The Enduring Journey of the Schooner Governor Stone
If you stroll down by St. Andrews Bay today, you might notice an empty slip at the marina—or perhaps catch sight of a venerable old wooden hull under repair at a nearby school yard. That graceful relic is the schooner Governor Stone, a true living legend of the Gulf Coast. Her story spans nearly 150 years of tides and time, from a bustling 19th-century shipyard to the quiet waters of Panama City, Florida. This is her tale, told with the warmth of a St. Andrews storyteller, rich in history and heart.
Beginnings in the Age of Sail (1877)
The story of the Governor Stone begins in the age of sail, in the year 1877. Down in Pascagoula, Mississippi—when steamships were rare and sailboats were the lifeline of coastal communities—a skilled shipwright named Charles Greiner set out to build a sturdy two-masted schooner. Greiner ran a chandlery business supplying ships, and he needed a vessel to ferry goods to and from the big deep-draft ships anchored offshore. From local heart-pine, cypress, and oak, he crafted a shallow-draft schooner ideal for navigating the Gulf’s tricky bays and sandbars. When his creation was complete, Greiner named her the Governor Stone, in honor of his friend John Marshall Stone, the first governor of Mississippi elected after the Civil War. Little could he know that this humble cargo schooner would become the last of her kind and a cherished piece of maritime history.
In her early years, the Governor Stone worked hard under sail, carrying everything from lumber and hardware to mail and dry goods between the Gulf Coast ports. In an era when roads were muddy trails and rail lines hadn’t yet reached many coastal towns, shallow-draft schooners like her were the 18-wheelers of the day. They linked communities separated by bays and bayous, bringing supplies and news. The Governor Stone proved well-suited to this task: just 39 feet on deck (around 63 feet overall with her bowsprit), she was big enough to handle a decent cargo but small enough to slip into river mouths and shallow harbors that larger ships couldn’t reach. With a crew of only three and canvas sails harnessing the Gulf breeze, she quietly became a backbone of local commerce. Neighbors along the coast would watch for her creamy sails on the horizon, knowing that goods (and perhaps a few letters from loved ones) were on their way. Life moved at the pace of the wind and tide, and the Governor Stone was a trusted, hardworking part of it all.
Oysters, Pirates, and Prohibition (Late 1800s–1930s)
As the Governor Stone plied the Gulf’s waters, she eventually found her way into the hands of new owners who would leave indelible marks on her story. For roughly 60 years, she was owned and operated by a pair of colorful Gulf Coast families: first by Nathan “Mul” Dorlon, and later by Patrick and Thomas Burns. Under their care, the schooner took on a new role as an oyster buy-boat, sailing the shallow bays to meet oyster men on the water. In those days, Apalachicola Bay and other Gulf locales teemed with oyster tongers—hardy folk tonging up oysters from small skiffs. The Governor Stone would sail out to them, buy their briny harvest right off their boats, and then rush the cargo of fresh oysters to the market before they spoiled. It was hot, heavy work, but profitable if you had a fast boat and a capable crew. The Governor Stone became a familiar sight around oyster beds from Mississippi to Florida, her low hull riding heavy with shellfish destined for local seafood houses.
Mul Dorlon, who bought the Governor Stone for a mere $425, was already 69 years old, a seasoned waterman with a few stories of his own. Locals whispered one tale about Mul that always raises eyebrows: as legend has it, he once tangled with a Gulf Coast pirate by the name of “Spud” Thompson. Spud was said to be the last of the old pirates troubling these waters, and when he threatened Mul’s kin, the tough old oyster man confronted him. With one mighty blow of his fist, Mul Dorlon supposedly knocked the pirate stone-cold, putting an end to Thompson’s mischief for good. Folks loved to say that the Governor Stone inherited some of Mul’s tenacious spirit—after all, she herself would have to fend off more than a few threats in years to come.
By the early 1900s, Mul Dorlon passed the daily chores of oyster trading to his partner Patrick Burns and Patrick’s enterprising son, Thomas Burns. Young Thomas often captained the Governor Stone on oyster-buying runs, and he brought a bit of modern innovation (and a dash of roguishness) to the old schooner. In the 1920s, during the wild years of Prohibition, Thomas installed a small 16-horsepower engine in the Governor Stone—much to his mother’s dismay—transforming her into a motorized vessel when needed. The little engine could push the schooner on calm days or help her slip in and out of hidden coves. And hidden coves were exactly where Thomas sometimes went, because he had a sideline business: rum-running. Under cover of darkness, the Governor Stone would quietly rendezvous with smugglers off the coast of Cuba or the Bahamas, taking on illicit shipments of rum. At $500 a trip (a fortune at that time), the risk was worth it to young Captain Burns. The Governor Stone’s shallow draft let her creep through marshy backwaters, offload the contraband liquor, and be gone before the authorities arrived. More than once the Coast Guard came after her; they even boarded and searched her a few times. One dark night Thomas had to dump a load of precious rum overboard to avoid being caught red-handed. But luck—or perhaps those guardian spirits Mul Dorlon joked about—was on their side. The Governor Stone was never seized, and Thomas always somehow stayed one step ahead of the law. The old schooner gained a reputation as a crafty survivor both in fair trade and under the table.
Trials by Storm: 1906 and 1939
Through the oyster boom and the Prohibition escapades, the Governor Stone also had to weather the literal storms that often rage in the Gulf. Her mettle was tested in September 1906, when a monstrous hurricane roared out of the Caribbean and slammed into the Gulf Coast. At the time, Captain Thomas Burns had actually taken another schooner (a vessel named Ethel) out on a run, leaving the Governor Stone anchored with a fleet of other schooners in a supposedly safe cove at Heron Bay, Alabama. But the storm was far stronger than anyone anticipated. It sent water surging and winds howling through the bay, turning schooners into playthings. When terrified survivors recounted the aftermath, they spoke of twenty-one men from the oyster fleet lost to the angry sea that night. Captain Burns himself barely survived, clinging to an upturned skiff for hours until rescue. As for the Governor Stone, she was found washed ashore, thrown up into the marshes like a toy. Her stout wooden hull was shattered and partly buried, and it looked like her seafaring days might be over.
Yet, remarkably, she endured. The Burns family managed to salvage the Governor Stone from the muck. The repairs cost a staggering $600—a huge sum in 1906, reflecting just how valuable these schooners were to their owners and communities. Rebuilding her wasn’t just a business decision; it was a labor of love and necessity. When workers hauled her out, rumor has it they discovered two skeletons in the hold. Who those poor souls were, nobody could say—perhaps crew from another wreck, or stowaways who sought shelter aboard and met a tragic fate. Superstitious sailors mused that maybe those spirits stayed on as silent guardians, for after being patched up, the Governor Stone returned to service as good as new. People started to say she led a charmed life, surviving trials that would sink other ships. Many a Gulf Coast old-timer would nod sagely and remark, “She’s got good bones, that schooner—and maybe a ghost or two watching out for her.”
The Governor Stone continued under Thomas Burns’s command for decades after that hurricane. She sailed on through the 1910s, 20s, and 30s, still hauling oysters, cargo, and whatever else came her way. But time was catching up with the old schooner. By the late 1930s, change was in the wind. Wooden sailboats were becoming relics as motorboats, automobiles, and trucks took over coastal trade. In 1939, after more than 60 years of hard service, the Governor Stonemet another fierce storm (or perhaps simply the accumulation of age and wear). She sank again, her second sinking under the Burns family’s watch. This time, Thomas Burns did not attempt to raise her. The world had moved on—there were faster ways to move seafood and freight now, and the trusty schooner that had once been an asset was now just an old, waterlogged hull resting on a shoal. It seemed that the Governor Stone’s long run might finally be at an end.
Reinvention as the “Queen of the Fleet” (1940s–1950s)
As fate would have it, the Governor Stone’s story was far from over. Just when she lay neglected and half-sunk, a new admirer appeared to give her yet another life. Mr. Isaac Rhea, proprietor of the posh Inn by the Sea resort in Pass Christian, Mississippi, heard about the old sunken schooner and saw an opportunity. Rhea was looking for a classic sailing vessel to entertain guests at his resort with day cruises, and the Governor Stone—even in her sorry state—had good pedigree and sturdy bones. In 1940, he arranged to salvage the wreck and had the schooner painstakingly rebuilt from stem to stern. When the work was done, the old oyster boat emerged gleaming, refitted for a very different role: carrying tourists on pleasure sails along the Mississippi Sound. Rhea christened her with a fittingly grand title: the Queen of the Fleet. Under the care of a capable skipper named Charles Merrick, the schooner-turned-daycruiser became the pride of Pass Christian. From 1940 until the early 1950s, countless resort visitors—wide-eyed children, honeymooners, and businessmen on holiday—stepped aboard the Queen of the Fleet for a taste of the sea. They’d feel the deck sway gently underfoot and the salty breeze snap the sails overhead as the once hard-working schooner now delivered simple joy and adventure. Many locals who grew up in that era remember seeing her glide by, full of laughing passengers, a symbol of graceful leisure on the Coast.
However, even as she played the genteel hostess, the world was heading into turmoil. In 1941, the United States entered World War II, and every resource was soon drafted for the war effort—even old wooden schooners. In 1942, the U.S. government’s War Shipping Administration came knocking and purchased the Queen of the Fleet for the grand sum of $1.00. The Navy had a unique use for her: she became a humble training vessel for young sailors and coast guardsmenduring the war. While steel destroyers and aircraft carriers grabbed headlines, this little schooner quietly helped wartime recruits learn the ropes—literally. Trainees climbed her masts, practiced navigation and sail handling, and got a feel for life at sea, all on a vessel that harkened back to an earlier age. One can imagine those Navy trainees, many of them farm boys or city kids who’d never seen the ocean, nervously taking the wheel or hauling lines on a century-old schooner. The Governor Stone, in her wartime guise, did her duty faithfully. When the war finally ended in 1945, she had played a small but meaningful part in preparing sailors for service.
In 1947, the government returned the schooner to Mr. Rhea—thankfully in one piece—along with a new upgrade: they had installed a powerful 110-horsepower Chrysler Marine engine in her. This engine was far larger than the tiny motor Thomas Burns had once added, and it ensured the vessel could maneuver under power when needed, a useful feature for a tour boat. Mr. Rhea resumed using the schooner for excursions, and the Queen of the Fleet sailed on through the early 1950s, giving post-war vacationers a taste of peace and normalcy out on the water.
By 1953, the era of Rhea’s resort cruises came to a close. The schooner passed through a couple more owners and names in the mid-1950s, though details of those years have grown fuzzy with time. What is known is that fate still had a few twists in store. In 1956, another fierce storm struck the Gulf Coast, and the unlucky schooner—perhaps caught in a bad spot or inadequately secured—was thrown against a bridge piling. The collision tore a gaping hole in her hull. Once again, the Governor Stone (as we’ll continue to call her, though she had other names then) filled with water and sank beneath the waves. This marked her third major sinking in her lifetime. To any other boat, three sinkings would be the end of the line, but not this one. Each time, people who cared found a way to revive her. True to form, she was raised and repaired yet again. Still, by the late 1950s, the weary schooner was something of a wandering ghost. The age of grand schooners was truly over—yet she persisted, waiting quietly for the next chapter.
A Gulf Coast Resurrection (1960s–1990s)
The Governor Stone’s next savior arrived in 1965 in the form of Captain John Curry. Curry was a passionate sailor and something of a romantic; he saw in the tired old schooner the potential for adventure and history. He purchased the vessel (likely for much less than $425 this time!) and, along with his wife, made the Governor Stone their home. The couple poured their hearts into restoring the schooner once more—this time not for oysters or tourists, but as a private sailing yacht. They installed a few modern comforts below decks, learned the ins and outs of handling a gaff-rigged schooner, and then they did something extraordinary: they went on a quest to uncover the boat’s forgotten past.
When Captain Curry acquired the schooner, she had been through so many changes of name and ownership that much of her history was hidden. Curiously, it wasn’t widely known at the time that this was the same schooner built in 1877. So John and his wife became detective-historians. They literally sailed the coast retracing the boat’s old haunts. In port towns from Mississippi to the Florida Panhandle, they sought out old-timers who might remember an oyster boat or a tour schooner from decades before. They combed through library archives and yellowed newspaper clippings. Piece by piece, like assembling a jigsaw puzzle, the Currys connected the dots: the Queen of the Fleet their neighbors recalled from Pass Christian was indeed the old Governor Stone oyster schooner from Pascagoula. The vessel’s true identity and astonishing longevity came into focus. One can imagine the excitement John Curry felt when he realized his beloved live-aboard yacht was none other than the last surviving schooner of a once-mighty Gulf fleet.
With this knowledge in hand, Captain Curry honored the boat’s legacy by refitting her more closely to her original working form. He stripped away unnecessary frills added during the resort days, simplifying the rig and deck layout to how a 19th-century cargo schooner should be. He did leave a few conveniences—every sailor appreciates a functional “head” (toilet) on board!—and he kept a reliable engine installed for safety. But largely, the schooner regained her historic character under his care. For over two decades, the Curry family sailed the Governor Stone as a cherished private vessel, all while proudly sharing her story with anyone who showed interest. Many a dockside conversation likely started with, “Did you know this boat was built in 1877…?”
As the Governor Stone approached her twilight years in the late 1980s, John Curry made a decision that would secure her future for the public good. He didn’t want her story to fade away or the schooner to end up rotting in some backwater. Instead, in 1991 he donated the Governor Stone to the Apalachicola Maritime Institute, a museum and sail training organization in Apalachicola, Florida. It was a fitting home for a vessel steeped in Gulf maritime heritage. Almost as if to acknowledge her importance, that very same year the Governor Stone received official recognition as a National Historic Landmark. This is a rare honor—only a tiny fraction of historic vessels ever achieve landmark status. Today there are only about 125 vessels with this designation. It meant that the United States had acknowledged the Governor Stone as an irreplaceable piece of American history.
Throughout the 1990s, the schooner thrived in Apalachicola. She became a floating classroom and goodwill ambassador for maritime heritage. Local captains and volunteers took groups of at-risk youth out sailing, teaching them teamwork and discipline as they raised her sails and steered her across Apalachicola Bay. Tourists and schoolchildren alike could climb aboard to learn about the bygone days of schooners and coastal trade. Those were gratifying years: after a life of labor and adventure, the Governor Stone was now mostly retired from hard work, yet busier than ever inspiringpeople. Folks in Apalachicola grew fond of the dignified old vessel that graced their docks. People like Kristin Anderson, a resident of Apalachicola who crewed on the Governor Stone in the ’90s, would later recall how sailing on the schooner felt almost spiritual—“as if the Governor Stone has a soul,” she said. It’s a sentiment shared by many who spent time on her decks.
By the early 2000s, the Governor Stone needed yet another transition. The Apalachicola Maritime Institute eventually faced challenges in maintaining the aging schooner. In 2003, a plan was hatched to berth her at Eden Gardens State Park on the Choctawhatchee Bay (in Walton County, FL) as a historic exhibit. However, the waters there proved too shallow and inaccessible for regular visits. That could have been a dead end, but instead it led to the formation of a dedicated group, the Friends of the Governor Stone, Inc., in 2005. This all-volunteer nonprofit was formed solely to care for, maintain, and showcase the beloved schooner. From that point on, the Governor Stone truly became the people’s boatalong the Florida Gulf Coast.
The Pride of St. Andrews Bay (2000s–2010s)
Under the Friends of the Governor Stone, the schooner embarked on a new chapter as a roaming ambassador of history along the northern Gulf Coast. Volunteers—some retirees, some experienced sailors, some enthusiastic youngsters—rolled up their sleeves to sand and varnish her timbers, to paint and rig and keep her seaworthy. They raised funds with fish fries and t-shirt sales, all to “keep history afloat,” as their motto went. And they sailed the Governor Stone far and wide to share her with the public. From Navarre on Florida’s western Panhandle all the way east to Carrabelle, she visited coastal towns and festivals. At each stop, crowds would come to see this beautifully restored 19th-century schooner, often the oldest vessel in whatever harbor she entered. She was not just a static museum piece either—she sailed proudly under the Florida sun, a rare sight of living history under canvas.
In 2013, the Governor Stone found her home port in Historic St. Andrews, here in Panama City. The city designated St. Andrews Marina as her official base, much to the delight of local residents. For the first time in her long life, the Governor Stone was a Floridian by home address—and St. Andrews welcomed her with open arms. Docked along-side fishing boats and pleasure craft, the elegant schooner instantly became the crown jewel of the marina. Many evenings, locals would take their stroll by the docks just to admire her: the way the sunset painted her white sails (when they were hoisted on special occasions) or how her polished wooden spars gleamed with care. Old salt or landlubber alike, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride and wonder seeing a vessel of her age and grace floating right there in St. Andrews Bay.
Knowing that the salt and time had taken a toll, the Friends of the Governor Stone secured a grant from the State of Florida and, in 2014, undertook a major restoration in the Bay County Boatyard. This restoration was meticulous—craftsmen and historians worked hand in hand to replace rotten planks and frames while preserving as much original wood as possible. They tried to return the Governor Stone to her 1877 appearance: her rigging was adjusted to historic specifications, and fittings were fashioned in the style of the 19th century. After months of work, she re-emerged in better shape than she’d been in decades. Locals marveled at the result; it was like seeing the clock turned back. When she took to the water again, fully restored, the Governor Stone looked as if she had sailed straight out of a sepia-toned photograph from the 1880s. Instead of oysters or cargo, she now carried history – and anyone lucky enough to step aboard would immediately feel transported in time.
Over the next few years, the Governor Stone served her community in joyous fashion. She hosted school groups, educating children about the age of sail and the ecology of our bays. She participated in local festivals—perhaps you saw her leading the boat parade during a Fourth of July celebration or offering sunset sails during the annual seafood festival. On weekends, her volunteer crew might invite curious passersby at the marina to hop aboard for a quick harbor sail, teaching them how to belay a line or describe what life would be like on a 19th-century schooner. For maritime enthusiasts, she was a dream; for the average family, she was a surprising and delightful connection to their heritage. St. Andrews had fallen in love with the Governor Stone, and in return she gave the town and its people a sense of living connection to all those who had come before on these waters.
Hurricane Michael and the Fight to Rebuild (2018–Present)
On October 10, 2018, Hurricane Michael roared ashore and forever changed Panama City and the surrounding communities. This catastrophic storm, one of the strongest to hit Florida, did not spare St. Andrews. The Governor Stone, secured in her slip at the marina, fought bravely against Michael’s onslaught, but the hurricane’s 155-mph winds and powerful surge were overwhelming. By the time the skies cleared, heartbreak spread through the town: the beautiful schooner had been ripped from her moorings and capsized, found overturned and broken not far from where she had long been docked. Her masts were snapped, her hull badly breached and splintered. For the people who loved her, it was as if a dear friend lay stricken. Some feared that after 141 years and so many close calls, the Governor Stone had finally met the one storm she couldn’t overcome.
But remember, this schooner has a fighting spirit—and so do the people of St. Andrews. As soon as it was safe, the Friends of the Governor Stone and other volunteers sprang into action. They carefully rescued the wreckage of the schooner from the debris-littered waters. It was a painful sight: pieces of the vessel had been scattered, and her once-proud form was in shambles. Yet, as they inspected the remains, those volunteers must have felt a familiar resolve kindling. This was not the Governor Stone’s first disaster. She had sunk three times before—in 1906, 1939, and 1956—and each time folks had pulled her up and patched her together again. As one cheeky observer noted, “She might sink like a stone, but she doesn’t stay sunk.” The community was determined that a fourth sinking would not be her end, either.
The recovery turned into a monumental restoration project, aided in part by grants and the unwavering commitment of the Friends group. By 2019, the schooner’s pieces were moved to a temporary workshop—ironically, the yard of an old historic school in St. Andrews, a place where children once played now housing a different kind of learning project. Throughout 2020 and 2021, while many other community rebuilding efforts also went on (since Michael left no one untouched), the volunteers kept the Governor Stone in their plans. Finally, in May 2022, full restoration work began in earnest. It was a massive undertaking: the keel and stem had to be replaced, new timbers shaped to rebuild her hull, and countless components either conserved or reconstructed to meet both modern safety and historic authenticity.
There were challenges aplenty. Work crews would take apart sections of the boat only to discover deeper hidden damage from the hurricane—rotted wood that needed replacement, fastenings that had given way. Each new find meant more labor, more funds, and often waiting on approvals and materials. Progress was slow but steady. Often if you passed by the old St. Andrews schoolyard, you’d hear the sounds of saws and hammers, and see a handful of shipwrights and volunteers bent diligently over the skeleton of the schooner. They worked under a makeshift pavilion roof, shielding the Governor Stone from sun and rain as she gradually took shape again. A battered plank bearing the schooner’s name was hung on the workshop wall like a banner of hope and motivation.
People would stop by to check on the project—after all, this isn’t just any boat rebuild, it’s a community endeavor. One volunteer joked that working on the Governor Stone “gets into your blood.” For many, it truly has. Some of the same men and women rebuilding her now have decades of memories sailing or maintaining her. To them, and to all of St. Andrews, she isn’t merely wood and rope; she’s a treasured old friend. And you don’t give up on a friend. The Friends of the Governor Stone managed to secure funding (including a substantial FEMA grant) to keep the work going. By 2023, her hull was coming back together piece by piece, with both original timbers (still strong after 140+ years) and new wood carefully blended to preserve her authenticity.
Today, the Governor Stone rests on land, awaiting the day she’ll kiss the water again. Her home slip at St. Andrews Marina sits expectantly empty, a poignant reminder each time we walk by that something is missing from the familiar waterfront scene. But if you listen to the locals and the dedicated crew restoring her, you’ll hear optimism. The plan is to launch the Governor Stone once more, as soon as her rebuild is complete and she’s deemed seaworthy. They envision a grand relaunch—a weeklong gala, perhaps, with special community sails, music and dancing on the docks, and a big cheer as the schooner finally glides out into St. Andrews Bay under her own canvas again. That mental image keeps everyone motivated: the sight of the Governor Stone returned to glory, sailing into the sunset as a living symbol of all that St. Andrews has endured and achieved.
A Living Legend of the Gulf Coast
The saga of the Governor Stone is more than just the tale of an old boat—it’s the story of the Gulf Coast itself and the people who call it home. She has been, at various times, a workhorse cargo freighter, an oyster skiff’s best friend, a rum-runner eluding the law, a naval training ship in wartime, a pleasure cruiser for tourists, a classroom at sea for students, and a traveling museum of maritime heritage. Few vessels have worn so many hats or seen so many chapters of history. Through boom times and bust, calm seas and hurricanes, she has endured. In a very real sense, the Governor Stone’s resilience mirrors the resilience of the coastal communities she has served.
Generations have cared for this schooner—first out of practical necessity, later out of love and respect. Each generation passed her to the next, along with the stories she carried. Today, in St. Andrews, her story continues to be written. Children who saw her at the marina a few years ago will someday be able to tell their own kids, “I remember when the Governor Stone was being rebuilt, and now look, she’s sailing again!” When she is back on the water, perhaps you’ll wander down to the marina on a breezy afternoon and see her there, tugging gently at her lines as if eager to be off on her next voyage. You might hear the creak of her rigging and the lap of waves on her hull—a sound akin to the whisper of history.
And should you be fortunate enough to sail aboard the Governor Stone on a future day, take a moment to lay a hand on her warm wooden railing. Close your eyes and you might sense them: the echoes of those oyster fishermen haggling over their catch, the laughter of resort guests in the 1940s, the shouted commands of Navy trainees, the quiet determination of Captain Curry researching in old libraries, and the voices of the volunteers who refused to let her die after the storm. All of that lives on in this one unassuming schooner.
In St. Andrews, we cherish such stories. We know that history isn’t just in textbooks or museums—it’s alive, anchored right here in our bay. The Governor Stone is our link to a past where sailboats ruled the waves and communities rose and fell by the tide. She reminds us of a slower-paced world full of hard work and simple joys, of perils bravely faced and treasures hard-won. Her decks have been trod by pirates and pastors, by sailors and schoolchildren. If her timbers could talk, oh, the yarns she would spin!
As a local storyteller, I can assure you this: the Governor Stone is more than just an artifact. She’s family. We eagerly await the day we see her proud masts on the horizon once again. And when that day comes, the people of St. Andrews will be here on the dock, waving and cheering, honoring not just a boat but the living legacy of our community. The schooner Governor Stone will sail on, carrying our history into the future—a symbol of hope, heritage, and the heart of the Gulf Coast.
And so this grand old lady of the sea teaches us one more lesson: storms may come, times may change, but true spirit never sinks.
