Original license tag of Charlestown Fire Company’s first fire truck, circa 1947. photo credit: Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company.
In the post-World War II era, Cecil’s fire departments ramped up services, reacting to the rapid growth in the county and the changing nature of emergencies.
The Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company was one of those units, working to strengthen public safety. As the river community saw increased use of beaches and the inevitable water emergencies, the department got busy, working to establish a marine unit.
In the spring of 1958 the company deployed two boats. One, used primarily for rescue work, was equipped with a resuscitator, grappling hooks, first aid supplies and life preservers. It had a “large flat deck to allow for artificial respirator while the water accident victim” was taken ashore, the Cecil Whig reported. The other, for firefighting, carried a 15 pound CO-2 extinguisher, a fire pump, and various small firefighting tools.
Both were interchangeable, and they were equipped with two ray radios. They had been built through the generosity of William Thorn, Jr., the owner of the C.W. Thorn boatyard.
As the boats floated on the North East River that spring day in 1958 tourists and residents were a little safer while swimming, boating, and splashing around. No longer would the men have to stand on shore, waiting for someone to give them a ride so they could reach a stricken vessel.
Now the Charlestown firefighters could speed to medical emergencies, water rescues or blazes without waiting precious minutes. It could be that this was the first dedicated water unit in the county and if not it was certainly one of the first.
Earlier that year, 26 firefighters from three companies met weekly at the Charlestown station to take a course in Advanced Red Cross First Aid. It was taught by Chief D. B. Smith of the Aberdeen Fire Department. Chief Nelson McCall of Charlestown, Chief Pierre Le Brun of Water Witch (Port Deposit), and Chief T. K. Blake, Jr. had men there learning the latest lifesaving methods, including pulmonary resuscitation.
As the summer season got underway in Charlestown in 1958, tourists and residents knew that the boats were standing by waiting for a call to go into action on the North East River. Additional photos
The Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company deployed two boats to respond to water emergencies in 1958. photo credit: Charlestown Volunteer Fire Company
On a Thursday just before Christmas 1956, residents of Port Deposit witnessed a “once in a life-time” scene, the “Harford Democrat and Aberdeen Observer” reported. Easing slowly down the narrow main street in the town nestled between granite cliffs and the Susquehanna River were four World War II aircraft.
The planes, three fighters and a torpedo bomber, were being towed to the Bainbridge Naval Training Center, which had requisitioned them from the Naval Air Station in Norfolk, VA. A commercial tug had towed them up the Chesapeake and docked at Wiley Manufacturing a short time earlier, the trip having stated 31 hours earlier.
The crowd watched in “awe” as the convoy of aTigercat,Bearcat, Corsair, and aTBM torpedo Bomber, approached the end of the trip, the Bainbridge Recruit Training Center Command Field. The Port Deposit Police Department, the Maryland State Police – Conowingo, and and the State Highway Dept. had cleared the narrow streets to let the convoy pass.
It was a tight Squeeze in Port Deposit as Navy planes came down the street. Source: Harford Democrat & Aberdeen Enterprise, Jan 3, 1957 at the Aberdeen Room.
Chief Thomas N. McIntire, Jr. working the town’s new radar system.
One dark night in the mid-1970s, Chief Thomas N. McIntire, Jr., cruised downtown Elkton. As the midnight hour neared, the police radio was silent, but suddenly it crackled to life with the most urgent dispatch, an officer was in trouble. A man was struggling with the lawman over by the railroad station. The other cop prowling the town that night signaled that he was rolling from out on Route 40 and would be there in three or four minutes.
Hitting the siren, the 50-something chief glanced at his partner, making sure he was ready for action as they would arrive ahead of the other unit. Screeching up to the depot, McIntire sprang into action helping cuff the man, while his partner maintained a calm, watchful eye over the ruckus.
Back at the station McIntire’s sidekick was full of energy, happy and eager to be on the job, while the patrolmen booked the perpetrator. Duke was just the type of partner the top cop in the county seat wanted at his side. Although officially not a member of the nine-member force, the Black Labrador and the chief were inseparable.
Chief Mcintire soon after he assumed leadership of the department.
It was all part of the job as lights went down in Elkton and the graveyard shift got underway. About the time everyone else was falling asleep, two of the chief’s men started their workday. The retiring watch briefed them, the paper work was shuffled, and plenty of coffee was available for the long, silent hours ahead. The two beat officers, prowled the alleys and back streets, keeping a watchful eye on the night and waiting for the dawn in the sleeping town.
But McIntire’s routine was different. After finishing a full day’s work, he went home for the evening. But he jumped back into the cruiser sometime after dinner to make evening rounds, checking on the town and his men. Whenever Duke saw the chief climb into the car, he sprang into action, jumping into the vehicle. The Chief and his 50-pound lab were a pair around Elkton in the 1970s. Duke, that friendly Labrador, accompanied the chief while he was checking dark, lonely alleys and backing up his men. Eventually, often in the wee hours of the next day, things quieted down once barrooms closed and people settled in for the night so the chief returned home. He got up and started all over again the next day, for administrative matters had to be taken care of during the workday.
When McIntire started on the crime beat in August 1951, he was paid $1.25 an hour. There were no radios to receive dispatches or to summon backup. Typically, a shift involved many foot patrols downtown and periodic rounds of the outlying areas. The only prowl car was parked nearby at North and Main streets.
Besides the fact that most activity took place in the business district, there was another reason the officers remained downtown. A red light on top of a telephone pole at the main intersection signaled that a citizen was calling for assistance. When the telephone operator received a complaint, she turned the light on and the policeman rushed over, to answer the police phone.
All too often, McIntire once remarked, you would be siting in the squad car at the corner of North and Main, keeping an eye on traffic and that phone. In the middle of a downpour or thunderstorm, the light would flash, so you got out in the rain to answer it. After saying “Elkton Police” someone respond by asking about how to get married in Elkton.
“In a few years, they put in a radio system so we could crisscross the town while our dispatcher, the water plant operator, took calls. With that communications system, we thought we were very modern,” McIntire recalled. “I was sworn in as chief of police in 1962 when the town was putting on a push to modernize the force. My salary jumped to $80 a week.
“I had four full-time and two part-time men and my goal was to have 24-hour patrols since the dark hours before dawn were often uncovered. For a holding cell, we handcuffed the prisoner to a pole in the police station while we investigated the matter or processed them before hauling the person to the county jail.” It was supporting the second floor. The work in those days was largely routine. “Traffic problems, simple assaults, drunkenness, loitering, minor thefts, and disorderly conduct made up the bulk of the few calls we’d get. We also had a little trouble with kids.”
Despite the easy going pace of county seat town with 5,000 people, there were some alarming incidents that jolted the routine. One Sunday night in 1963, as flashes of lighting fleetingly illuminated a cold, rainy December night, one of McIntire’s officers prowled the empty streets when, without warning, a dreadful explosion shook the entire town as a fireball, plunging into a rain-swept cornfield, chased away the darkness. Night turned to day and residents worried that a Soviet missile attack might be underway while the fire siren wailed out its urgent call.
“I rushed to the firehouse since I was also an assistant chief in the fire company. We weren’t sure what had happened, but on a cornfield just outside town, we located large craters, burning fuel, parts of the Boeing 707 fuselage, and a widely scattered debris field. We soon learned that a Pan-American plane had crashed and eventually found out that 81 people perished in that explosion. Once we determined there wasn’t much to do since rescue and ambulances weren’t needed, I went back into town to assist my officers. Traffic control was a major problem, the FBI was coming in, a morgue had to be set up, and a perimeter set-up, things like that.”
Another time in October 1965, a fireball loomed high up into the sky at the edge of the town, almost looking like a mushroom cloud. “A freight train containing chemical and petroleum tankers jumped the tracks and there were enormous explosion. We had to evacuate a portion of the town because of the fear of explosions and the size of that fire,” McIntire said.
After 28 years in law enforcement, 18 as chief, McIntire decided it was time for a regular office job. So at 55 years of age, he became the supervising commissioner for the district court.
Reflecting on his 28 years in law enforcement, he said, “As a young boy growing up in Elkton, I still remember the old man who was our first chief of police, George Potts [1908-1935]. All he had to do was glance at one of us boys thinking of doing something wrong and we’d move right along. In addition to the little bit of crime that he handled, the town required the chief to oversee maintenance of the streets. By the time I retired we had a force of 14, computers connecting us to FBI and motor vehicle databases, and a criminal investigator.”
Chief Thomas McIntire had successfully guided the agency into the era of modern police work. The times, the 1960s, were challenging for law enforcement across the nation as administrators struggled with social upheaval, growing violence, new laws and attitudes, emerging technologies, and the changing times, but in Elkton his steady hand moved the department forward through this maze. He created a professional force with state-of-the-art methods that would have been most unfamiliar to earlier commanders.
In January 2013, some of the chief’s men and current officers stopped by the Historical Society of Cecil County on his birthday. Shift supervisor Sgt. Johnson, EPD (now retired) along with some of the officers on the day watch stopped by to greet the chief.
Chief McIntire (center) and some of his officers.
Sgt. Jeff McKenzie of the Cecil County Sheriff’s office, once worked for the Chief.
For additional historical photos related to Chief Thomas McIntire see this album on Facebook.
On this Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Old Man Winter sailed into Cecil County for an early visit, getting in some early practice before winter officially arrives. On this damp, frigid day, as everyone rushed about getting ready for the holiday, we were hit by a blast of snow.
With moderate to heavy white stuff falling for a period, loud claps of thunder and flashes of lightning accompanied the Thanksgiving eve visitor to the region, producing a rare weather phenomenon, “thundersnow,” in Elkton. By noon the ground in the northern part of the county was covered, as the mercury slipped below freezing.
So it was time to check out a few quiet spots in the 4th district, around Fair Hill and Providence, places that have seen the passage of centuries of winter weather. This early visit is a reminder of last year’s pattern when the area was hit by a surprise storm on Dec. 8th, which practically brought traffic to a standstill in the area on a Sunday.
The automobile age has arrived in Rising Sun in this postcard issued around the time of World War I. Source: personal collection
In a time when horses, carriages, and bicycles provided transportation, the sight of an auto could cause a commotion, but little did anyone know how unsettling that first view could be for “Poor Excuse.”
It was Friday, April 13, 1900, a day for bad luck, when the Adams Express delivery horse trotted up to the corner of Main and North streets. A quick glance up the street caused the normally mild-mannered animal to take his owner, B. M. Wells, on a mad dash through the center of Elkton. The spectacle of a strange machine breezing along had proved too much for the animal.
The driver of the contraption, the first “horseless carriage” seen in the county seat, was making his way between New York and Washington, D.C. Curious people rushed to the curb to catch a glimpse of the member of the “locomobile Club of America” rolling along.
Mr. & Mrs. Harry Decker pulled up to the Howard House in their automobile in August of that year. After spending Saturday night there, they got an early start the next morning as the New Yorkers continued on, heading to the Texas oil fields.
These new-fangled machines sometimes were temperamental. A big red “Panhard (Paris) driven by a 20-horse power gasoline engine” passed through in 1902, but ran out of oil on the outskirts of Elkton. The tank was refilled at the store of John E. Gonce, the Elkton Appeal reported.
Automobiles were here to stay, and it wasn’t too many more years before passing cars no longer caused a stir. By August 1905, Harvey Rowland and Lewis Abrahams rode from Port Deposit to Atlantic City in their vehicle in five hours and twenty minutes. Charles R. Ford owned the first one in Elkton, a fine Pope Runabout in November 1905. As Ford was learning the “tricks of his new stead”, the Cecil County News wrote, “Good luck to you, Charlie, and may you never slip a cog or run out of gasoline.” Mr. Carter of Singerly had a fine runabout in August 1906.
Local automobilists became common. D. J. Ayerst, Dr. H. A. Mitchell and Frank B. Evans turned out in their vehicles for the Elkton Halloween parade in 1911. A striking feature was “Ayersts’ Cadillac Motor Car, elegantly and strikingly decorated,” according to the Cecil Whig. Edward W. Taylor bought a new Ford touring car to add to his livery fleet in 1913.
With the auto here to stay, the State of Maryland enacted a registration and licensing law, the first one in Cecil going to Lewis Abrahams of Port Deposit. “My great uncle Lewis Abrahams who lived till his 84th year in 1964 at Port Deposit . . . was very proud of holding the first license issued for an automobile in the county”, the Rev John J. Abrahams noted several years ago. “He and my grandfather began the first car dealership in Port.” Lewis owned a 4-horse-power Locomobile and was issued license no. 502. In Fair Hill, Edward H. Strahorn owned a n auto, a Thomas B. Jeffery 7 ½ horsepower vehicle, issued license 537. John E. Good in Perryville had a Peerless Motor Car, holding registration 656
The Metz Automobile sold by E. Balderston & Sons , Colora. source: Cecil Whig, May 22, 1915.
Duyckinch, Sterret & Co. of Rising Sun established the first auto dealership in Cecil County in 1909, handling Hupmobiles, Invincible Schachts, and Oakland Machines. They had a fine section of Regal Automobile and “everyone was invited to call at the garage to inspect these beauties and see their efficiency demonstrated,” the Midland Journal reported the next year.
Warren Boulden Sr., built a 3-car auto garage in Elkton, opening his business in May 1911. Carrying a full line of automobile supplies, the Whig added that “Mr. Boulden has given this business a study and is a competent mechanician.”
“Poor Excuse” wasn’t the only one appalled by these contraptions. In Elkton, Council’s hackles had been raised by speeding automobilists frightening horses and endangering pedestrians so the commissioners adopted an eight MPH speed limit. Rising Sun decided that 10 MPH was a safe and posted signs reading “automobiles blow your horn at dangerous crossing and curves” in 1911.
Within days of the new law going on the books, the vigilant town officer, Bailiff George Potts, issued Elkton’s first speeding ticket, arresting a Baltimorean. In Chesapeake City in 1915, the authorities were determined to break up reckless driving, and Bailiff Samuel Biggs arrested five automobilists for failing to sound horns at cross streets. One of those arrested was Philip L. Garrett, Wilmington attorney for the Delaware Automobile Club.
About this time, the Cecil Whig observed that the reason Port Deposit had far more vehicles than Elkton was simple economics. Everyone knew that you didn’t make much money practicing law, as wealth came from enterprises such as manufacturing and transportation.
If you enjoy Cecil County’s history check out our Facebook page, a virtual home where we share photos, stories, and conversations about the area’s heritage. As you browse the timeline you will find rich media, pictures, new and old, short articles, news about local heritage events, and links to curated content produced by others.
In particular, in this age when images are an important part of the message, we share lots of eye-catching modern photos, visually presenting the cultural landscape that is all around us every day as we travel around the area. Those old homes and buildings, appealing landscapes, weather-worn tombstones, forgotten railroad tracks, gently flowing creeks, or crumbling walls in the woods are all survivors of the passage of centuries and provide great opportunities for pictures.
In addition, this platform allows for conversations about matters and the sharing of knowledge in a conversational sort of way. It also is a place to find out about cultural events happening here from the full range of heritage institutions in our area.
You do not have to have an account to access it as it is an open page. But if you are a Facebook user you are able to like the page, which keeps you up-to-date when posts are made as they occur frequently.
The digital world breaks down walls, broadening the flow of information and the reach of heritage materials and we are pleased to be able to use Facebook as a way to share our appreciation of these things. Too, many fine institutions, informal group, and individuals around Cecil are doing similar things, sharing their appreciation of the past with a broader audience and the Facebook history community. Often you will see links to other sites you may find of interest.
Facebook really is about sharing and it provides a great opportunity to spread the word or pictures for that matter.
Times gone by: Autumn in St. Mary Anne’s Episcopal Church Cemetery in North East
The remains of Technical Sergeant Hugh Francis Moore, who was missing in action for more than 70 years after his plane was shot down in World War II, will be coming home for burial with full military honors. Born in Elkton, MD, in 1908, son of the late Edward and Emma Louise Scarborough Moore, Tech. Sgt. Moore was 36 years old when his plane went down and he was killed in action.
His family is thrilled to honor his homecoming, his memory and his distinguished service to his country.
Tech. Sgt. Moore was a graduate of Kenmore High School and Goldey Business College in Wilmington, DE. He was employed at the Kenmore Paper Mill and by the Elkton Supply Company when he was inducted into the Army in July, 1942.
On April 10, 1944, Tech. Sgt. Moore and 11 other B-24D Liberator crew members took off from Texter Strip, Nazdab Air Field, New Guinea, on a mission to attack an anti-aircraft site at Hansa Bay. The aircraft was shot down by enemy anti-aircraft fire over the Madang Province, New Guinea.
Following World War II, the Army Graves Registration Service (AGRS) conducted investigations and recovered the remains of three of the missing airmen from the plane, nicknamed “Hot Garters”. In May, 1949, AGRS concluded the remaining nine crew members were unrecoverable.
In 2001, a U.S.-led team located wreckage of a B-24D that bore the tail number of this aircraft. After several surveys, the Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command (JPAC) teams excavated the site and recovered human remains, Tech. Sgt. Moore’s among them. In the ensuing years, military officials used forensic testing to identify his remains.
One of nine children, he preceded his eight siblings in death: Charles Stanley Moore, Mary Louise Moore, Jane Wilamina Moore Warrington, William Joseph Moore, Walter Scarborough Moore, John Harvey Moore, Emma Letitia Moore Worrilow, and Albert Vernon Moore.
Tech. Sgt. Moore is memorialized in the Tablets of the Missing in the Manila American Cemetery, Manila, Philippines. It is anticipated he will be memorialized in a forthcoming group burial at Arlington National Cemetery for all crew members on his plane.
His parents placed a memorial marker in the Cherry Hill Methodist Cemetery after he was declared “missing in action” by the U.S. Army Air Forces. He will be buried on Veterans Day in the plot the stone has marked for nearly 70 years.
Funeral service will be held at 11 a.m., Tuesday, November 11, 2014, at Hicks Home for Funerals, 103 W. Stockton St., Elkton, MD, where visitation will begin at 10 a.m. Interment with full military honors will follow the service in Cherry Hill Methodist Cemetery, Cherry Hill, MD.
The Department of Defense POW/Missing Personnel Office announced today that the remains of U.S. servicemen, missing in action from World War II, have been accounted for and are being returned to their families for burial with full military honors.
Army Air Forces 1st Lts. William D. Bernier, 28, of Augusta, Mont., Bryant E. Poulsen, 22, of Salt Lake City, Utah, and Herbert V. Young Jr., 23, of Clarkdale, Ariz., and Tech Sgts. Charles L. Johnston, 20, of Pittsburgh, Penn., and Hugh F. Moore, 36, of Elkton, Md., Staff Sgt. John E. Copeland, 21, of Dearing, Kan., and Sgt. Charles A. Gardner, 32, of San Francisco, Calif., have been accounted for and will be buried with full military honors. Bernier will be buried on Sept. 19 in his hometown, and the other service members will be buried at a dates and locations still to be determined.
On April 10, 1944, Bernier, along with 11 other B-24D Liberator crew members took off from Texter Strip, Nazdab Air Field, New Guinea, on a mission to attack an anti-aircraft site at Hansa Bay. The aircraft was shot down by enemy anti-aircraft fire over the Madang Province, New Guinea. Four of the crewmen were able to parachute from the aircraft, but were reported to have died in captivity.
Following World War II, the Army Graves Registration Service (AGRS) conducted investigations and recovered the remains of three of the missing airmen. In May 1949, AGRS concluded the remaining nine crew members were unrecoverable.
In 2001, a U.S.-led team located wreckage of a B-24D that bore the tail number of this aircraft. After several surveys, the Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command (JPAC) teams excavated the site and recovered human remains and non-biological material evidence.
To identify Moore’s remains, scientists from JPAC and the Armed Forces DNA Identification Laboratory (AFDIL) used circumstantial evidence and forensic identification tools, including, mitochondrial DNA, which matched Moore’s nieces and grand-niece..
For additional information on the Defense Department’s mission to account for missing Americans, visit the DPMO website at www.dtic.mil/dpmo or call (703) 699-1169.
The pocket watch engineer George Askew carried on the fatal run between Baltimore and Philadelphia. (Source: Lance McPherson)
ELKTON—On a cold, grey February day a few years ago, Lance McPherson, a special agent for the federal government, called to ask for help solving a family history mystery associated with an old, inoperable pocket watch in his custody. On this trip, he sought to uncover information about the curious timepiece, its hands frozen in time at 8:35.
However, the odd relic had nothing to do with his job. It was a family heirloom belonging to his great-grandfather, George Benjamin Askew, an engineer on the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railroad. The watch was a central part of a genealogical mystery that he was trying to solve. Family lore carried down through generations had it that Askew died in a railroad accident in Elkton.
This 105-year-old story was what caused the investigator with the Office of Personnel Management to become the family history detective, seeking out the circumstances and facts surrounding his relative’s death and the curious object that had been handed down from relative to relative.
McPherson noted that he tended to be the family historian over the years and wound up with many family documents. Once he decided to begin the search for the bits and pieces, he began by examining an autobiography written by his grandmother. Only 12 years old at the time of the accident, she wrote, “Oh’ what sadness hovered over our once happy home.” She also notes that the engineer’s body was recovered the day before his birthday, nine months and nine days after he fell into the icy water of Big Elk Creek.
Having the basics from this document, McPherson searched online genealogical databases, which gave him census registers and other digital evidence. That examination produced the framework, but he wanted to color in the details, which would take some old-fashioned investigative work.
With the date and location of the accident in hand and still seeking to piece together the chain of events, we turned to some other sources for help. Aging old newspapers contained clues, as the weeklies headlined the story about the railroader’s “odd death.” These publications are often a treasure trove of information for anyone doing genealogical research. As doors continued opening, we located the coroner’s inquest report. He used that detailed insight to do some fieldwork, observing and surveying the natural environment along the creek where bridge abutments from the railroad remain in the area where the body was recovered.
Here is the story of these additional documents and the family history told. Before the sun came up on the Chesapeake Bay on Saturday, Jan. 3, 1903, 38-year-old engineer Askew eased extra freight No. 161 out of the Baltimore rail yard for a routine early morning run to Philadelphia, one that he made many times during his 18 years on the rails. Up for a promotion to an engineer on prestigious passenger runs in a few days, he surely thought this would be a piece of cake as he looked forward to returning home to his wife and five children. The new position would mean shorter runs and more money.
Rumbling northward over the Susquehanna, nothing marred the run. However, as he approached Elkton at about 8:43 a.m., the train whistle screeching for the station and crossings, a valve acted up. As the locomotive rushed toward the Big Elk Creek, he reached out beyond the cab to assess the problem. Suddenly, his head struck one of the girders of the narrow bridge, violently throwing him from the train.
Seeing him whirling out of the cab, the train’s fireman brought the train to a hurried stop. The crew rushed back to the bridge, but all they found was his blood-stained cap and a raging torrent of a creek. Unable to find Askew, they backed to Elkton to get aid. Help rushed to the spot, and before too long, a large crew of railroaders and townspeople were dredging the stream. A heavy overnight storm flooded the area, so the water was raging, and searchers were unable to find the body. Finally, the railroad company offered a $50 reward for the body’s recovery.
Railroad Engineer George Askew. (Source: Lance McPherson)
While the family grieved, winter slipped by, giving way to summer, but still, the beloved father’s body remained unfound. In October, a waterman gathering driftwood noticed a corpse in the brush a mile below the tracks. He immediately thought the body was that of the long-missing railroader. His identity, though obvious by the crushing injury to his head, was clearly established by finding Askew’s watch, keys, and lodge book in his clothing, the Cecil Whig reported.
Through his family history detective’s work, McPherson notes that he had “an interesting revelation.” The news account in the local newspaper indicated that the accident occurred “around the time the railroad watch stopped at 8:35. The revelation came when “I realized that I had that watch in my possession. No one ever noted that it was his watch or that it had spent nine months and nine days underwater with him,” McPherson said.
In wrapping up this case, however, he noted that “the watch and identity are now back together after 105 years.”
In the early years of the 20th century, steam boating days on the Chesapeake Bay started slipping slowly away. But in the summer of 1916, Elkton obtained renewed service, as the Philadelphia and Baltimore Steamboat Company (Ericsson Line) launched a new line with connections to Baltimore.
Leading up to the return of a regular schedule on July 1, several arrangements were taken care of. The company bought an attractive steamer, the Carmania, in Mobile, Alabama, to ply the route and leased Jeffers’ Wharf at the foot of Bridge Street. Last-minute preparations involved cutting a basin near the mill wharf, allowing the boat to turn for the trip back down the winding Big Elk Creek.
Throughout that hot summer before World War I, the Carmania called at Elkton’s tiny port on the Creek. It departed each morning for Betterton, Chesapeake Haven, and Town Point and returned in the afternoon. Passengers desiring to go to Baltimore could connect with the Philadelphia boat at Betterton.
There were special evening excursions too. On a sweltering Wednesday evening in July, she ran a special moonlight cruise, taking people down the river to relieve the intense heat that made the evening uncomfortable. The Elkton Cornet Band furnished music on the expedition to Town Point.
The boat completed the season for 1916. It is unclear if some service returned in 1917, but in 1918, a government report noted that line had been abandoned.
