ニューベッドフォード・オーディオツアー：クジラ、驚異、そして隠された歴史

Imagine merchants bustling along the sidewalks, the rich aroma of whale oil and salt air mingling in the breeze, and gruff sailors swapping stories about adventures on the Pacific and Indian Oceans. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the echo of harpoons clinking as people hurry by-after all, in the golden era of whaling, this district was built on fortunes that were, quite literally, dragged up from the deep sea! Now, families here had a unique way of doing things. According to legend (and Herman Melville!), fathers were known to give whales as dowries, and you’d see brides walking down the aisle in whale-bone corsets, lit by gleaming spermaceti candles. Trust me, candlelight dinners took on a whole new meaning when the “oil” in question came from a whale’s head! New Bedford even managed to outshine Nantucket, becoming the country’s whaling powerhouse by the 1840s, all thanks to its deep harbor and enterprising founders like Joseph Rotch and Joseph Russell. Ships like the Dartmouth and Rebecca made the first expeditions, carrying precious whale oil to London and later, all the way to the Pacific. But it wasn’t always smooth sailing. In 1778, British troops stormed through, leaving flames in their wake as they torched ships and shops. The city had to rebuild-again and again. Yet, like a seasoned sailor, New Bedford never gave up. By the 1830s, beautiful buildings like the U.S. Customhouse arose, where captains filed their paperwork and maybe grumbled about taxes. Wealthy residents like William Rotch built grand homes, and “patrician-like” mansions and flowery gardens sprouted where there had once been only “bony” land. Think of it as the ultimate rags-to-riches story-only in this case, the riches came in barrels. You’re standing in a neighborhood where the famous Seamen’s Bethel welcomed nervous sailors for a final prayer before they faced the perils of the sea. Melville himself described New Bedford’s “brilliant weddings” and its “reservoirs of oil in every house.” It sounds extravagant, but hey-when your whole economy runs on blubber, you might as well shine! But the tides changed. After the Civil War and the rise of petroleum, whaling dwindled. The city’s industry moved westward, textile mills sprang up, and some of these historic buildings fell into neglect. Yet like a plot twist in a good sailor’s yarn, New Bedford’s story didn’t end there. Locals, not willing to let their maritime heritage fade, rallied together, forming the Waterfront Historic Area LeaguE (or WHALE-now that’s a fitting name for preservationists!). In 1966, thanks to their passion, this area was protected as one of America’s earliest National Historic Landmarks. Later, it became part of the New Bedford Whaling National Historical Park, bringing new life and curious visitors to the district. You’ll spot the oldest building here, the Mariner’s Home, once belonging to William Rotch, and the rugged Samuel Rodman Candlehouse, still standing proud since 1810. The old NBIS bank, now the National Park Service Visitors’ Center, once protected more than just money-it safeguarded the stories of centuries. So as you stroll these bustling blocks, remember: New Bedford isn’t just a town built by whalemen. It’s a testament to perseverance-and perhaps the only place in New England where burning whale oil was considered both a luxury and a competitive sport. Stay tuned as our tour continues-there’s always one more tale around the next cobblestoned corner! Interested in knowing more about the geography, significant contributing properties or the preservation

This museum opened its doors in 1904, but its roots go back to an evening in 1903, when a frustrated news reporter named Ellis L. Howland gave the people of New Bedford a nudge. He said, in effect, “Folks, if we don’t save our old logbooks from being turned into wrapping paper, we’ll have nothing but memories!” And that’s how the Old Dartmouth Historical Society was born-one part history club, one part preservation squad, one hundred percent passionate about not losing the story of Old Dartmouth: that’s the communities of New Bedford, Acushnet, Dartmouth, Fairhaven, and Westport. You’re standing next to a collection that’s among the world’s greatest: over 750,000 treasures. If you’re a scrimshaw enthusiast, this is your paradise, with more than 3,000 intricate pieces-whalemen with too much time on their hands and a sharp knife could turn whale teeth into tiny masterpieces. The museum also boasts around 2,500 whaling ship logbooks-the largest such collection anywhere. The logbooks are a time machine with ink-stained pages, recording icebergs, storms, and the odd practical joke at sea. If you’re feeling adventurous, inside is the enormous Lagoda: the world’s biggest model whaling ship, built at half-size but detailed enough to make any sailor’s heart skip a beat. She’s 89 feet from bow to stern. Picture children pretending to be captains; grown-ups squinting through imaginary spyglasses, all totally absorbed. Now, whaling wasn’t just about hunting whales-it was a meeting of cultures and the foundation of a global city. The Azorean Whaleman Gallery will show you how men from tiny islands in the Atlantic came to New Bedford, chasing whales and new lives. The city transformed into a tapestry of voices and traditions, with whaleboat builders, harpooners, and navigators crossing oceans to call this place home. Science and spectacle collide inside these galleries. There are five whale skeletons-imagine standing under the ribs of KOBO, the juvenile blue whale, or pondering the fate of Quasimodo, the three-year-old humpback whose bones have been on display since the 1930s. There’s also Reyna, a North Atlantic right whale who was pregnant when she was saved for science. All these whales died by accident, not harpoons-a hopeful sign that our fascination now comes with a sense of responsibility. Let’s not forget the art. The galleries hold seascapes by giants like Albert Bierstadt, William Bradford, and Albert Pinkham Ryder, plus local glassware and furniture-all glittering reminders that New Bedford’s success brought home riches and refined tastes. In fact, New Bedford outpaced Nantucket to become America’s whaling capital by 1827. This isn’t just a museum-it’s an evolving lesson. In the 1970s, as the world turned away from hunting whales, the museum stepped up, helping researchers chart the wonders and warnings of our relationship with nature. That mission keeps growing, tackling everything from resource depletion to multiculturalism. And if you’re into quirky fun: imagine couples getting married beneath skeletons the size of buses, or an annual reading marathon of Herman Melville’s *Moby-Dick* that tests the endurance of literature lovers and caffeine alike. All around you, 20 galleries fill an entire city block-so whether you’re captivated by scrimshaw, ship models, harpoons, art, or the secrets of the deep, the New Bedford Whaling Museum promises a whale of a time, with just the right mix of salt, science, and stories. Now, on to the next adventure-let’s hope no one gets swallowed by a whale along the way!

You’ve made it to one of New Bedford’s most extraordinary residents-well, not a person, but a ship! Standing before you is the legendary Effie M. Morrissey, now known as the Ernestina-Morrissey-a grand old schooner with more adventure under her sails than a whole season of pirate movies. Try to imagine the creak of the wooden planks below your feet, the salt air swirling around you, and gulls calling overhead. Picture the year 1894. Her hull, built from sturdy white oak and yellow pine, gleamed with a fresh coat of black paint as she slid into the icy waters of Essex, Massachusetts. William Edward Morrissey, her first skipper, named her after his daughter Effie. She was designed for storms-the kind that would have regular ships scurrying for shore-thanks to the steady hand of George McClain, one of Gloucester’s best. And believe me, right from her first voyage she wasn’t shy about showing off; she hauled in an eye-popping 200,000 pounds of fish her first trip-enough to pay for her own construction. She was what fishermen called a “high liner”-a real catch! From her early days fishing on the perilous Grand Banks of Newfoundland, Effie M. Morrissey gathered tales like barnacles. One of her skippers was Clayton Morrissey, who’d go on to skipper the racing schooner Henry Ford. And so many tales were spun about her-they even inspired a famous poem, “The Log of the Record Run,” that folks thought it was a sea-shanty passed down through generations. But Effie wasn’t content with the daily grind of fishing. In 1925, she moved on to her next act-a vessel for scientific exploration and icy adventure. An engine was installed, her hull reinforced, and in came Captain Bob Bartlett, a man whose mustache alone could probably have kept a ship warm in the Arctic. The Effie didn’t just visit the Arctic, she practically had her own reserved parking spot up there. Sponsored by famous groups like the American Museum of Natural History and the Explorers Club, and even National Geographic, she sailed into some of the northernmost waters on earth-imagine ice groaning and cracking under your keel, with narwhals surfacing nearby and scientists scampering around taking samples. She took part in over a decade of daring expeditions: chasing narwhals, collecting wildflowers for botanical gardens, even helping the U.S. Government during World War II by surveying Arctic waters for secret bases. In 1940, she even set a record for sailing further north than almost any other ship at the time: just 578 nautical miles from the North Pole. Talk about north! Adventure eventually changed course-when Captain Bartlett passed away in 1946, the Effie changed hands again and made her way across the Atlantic. Under her new name “Ernestina,” and a fresh registration in Cape Verde, she became a lifeline for Cape Verdean families, ferrying food, clothing, and even people across the wild Atlantic. She lived through fires, storms, even repairs that would have humbled other ships. By the late 1970s, Ernestina’s story took an emotional turn. After years in Cape Verde, patched together and loved, she was given as a gift from the people of Cape Verde to the United States-a symbol of friendship and connection across the ocean. The ship arrived back here, in New Bedford, after a dramatic rebuild at sea, steered yet again by a vibrant Cape Verdean and American crew. Owned by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, she finally found her resting place as an honored National Historic Landmark and the official State Ship. But wait-the adventure’s not over yet! Even today, after a multi-million dollar restoration, she still travels the coast, hosting educational cruises and introducing new generations to the sights, the smells, and the sounds of a real working schooner. If you listen closely, perhaps you can hear her whisper stories of the Arctic winds, Atlantic storms, and the laughter of fishermen and explorers who once called her home. With all her years, all her stories, and all her miles, the Effie M. Morrissey-Ernestina-proves that the heart of adventure beats strong in New Bedford. And, of course, she’s always up for another tale if you’ve got the time!

Right in front of you once stood one of New Bedford’s giants-the New Bedford Gas and Edison Light Complex. Picture this: towering over the waterfront, the Cannon Power Station stretched nearly the length of a football field, rising over 80 feet into the salty air. Built in 1916 and expanded again and again until 1950, this was the city’s power hub-a place buzzing with the clatter of machines and the steady hum of generators. If you traveled back in time, you’d see workers busily tending turbines to bring light to every home in town, maybe even with a little soot on their faces. The air was thick with the smell of oil and iron. Right beside it, there's the sturdy granite foundry from 1856. Three stories tall and all business, this old building once rang with the clang of metal as Taber & Grinnell’s blacksmiths forged iron into every imaginable shape. After decades of powering everything from reading lamps to late-night fish fries, the station finally went dark in 1992. Dreamers thought about turning it into an aquarium-some even whispered about a casino-but neither plan came through. The power generation building was taken down in 2023 as New Bedford looked to the future, making way for wind turbines set to catch the Atlantic breezes. So, while the hum of machines has faded, you’re standing at the crossroads of invention-from molten iron to offshore wind, all on this very spot. And don’t worry, my light puns are a lot safer than their generators!

This isn’t just any meeting house. It’s been the heart of New Bedford’s Quaker community since the days when this whole region was just called Dartmouth-long before New Bedford hit the map. Back then, the Quakers picked their land by eye for soil more than for skyline, so there wasn’t much of a town. The closest thing to downtown was probably a patch of carrots! Fast forward to 1785-a small but mighty group of determined souls built a meeting house right near this spot. Rumor has it the town even smelled more like whale oil than coffee in the mornings, thanks to the booming whaling business the Quakers helped steer. And here’s a fun fact to toss around: this very land was donated by Joseph Rotch, a leading light in the whaling industry and a man with enough community spirit to make Ben Franklin look lazy. The building you see today, built in 1822, is as calm and humble as a Sunday morning nap. The Quakers believed in simplicity, so no fancy flourishes here. If you wander a little, you’ll notice separate entrances for men and women-a detail from a time when life was run on both tradition and, frankly, a little less multitasking. But these walls witnessed more than quiet worship. New Bedford became a stronghold on the Underground Railroad, and Quakers here helped fugitives toward freedom, guided by their ironclad belief in equality. Just steps from where you stand, Frederick Douglass himself found sanctuary after escaping slavery. He met William Taber and Joseph Ricketson-Quakers who set him at ease with little more than a look and a few encouraging words. “It was good indeed to meet with such friends, at such a time,” Douglass wrote. Now that’s what I call a five-star review! Inside, business meetings were kept orderly-William Taber probably wielded the gavel more often than a courtroom judge. Quaker merchants like the Howland family ran whale ships and traded candles made with whale oil. They were stern, but fair-George Howland Sr. was, in Douglass’s own words, “a hard driver, but a good paymaster.” Makes you wonder if the payroll was more complicated than the tides around here. The Grinnells and Hetty Green-once called “The richest woman in America”-also sat on these benches. Across the way, abolitionists Nathan and Polly Johnson, neighbors of the old meetinghouse, offered food and friendship to Douglass. Before you leave, take a moment to gaze across the street at Abolition Row Park and the statue of Frederick Douglass. There’s a reason New Bedford’s known as a “city of firsts”-first for freedom, first for whaling, maybe even first for taking simplicity seriously. And like any good Quaker meeting, it all starts with a moment of reflection amid the quiet.

You’re standing in front of the Nathan and Mary (Polly) Johnson properties, one of New Bedford’s most powerful windows into the fight for freedom. Try to imagine the year is sometime in the mid-1800s. The air is alive with the smell of freshly baked confections from Polly’s bakery, and you might even hear the distant hum of wagons and voices as Seventh Street bustles with activity. Now, take a look at these two buildings before you. The first structure, with its gable roof and old wooden frame, once served as a Quaker meetinghouse back in 1785. Imagine rows of Quaker families shuffling in-it was so well built that when the new brick meetinghouse was finished in the 1820s, they just up and moved the entire building to this spot, like rearranging living room furniture! Nathan Johnson, a free Black man originally from Philadelphia, purchased it in 1832 and transformed it into a family home. Can an 1800s renovation be considered a DIY project? If so, Nathan and Polly would certainly win an award! Right next to it, the Johnson House at 21 Seventh Street, tells another story. With its Greek Revival flair, it hides a secret: it’s actually two old buildings spliced together, with Polly handling the paperwork while Nathan was away-a true power couple! Polly moved the original house to the back and joined it with this new 1857 addition. The mismatched Victorian porch and arch-shaped attic windows give it a lively personality, as if the buildings themselves have stories to tell. But the real drama played out inside. These homes are famous for their role in the Underground Railroad. Imagine the tension and hope as escaped men and women, shivering and breathless, hid here, sheltered by Nathan and Polly. Folks in the neighborhood would have whispered, never quite knowing what might be hidden behind ordinary front doors. And hush now-there’s even a mysterious trapdoor in the attic that leads to a hidden space, long suspected to be a secret refuge for runaways. Although no evidence has proved people hid there, you can’t help but wonder, right? Nathan and Polly weren’t just local heroes; Nathan was one of the city’s wealthiest Black residents by the 1850s, building his fortune as a caterer while Polly charmed everyone with her bakery business. Both stood at the heart of New Bedford’s abolitionist movement. Nathan was so respected that when Frederick Douglass-the famed escaped slave and future orator-arrived in town, it’s the Johnson family that took him in. Even Douglass’s last name, “Douglass,” was chosen right here within these very walls, thanks to Nathan’s encouragement. Can you picture a nervous young Frederick sitting at the kitchen table, choosing the name that would become famous around the world? Today, these houses serve as the headquarters for the New Bedford Historical Society, keeping the stories of courage and community alive. It’s impressive to think-a bit of 18th-century meetinghouse, an 1850s residence, a mysterious attic, and a legacy that changed history, all under your feet. And who knows… if you listen closely enough, you might catch an echo of distant voices, a whiff of something sweet baking, or the creak of a floorboard with a secret to tell.

Picture it: the year is 1834. Whales are the Wi-Fi and electricity of the day - their oil lights up cities around the globe. William Rotch Jr., one of the city’s wealthiest men (and a gentleman who probably had more whale stories than a marine biology textbook), decides he wants a new home. Not just any home, though, but one with style - Greek Revival, the height of fashion! William hires a young English architect named Richard Upjohn. This will be Upjohn’s very first house. Turns out, it’s the architectural equivalent of a rookie athlete hitting a home run in his first inning. Upjohn creates the yellow mansion you see before you - with tall, elegant columns, a stately porch, and chimneys that practically wave “hello” above the rooftops. Don’t be fooled by its “modest” appearance-William specifically requested something more restrained than his neighbors’ mansions. Yes, even the third-richest man in New Bedford practiced a little architectural humility. But step inside (if you get the chance!), and you’ll see original mahogany doors, delicately carved medallions on the ceilings, and window frames with a beaded knife blade profile. Fancy words aside, it’s just really, really pretty. And then, there’s the garden. William, a founding member of the New Bedford Horticultural Society, began this lush paradise. Imagine 19th-century parties: ladies in bonnets, gentlemen twirling mustaches, all wandering among the roses. Over time, the garden became something of a local legend. Now you’ll see boxwood hedges, elegant flowerbeds, a woodland walk, and even a Victorian latticework pergola. The only mystery here? How anyone managed to keep their white gloves clean while tending so many calla lilies. But the story of the house doesn’t stop with the Rotch family. Fast forward to 1851. Edward Coffin Jones, a Nantucket transplant and ship owner, buys the house for $17,000 - a tiny fortune back then. The city is booming, buzzing with the sound of shipbuilding, and New Bedford has just surpassed Nantucket in whale oil dominance. In fact, legend has it Herman Melville himself, the author of "Moby-Dick," wrote that nowhere in America were the houses and gardens finer than right here in New Bedford. Not a bad Yelp review! The Joneses fancy up the garden - adding that lovely pergola - and one of their daughters, Amelia, lives here for a staggering 85 years. She becomes a major civic benefactor as the city’s fortunes shift from whale oil to textiles. When she dies in 1935, the house changes hands again, this time to Mark Duff, another whaling family descendant, who promptly plants 7,000 tulips. That’s a lot of bulbs to dig. The Duffs also add walkways, ornamental ponds, and even more landscaping, turning the grounds into a botanical wonderland. By 1981, though, the mansion faces its greatest threat: commercial development. Dumm dumm dumm! But fear not, for the heroic local preservationists at WHALE (the Waterfront Historic Area LeaguE) swoop in, buying the property and transforming it into a museum for the people. Today, you can wander the gardens, soak in history, and even attend a class on beekeeping or botany if you time your visit right. In 2005, the house itself is declared a National Historic Landmark-a crown jewel in New Bedford’s sparkling historical tiara. So while you breathe in today’s fresh air, let your mind travel back to the scent of a thousand roses, the echo of whale oil fortunes, and the surprising mystery of what the next season’s flowerbeds will bring. Now, who’s up for counting tulips?

The building in front of you first sheltered the crew of Fire Station No. 4, including horses downstairs and hay lofts above, because nothing says “ready for action” quite like a full snack-bar for your fire-fighting horses. In fact, before things got modern, these brave souls pulled out the station’s pride and joy-the 1867 Cornelius Howland hand pumper-which saw action right here until 1884. Now, that is muscle and hustle. Up above, check out the tall hose tower with its hip roof and old bricked-up arches. Historically, hoses had to dry or they risked turning into smelly sausages-so, up they went! And here’s a twist: the station originally ran on volunteer power, led by A.M. Howland Jr., who later swapped fighting fires for fighting city budgets as mayor. Over the years, the station grew, adding space for more engines and even a repair shop. In 1913, with the help of paid staff, the hay lofts were turned into living quarters-no more firemen bedding down beside the horses! And if you listen closely inside today, you might just hear the rustle of uniforms or even the playful shouts of visitors sliding down the fire pole. Don’t miss the treasures inside: old hand-drawn fire engines, log books, and original fire records, guarded by both spirited volunteers and retired firefighters with stories hotter than a four-alarm blaze. So go ahead, try on a helmet, ring that bell, and step right into New Bedford’s blazing past!

Welcome to the Griffin Street Cemetery-New Bedford’s oldest surviving graveyard, and the last stop on our ghostly... uh, I mean, historic tour! Take a look around you: 1.7 acres of peaceful resting place, squeezed between South 2nd and Griffin Streets, with the hum of the JFK Memorial Highway close by. This place goes all the way back to 1804, when the city was just starting to bustle. Imagine the clip-clop of horse hooves rather than car engines! This cemetery was created just a stone’s throw from a Quaker burial ground-those early Quaker remains got moved to Rural Cemetery later on, but here, about 230 grave stones remain. Many more souls rest here, though-their sites are unmarked, so it’s a bit of a local mystery. The oldest headstone is from 1804, the most recent just before the Civil War in 1855. So as you wander, you’re time traveling across half a century, brushing shoulders with the city’s earliest settlers. In 2014, Griffin Street Cemetery finally got its spot on the National Register of Historic Places-just a little late, but better late than never! Who knows, maybe if you listen closely, you’ll hear a whisper or two from the past... or maybe that’s just me, drumming up a little cemetery suspense for the finale!