes. Her request will usually accompany her asking me if I know that she is Irish, and so the love of potatoes. Of course, I know that she is Irish, because she is my aunt, and I know about my own Irish ties through her side of the family. Nevertheless, I can’t say that I connected the Irish part with potatoes. So, I decided to do a little research to find our why “the Irish like potatoes” as my aunt says. In my research, I found probably the last thing I expected.
In the annals of Irish history, the potato transcends its role as a staple food; it embodies both prosperity and hardship. It was instrumental in supporting the population during times of expansion, yet it also played a pivotal role in one of Ireland’s most catastrophic episodes: the Great Famine. The story of the potato in Ireland 
is a tale of how a single crop can influence the fate of a nation, weaving itself into the very fabric of the Irish cultural identity.
Few events in Irish history are as dark and devastating as the Great Hunger, also known as the Potato Famine. At that time, Ireland was a colony of Great Britain, which relied heavily on the country for potato production. However, in 1845, a devastating disease destroyed 75% of the potato crop, persisting for over five years. The local Irish population suffered the most. Estimates suggest that approximately one million Irish people died of starvation during the famine and another million emigrated. By the end of the famine in 1852, Ireland’s population had decreased by 25%. The British government faced criticism for its inadequate response, and the catastrophe fueled the drive for Irish independence. The Irish people felt that the British had not tried hard enough to take care of the people under their rule.
As often happens when a food item is no longer allowed or readily available, the Irish people loved their potatoes. The significance of the potato in Irish culture surpasses its agricultural importance, profoundly influencing culinary customs. It turned into a dietary mainstay, with creations like colcannon (mashed potatoes with kale or cabbage), boxty (potato pancakes) being a beloved dish in my Grandma Byer’s (Aunt Sandy’s mom) home, and Irish stew (potatoes, meat, and vegetables) becoming indispensable. These dishes were not 
merely nourishing but also reflected the creativity and adaptability of Irish cooks who produced a variety of meals from a few ingredients. The simple yet hearty character of these potato-centric dishes mirrored the lives and struggles of ordinary people, ingraining these recipes in the heart of Irish cooking traditions. And with that, I feel like I now understand my aunt’s obsession with potatoes.
War usually brings with it, shortages and rationing. On November 29, 1942, coffee was added to the list of rationed items in the United States. Now, people can live without some things, but I would think that coffee would be a really hard item to add to that list. The coffee production in Latin America was at a record, but it made no difference, the increasing demand from military and civilian sectors, along with the pressing needs of shipping for other wartime efforts, necessitated the restriction of its availability.
The truth is that scarcity or shortages were seldom the cause of rationing during the war. Rationing was typically implemented for two main reasons…to ensure an equitable distribution of resources and food to all citizens and to prioritize military needs for certain raw materials in light of the current emergency.
At first, the restriction on the use of certain items was voluntary. People were simply asked to cut back. The problem is that voluntary cutting back seldom works. Also, President Roosevelt initiated “scrap drives” to collect discarded rubber items like old garden hoses, tires, and bathing caps, especially after Japan seized the Dutch East Indies, a key rubber supplier for the United States. These collected items could be exchanged at gas stations for a penny per pound. In the early stages of the war, patriotism and the eagerness to support the war effort was enough.
As US shipping, including oil tankers, became increasingly susceptible to German U-boat attacks, gasoline was the first commodity to be rationed. In seventeen eastern states, car owners were limited to three gallons of gasoline weekly beginning in May 1942. By year’s end, rationing had expanded nationwide, with drivers required to affix ration stamps to their car windshields. Things like butter, were reserved for military use, and so were also rationed. Also limited were coffee, sugar, and milk. In fact, approximately one-third of all food typically consumed by civilians was rationed during the war at some point. We had to make sure our troops had what they needed. They were fighting for our freedom, and we would sacrifice so they could have 
what they needed. The American people were determined and willing. Of course, that didn’t stop the black market from becoming a source for rationed items, selling goods at prices above those set by the Office of Price Administration to Americans who could afford the marked-up costs. Nevertheless, certain items were removed from the rationing list ahead of time; coffee became available in July 1943, but sugar remained rationed until June 1947.
When we see a structure like the Pontcysyllte Aquaduct in northeast Wales, we usually assume that it is simply a bridge or a railroad trestle, but in this case, we are very wrong. While the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct is navigable, it actually carries the Llangollen Canal across the River Dee in the Vale of Llangollen. I wondered why they needed an aqueduct to carry one river over another, but the truth is that the smaller river would be swallowed up by the larger, ending any possibility of the smaller river reaching the intended destination. The 18-arched stone and cast-iron aqueduct is designed for narrowboats and was completed in 1805 after a decade of planning and construction. Measuring 12 feet in width, it stands as the longest aqueduct in Great Britain and the tallest canal aqueduct in the world.
Alongside the watercourse, there is a towpath on one side. “A towpath is a road or trail on the bank of a river, canal, or other inland waterway. The purpose of a towpath is to allow a land vehicle, beasts of burden, or a team of human pullers to tow a boat, often a barge. This mode of transport was common where sailing was impractical because of tunnels and bridges, unfavorable winds, or the narrowness of the channel.”
The Pontcysyllte Aqueduct was intended to be a central feature of the Ellesmere Canal, a proposed industrial waterway linking the River Severn at Shrewsbury with the Port of Liverpool on the River Mersey. Despite a cheaper route surveyed to the east, the chosen path traversed the Vale of Llangollen’s high ground to the west, passing through Northeast Wales’ coal-rich areas. The canal was only partially completed due to insufficient revenue generation for the entire project. Following the aqueduct’s partial completion in 1805, most significant construction stopped.
The aqueduct, designed by civil engineers Thomas Telford and William Jessop, was intended for a site near the 18th-century road crossing at Pont Cysyllte. Following the approval of the westerly high-ground route, the initial plan involved constructing a series of locks along both valley sides leading to an embankment that would 
carry the Ellesmere Canal over the River Dee. However, once Telford joined the project, the design shifted to an aqueduct that would provide a direct and continuous waterway across the valley. Despite widespread public doubt, Telford remained confident in his construction approach, drawing on his experience from building the Longdon-on-Tern Aqueduct, a cast-iron trough aqueduct on the Shrewsbury Canal.
The Pontcysyllte aqueduct officially opened to traffic on 26 November 1805. A plaque commemorating its inauguration reads, “The nobility and gentry, the adjacent Counties having united their efforts with the great commercial interests of this country. In creating an intercourse and union between England and North Wales by a navigable communication of the three Rivers, Severn, Dee and Mersey for the mutual benefit of agriculture and trades, caused the first stone of this aqueduct of Pontcysyllte, to be laid on the 25th day of July MDCCXCV [1795]. When Richard Myddelton of Chirk, Esq, MP one of the original patrons of the Ellesmere Canal was Lord of this manor, and in the reign of our Sovereign George the Third. When the equity of the laws, and the security of property, promoted the general welfare of the nation. While the arts and sciences flourished by his patronage and the conduct of civil life was improved by his example.”
The bridge measures 336 yards in length, 12 feet in width, and has a depth of 5 feet 3 inches. It features a cast iron trough, which is supported 126 feet above the river by iron arched ribs resting on eighteen hollow masonry piers. Each of the bridge’s 18 spans measures 53 feet across. Following the aqueduct’s completion, the canal was intended to extend to Moss Valley, Wrexham, where Telford had built a feeder reservoir lake in 1796 to supply water for the canal stretch from Trevor Basin to Chester. However, the plan to construct this section was abandoned in 1798, which lead to the neglect, and eventual abandonment, of the feeder and a navigable stretch between Ffrwd and a basin in Summerhill. Traces of the feeder channel can still be seen in Gwersyllt, and a street in the village bears the name Heol Camlas, meaning ‘canal way’ in Welsh. John Simpson of Shrewsbury, who died in 1815, oversaw the physical construction.
With the project incomplete, Trevor Basin, located just beyond the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, became the canal’s 
northern terminus. By 1808, a feeder channel had been completed to transport water from the River Dee near Llangollen. To ensure a constant water supply, Telford constructed an artificial weir, known as the Horseshoe Falls, near Llantysilio to regulate the water level. The aqueduct is classified as a Grade I listed building and is a part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The HMT Rohna, originally known as SS Rohna, was a passenger and cargo liner belonging to the British India Steam Navigation Company. Constructed in Tyneside in 1926, it was one of two new vessels ordered by the British India Line in 1925 for its Madras–Nagapatam–Singapore route. These sister ships had slight variations…being built at different shipyards with different engines. Hawthorn Leslie and Company constructed the Rohna in Hebburn on Tyneside, while Barclay, Curle and Company built the Rajula in Glasgow on Clydeside. The two ships were completed and launched around the same time in mid-1926.
The Rohna was launched on August 24, 1926, and her construction was completed by November 5. Named after a village in Sonipat, Punjab, India, she featured 15 corrugated furnaces heating five single-ended boilers, which together had a heating surface of 14,080 square feet. These boilers supplied steam at 215 lbf/in^2 (pounds per square inch) to two four-cylinder quadruple expansion steam engines, yielding a combined power of 984 Nominal Horsepower (NHP). Each engine propelled one of the ship’s twin screws, enabling the Rohna to achieve 984 NHP or 5,000 Indicated Horsepower (IHP). On her sea trials, she reached 14.3 knots (2, with a cruising speed of 12.5 knots). By 1934, the Rohna was equipped with wireless direction-finding equipment.
As the United Kingdom entered the World War II in September 1939, the Rohna was navigating the Indian Ocean. Other than a journey from Karachi to Suez with Convoy K 4, the Rohna sailed unescorted between Rangoon and Madras until the end of November. Departing Bombay on December 10th, she headed for the Mediterranean, transited the Suez Canal on December 20-21, and arrived in Marseille on December 26th. From January 3, 1940, to March 10th, she moved unescorted between Marseille and the Port of Haifa in Mandatory Palestine, initially as part of convoys but later, after January 29th, on her own.
On March 15, 1940, the Rohna sailed back through the Suez Canal to the Indian Ocean, where she operated unescorted between Bombay, Rangoon, and Colombo until June. In May, she was requisitioned as a troop ship, and on June 6th, she departed from Bombay to Durban. She continued to operate between Durban, Mombasa, and Dar es Salaam until July 28th, when she embarked from Mombasa to return to Bombay.
The Rohna transported troops from Bombay to Suez in August 1940 with Convoy BN 3, and from Bombay to Port Sudan in September/October 1940 with Convoy BN 6. Subsequent journeys included Bombay to Suez in November 1940 with Convoy BN 8A, Colombo to Suez in February 1941 with Convoy US 8/1, and Bombay to Singapore in March 1941 with Convoy BM 4. Following the Iraqi coup d’état in April 1941, the Rohna was directed to Karachi, from where she transported early units of Iraqforce to Basra in Convoy BP 2. During the Anglo-Iraqi War in May, she completed a second voyage from Karachi to Basra with Convoy BP 5. After the Allied triumph in Iraq at May’s end, she continued shuttling between Basra and Bombay, departing to Basra with BP-series convoys and returning independently.
On December 8, 1941, Japan invaded Malaya. The following month, Rohna departed Bombay for Singapore with Convoy BM 10, arriving on January 25, 1942. She set sail on January 28 in Convoy NB 1, two weeks before Singapore fell to Japan. From March 1942, Rohna spent a year navigating the Indian Ocean, visiting Bombay, Karachi, Colombo, Basra, Aden, Suez, Khorramshahr, Bandar Abbas, Bahrain, and Abadan, sometimes as part of convoys, often unescorted. In March 1943, she embarked from Bombay with Convoy BA 40 to Aden, then proceeded independently to Suez, passing through the canal on April 6–7.
Throughout the rest of her service, Rohna was instrumental in supporting the North African Campaign, as well as the Allied invasions of Sicily and Italy. Until early July, she operated independently, navigating between Alexandria, Tripoli, and Sfax. She primarily joined convoys, plying the routes between Alexandria, 
Malta, Tripoli, Augusta, Port Said, Bizerte, and Oran.
Her requisition as a troop carrier in 1940, at the onset of World War II, placed a target of sorts on her back, and in November 1943, the Rohna was sunk in the Mediterranean by a Henschel HS 293 guided glide bomb launched from a Luftwaffe aircraft. The attack resulted in the deaths of over 1,100 individuals, the majority being United States troops.
In 1887, Annie Besant and William Stead founded a newspaper that they called The Link. This halfpenny weekly featured on its front page a quote from Victor Hugo: “I will speak for the dumb. I will speak of the small to the great and the feeble to the strong… I will speak for all the despairing silent ones.” The newspaper campaigned against “sweated labour, extortionate landlords, unhealthy workshops, child labour and prostitution.” I’m sure these things made the owners hated among the labor bosses.
In June 1888, Clementina Black delivered a speech on Female Labour at a Fabian Society meeting in London. Annie Besant, who was in the audience, was appalled to learn about the wages and working conditions of the women at the Bryant and May match factory. Taking immediate action, Besant interviewed several employees of Bryant and May the very next day. She found out that the women labored for fourteen hours daily, earning less than five shillings per week. Their full wages were often reduced due to a fine system, which ranged from three pence to one shilling, enforced by the Bryant and May management for infractions such as talking, dropping matches, or using the restroom without permission. The workday started at 6:30am in summer (8:00am in winter) and ended at 6:00pm. Workers arriving late were penalized with a deduction of half a day’s wages.
Annie Besant found that the women’s health was drastically impacted by the phosphorus in the match-making process. It led to skin yellowing, hair loss, and “phossy jaw,” which is a type of bone cancer. The disease would turn one side of the face green, then black, emitting a foul odor before resulting in death. Despite phosphorus being outlawed in Sweden and the USA, the British government declined to enact a similar ban, citing free trade restrictions, and the health of the workers “be hanged.”
On June 23, 1888, Annie Besant published an article in her newspaper, The Link, titled “White Slavery in London,” which criticized the treatment of women at Bryant and May. The company responded by trying to coerce their workers into signing a declaration of satisfaction with their working conditions. When a group of 
women refused to sign, the group’s organizers were dismissed. The reaction to the dismissals was swift…1,400 women at Bryant and May went on strike.
William Stead of the Pall Mall Gazette, Henry Hyde Champion from the Labour Elector, and Catharine Booth of the Salvation Army supported Besant’s campaign for improved factory working conditions. Hubert Llewellyn Smith, Sydney Oliver, Stewart Headlam, Hubert Bland, Graham Wallas, and George Bernard Shaw also joined the cause. Conversely, newspapers like The Times criticized Besant and other socialist leaders for the dispute, lamenting that “the matchgirls have been deprived of acting on their own but have been incited to strike by irresponsible advisors. No effort has been spared by these nuisances of the modern industrial world to escalate this conflict.”
Besant, Stead, and Champion leveraged their newspapers to advocate for a boycott of Bryant and May’s matches. Emmeline Pankhurst was among those who joined the strike. In her autobiography, she reflected, “I embraced this strike with zeal, collaborating with the girls and several distinguished women, including the renowned Mrs Annie Besant… It was a period marked by significant turmoil, labour disputes, strikes, and lockouts. It was also a time when an incredibly obtuse reactionary sentiment appeared to dominate the Government and the authorities.”
The women at the company decided to establish a Matchgirls’ Union, and Besant consented to lead it. Three weeks later, the company declared its willingness to rehire the dismissed women and abolish the fines system. The women agreed to these terms and returned triumphantly. The Bryant and May dispute became the first strike by unorganized workers to actually receive national attention and it successfully inspired the creation of unions nationwide.
Several years later, trade union leader Henry Snell reflected, “These brave girls, lacking funds, organization, or leaders, turned to Mrs Besant for guidance and leadership. It was an astute and superb inspiration. Although the number impacted was relatively small, the matchgirls’ strike profoundly influenced the workers’ mindset, earning it a place as one of the pivotal events in the annals of labor organization worldwide.”
Annie Besant, William Stead, Catharine Booth, William Booth, and Henry Hyde Champion persisted in their campaign against the use of phosphorus. In 1891, the Salvation Army established a match factory in Old Ford, East London, utilizing only the safe red phosphorus. The factory’s workers quickly ramped up production to six 
million boxes annually. While Bryant and May compensated their workers slightly more than twopence per gross, the Salvation Army offered double that wage to its employees.
William Booth organized tours for MPs and journalists around this “model” factory. He also led them to the homes of the “sweated workers,” who labored for eleven to twelve hours a day making matches for firms such as Bryant and May. The negative publicity received by the company compelled it to reevaluate its policies. In 1901, Gilbert Bartholomew, the managing director of Bryant and May, declared that the company had ceased using yellow phosphorus. It was a major victory for the matchgirls.
It’s always a strange thing to find a place that carries your name…especially when your name is unusual. I haven’t found such a place for myself, but rather for my sister, Allyn Hadlock. As a matter of fact, there are places that carry both her first and her last name. The first I heard of was Port Hadlock, and the second is Allyn’s Point. Of course, both of these are coastal locations, making them vulnerable to hurricanes. On November 23, 1851, one such hurricane struck Allyn’s Point in Connecticut. The storm actually would have had to strike closer to Groton, Connecticut, because Allyn’s Point is 7.5 miles inland. Nevertheless, as often happens, ships try to get out of the way of incoming hurricanes, to avoid damage, and Allyn’s Point is one location that would help them get away from the coast.
The storm that hit the Sound on that fateful Friday was intense. Hurricane-force winds, torrential rain, and high seas were reported. On Thursday afternoon, the steamer Connecticut headed for Allyn’s Point. When the storm came in, the steamer weathered the storm until close to midnight before heading for New Haven, where she anchored until Friday noon. The Connecticut finally arrived at Allyn’s Point at 4:30pm that day. Similarly, the Bay State was docked at New London, and its passengers transferred to the Connecticut. Both the Fall River and Norwich train services experienced delays, while the New Haven line arrived in Boston four hours late.
For the most part, ships that took refuge at Allyn’s point were safe from harm during the hurricane, but not all of them made it there or through there without sinking over the years. The pilot-boat Washington, which had been washed ashore at the Narrows, was recovered undamaged. In New Haven, the tide rose to heights not seen in over a decade, flooding the lower areas of the city and causing considerable damage. Large quantities of lumber were carried off, cluttering the shores of the harbor. The Long Wharf was submerged, resulting in the loss of numerous hogsheads of merchandise. Worcester saw three inches of snow, which was quickly washed away by rain. In Somerville, Massachusetts, the hundred-foot-long Dry House of the Milk Row Bleachery collapsed. Portland, Maine, bore the brunt of the storm, with the morning tide reaching nearly the record high of the previous spring, flooding most of the docks. Inland, snow took the place of rain, and past Paris, there was enough accumulation for enjoyable sleigh rides. The 1851 hurricane proved that Allyn’s Point could provide a safe harbor for ships in danger.
Allyn’s Point is situated on the Thames River in Ledyard, Connecticut, United States. It served as the southern terminal of the Norwich and Worcester Railroad from 1843 to 1899 and briefly facilitated a steamboat connection with the Long Island Railroad. The steamboat, owned by Patrick Kato from 1945 to 1997, was part of a solution to the frequent freezing of the Thames River’s northern end, which blocked steamboats from 
reaching the Norwich port. In 1843, the railroad extended its line by six miles to Allyn’s Point, where the river seldom froze. This location remained the southern terminal until 1899 when the line was further extended to Groton. Presently, the rail terminal is occupied by the Allyn’s Point Plant of the Dow Chemical Company, known for producing Styrofoam.
Fort Vancouver was founded in 1824. The fort functioned as a trading post and the main office for the Hudson’s Bay Company’s Columbia District. The Columbia District was vast and spanned an area of 700,000 square miles, extending from Russian Alaska to Mexican California, and from the Rocky Mountains to the Hawaiian Islands. The fort itself was located on the northern shore of the Columbia River in what is now Vancouver, Washington, and it was named in honor of Captain George Vancouver. George Simpson of Hudson Bay played a key role in the establishment of the fort, and Dr John McLoughlin was chosen as its inaugural manager. So good at his job, McLoughlin, became known as the Father of Oregon, because he extended a warm welcome and offered assistance to newcomers in the region. While this endeared him for the people, it was not something that the Hudson’s Bay Company was happy about these actions, mostly because new settlers interfered with the lucrative fur trade. In the end, McLoughlin left the organization and founded Oregon City in the Willamette Valley.
The fort’s original compound consisted of approximately 40 structures, including residences, a school, library, pharmacy, chapel, blacksmith shop, and a sizable manufacturing plant, all encircled by a 20-foot-tall palisade stretching roughly 750 feet in length and 450 feet in width. Beyond its imposing walls, the extensive corporate entity also constructed supplementary dwellings, a shipyard, hospital, distillery, tannery, sawmill, dairy, farmlands, and orchards. Serving as the district’s administrative hub and main supply depot, the fort functioned as the center of a wide-reaching fur trading network. This network comprised two dozen posts, six vessels, and approximately 600 employees at the height of the trading season, with the majority engaged in agriculture.
Fort Vancouver emerged as a hub of activity and influence, bolstered by a multicultural village home to individuals from more than 35 ethnic and tribal groups. Despite being a British outpost, the predominant languages spoken were Canadian French and Chinook Jargon. It grew to be one of the largest settlements in 
the West at that time and acted as the initial terminus of the Oregon Trail for American settlers. In the late 1840s and early 1850s, diminishing profits from trapping and the influx of settlers prompted a transition from fur trading to land-based commerce. This shift altered the village’s dynamics and demographics. The Hawaiian workforce expanded, and by the 1850s, the village was commonly referred to as “Kanaka Town” or “Kanaka Village,” derived from the Hawaiian term for “person.” The village served not only as living quarters for the Company’s employees but also as the location for establishing a permanent US Army presence in the Pacific Northwest. In May 1849, the US Army established Camp Columbia, situated on an elevation 20 feet above the trading post.
Although the Hudson’s Bay Company aided the soldiers by providing access to their sawmill for timber cutting, the construction of the post was delayed due to the California Gold Rush. The rush led to a shortage of labor and supplies, inflated prices, and a high number of desertions. Despite these challenges, the remaining workers persevered, and the construction was finally completed in the spring of 1851. Subsequently, the military post was renamed Columbia Barracks. Initially, traders and soldiers coexisted peacefully, with the Army leasing numerous village buildings and employing additional local residents. During the early 1850s, the Army erected a number of structures, notably the Quartermaster Depot and the residence of Captain Rufus Ingalls, which Ulysses S Grant called home from 1852 to 1853. The military post grew to encompass more than 10,000 acres and was rechristened as Fort Vancouver Military Reservation.
Amidst escalating pressures from new settlers seeking land and diminishing profits from trapping, the relationship between traders and soldiers worsened during the latter part of the 1850s. Ultimately, in June 1860, the Hudson’s Bay Company relocated its operations to Victoria, British Columbia. Soldiers took over some ancient trading post structures, and the Vancouver Arsenal was founded in 1859. Yet, in 1866, a devastating fire obliterated all traces of the original trading post edifices. Nevertheless, the soldiers remained and reconstructed the structures, which included two two-story barracks situated on opposite ends of the parade ground, each featuring a kitchen and a mess hall at the back. Seven log buildings and four framed structures functioned as the Officers’ Quarters. In 1879, the outpost was designated as Vancouver Barracks and underwent expansion during World War I. Subsequently, in World War II, it served as a staging ground for the Seattle Port of Embarkation. The fort was ultimately decommissioned in 1946.
Due to its historical importance, the location was designated a US National Monument on June 19, 1948, and 
was later reclassified as the Fort Vancouver National Historic Site on June 30, 1961. Presently, the site features a full-scale reconstruction of the original fort, complete with the manager’s house, bakery, blacksmith shop, central stores, and fur storage area. A variety of exhibits are open for public viewing, and the site hosts re-enactments and demonstrations year-round.
Pierre Lallement was living in Nancy, France when he saw someone on a Dandy Horse, which is basically a strider bike. That bike is powered when the rider runs while straddling a bicycle seat. It’s a great was to teach a child how to balance on a bicycle before they are quite ready for a full two-wheeler. Lallement thought this was very cool, but as a mechanic, he thought he could vastly improve on that design.
While living in Nancy and working as a carriage builder, Lallement first encountered a dandy horse. He began to picture a similar device, but with some specific improvements. His ideas made his invention quite different that the dandy horse. Lallement added a transmission and pedals, which allowed for a more efficient, faster, and definitely a more dignified mode of transportation. Lallement began working with Pierre Marchaux, a fellow carriage maker, to fine tune his idea, but it is Lallement who is credited with developing the first functional bicycle prototype. Then, due to a dispute involving himself, 
Marchaux and his son, and the Olivier brothers—who later became Marchaux’s partners, Lallement found himself ostracized from the nascent bicycle industry in France.
Undeterred, Lallement continued his work. In 1865, he immigrated to America with his plans and parts for the invention that existed only in his head at that time. Upon arriving in the United States, Lallement settled in Ansonia, Connecticut. He demonstrated his invention to the locals, with one reportedly fleeing in terror at the sight of a “devil on wheels.” Lallement eventually found an investor, James Carroll, who supported his projects. On November 20, 1866, Lallement applied for and received the first U.S. patent for a pedal-driven bicycle. It must have felt like a amazing achievement for the man who came up with the idea and then was cheated out of the acknowledgement for its invention. While Lallement built and patented the first bicycle in the country, he was once again cheated, not by a person, but rather by circumstances. As a result, he gained little reward or 
acknowledgment for introducing an invention that would quickly become widespread.
This time when he was cheated, it was due to insufficient funds to build a factory. For that reason, he sold his patent rights in 1868 and went back to France. There, the bicycle, popularized by Michaux, sparked a “bicycle craze” that swept through Europe. Albert Pope, who obtained the patent in 1876, amassed a fortune from producing the Columbia bicycle and became a prominent cycling proponent, establishing the League of American Wheelmen in 1880. Regrettably, Lallement died unrecognized in Boston in 1881, and only a century later did historians acknowledge his crucial role in the invention of the bicycle.
