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Pelham was desolate; almost ghostly. Warring armies battled across the region and left little standing in their wakes. The Revolutionary War fought between American Patriots and their British oppressors was underway. The so-called "Neutral Ground" of the Manor of Pelham, in those days, was nearly ground zero in the midst of the conflict.

Not a soul then could be found in Pelham. All had fled or had learned to spend their days and nights in hiding to avoid the brutal sadism of rogue "Cowboys" and "Skinners" who scoured the region looting, burning homes, and torturing residents.

Off the shores of Pelham large British naval ships prowled the waters. Occasionally American patriots known as "whaleboatmen" would pilot long rowboats with small cannons among the massive naval vessels firing at them and their crews with tiny cannons and small muskets, worrying the naval gunboats like pesky mosquitoes that often were swatted away with massive cannonades and hails of musket fire from the decks of the large ships. Occasionally, though, the mosquitoes drew blood.

On one such occasion, the winter evening was particularly dark and biting. Even worse, a thick fog shrouded the waters and the mainland of the Manor of Pelham. Not far from Locust Point on today's Throggs Neck, near the southern tip of City Island, a hulking British naval vessel rested on the black water silently. With no moon and thick fog the black night hung thickly. It was nearly impossible to see one's hand in front of one's face. Moreover, the soupy fog seemed to muffle noises across the water, distorting the sounds of lapping water until the sounds became almost unearthly.

American Patriots on the mainland knew the hulking gunship skulked off their shores. Word had spread quickly among the Patriots even as the ship previously had departed New York City and made its way to the Sound Americans were hiding along the shore. Other courageous Patriots dragged a long whaleboat fitted with a small cannon into the inky black waters and slipped silently into the dark fog, headed in the direction of the massive gunboat.

The entire region at the time was in the midst of the famed "wood famine" of 1777. For more than a century settlers had leveled forests for farmland and chopped every tree in sight for firewood. Matters only worsened as the two warring armies battled and camped throughout the region felling what few trees remained.

On that dark, foggy night during the war, the crew of the British gunship skulking off the shores of Pelham was low on wood. They needed wood for cooking and warmth. They also knew that their local garrison always needed firewood. Their captain was concerned enough to detail his men to proceed ashore to scrounge for wood despite the wood famine. Knowing wood would be hard to come by and assuming neither man nor beast would be afoot on such a black, biting, and foggy night, the Captain foolishly detailed nearly all his crew to head ashore for wood.

The large group of British sailors slithered off their mother ship under cover of fog and darkness and made their way by small boats to Locust Point on Throggs Neck, clearly up to no good. They muffled their oars with rags wrapped around the oarlocks and remained silent as they eased ashore.

As the British navy men left their mother ship, thinking they were undetected, they could not see that a group of armed Patriot whaleboatmen also were skulking silently in their long boat only yards away from the British ship, hidden in the inky blackness of the foggy night. The Patriots heard their enemies depart the ship and formed their own plan.

The whaleboatmen waited silently in the fog and darkness until the British sailors seemed long gone. Remaining deathly silent, they maneuvered their whaleboat alongside the British vessel and scaled it, springing onto the deck with boarding axes and muskets to the shock of the guard left aboard to protect the vessel. The surprise was so complete that not a shot was fired. The guard was quickly tied and stowed below while the Americans prepared to sail their massive prize into the night and northward to Connecticut.

Slowly the Americans got the great ship underway. They knew the waters off the Manor of Pelham like the backs of their hands. They steered the Leviathan northeast and slowly made their way around City Island into the inky black night. Had any been left behind, they might have been able to see the dark hulk of the giant vessel slithering slowly into the fog ahead until the black night enveloped it completely as it disappeared.

Once the British ship disappeared into the foggy night, neither it nor its Patriot crew were ever seen again. Its disappearance was complete. It vanished without a trace. No word ever was heard from any of the brave whaleboatmen who steered the vessel into the maw of darkness that terrible night.

Since that terrible night, according to veteran sailors on Long Island Sound, on dark foggy nights, a ghostly British naval vessel may be seen gliding along the water with a crew of specters dressed in 18th century sailing garb staring silently with ghostly eyes from the rails of the deck. Though the ship seems luminescent, there are no lights aboard. It glides silently with utterly no sound. Indeed, some say that as the ship passes in the fog, the waters of the Sound grow eerily quiet and even the wind seems to pause as the ghostly Patriot sailors continue to make their silent getaway with their British prize for all eternity. As one account published in 1897 put it:

"'Day after day, day after day, and still no tidings of the captured ship, until the heart was weary, and the eye was dim with watching. At last the skipper of a coaster gave the somewhat startling report: 'While lying-to off New London, in a fearful gale, he saw a small war-ship approach, apparently of English build, with every stitch of canvas set, even to her royal studding-sails. She heeded neither bar, shoal, nor rock, but kept steadily on her course, until nearly abreast of him, when sail after sail and mast after mast began to vanish, until nothing but the hull of the vessel with her open ports, through which the guns were projecting, was visible. Slowly and silently [p. 72 / p. 73] the outlines of the ship became less and less clearly defined, until nothing of the majestic vessel was left.' 'What this vision of another world portended nobody ever knew, but even to our own time many old salts are willing to swear that often, before the most terrific storms, when their vessels were compelled to lay-to under reefed topsails, they have distinctly seen an old-fashioned war-ship, under a cloud of canvas, approach near to them, and then gradually vanish into air. Some go so far as to say they could see the crew on her deck, and plainly recognized the knee-breeches and cocked hats of the last century. But, be this as it may, the vessel or crew, so far as I am able to learn, never reached port in this world, and was probably lost in one of the severe spring gales, so prevalent in this latitude at that season.'

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Below are transcriptions of references on which today's Historic Pelham article is based. Each is followed by a citation and link to its source.

"THE WOOD FAMINE.

IT was March -- cold, cheerless, windy March. The roads were in that terrible condition between mud and frost that makes driving at this time of the year in the fair county of Westchester unpleasant, not to say almost impracticable. The sun of spring had scarcely yet caressed the southern slopes into a shade of green, while many a snowdrift still bade defiance to its power on the northern side of fences and hills.

The day itself was no exception to the characteristic weather of the month; the thermometer was just above the freezing-point and the sun was obscured by heavy, dark masses of cloud, while gusts of wind sighed [p. 65 / p. 66] in the trees and around the chimneys, making it anything but tempting to leave the cozy fireside and face the raw atmosphere outside. Still, I had been in the house so long, that I began to suffer from ennui, and resolved to take a ride, bad as the roads were, as far as Pelham, to visit an old gentleman, long a friend of the family, and hear him talk of his boyhood's days.

After a long, slow jouncing, mud-splashing ride, I arrived at the house of my old friend, and while I am sitting with my feet upon the andirons before the crackling hickory fire of the library in his comfortable old-fashioned mansion, sipping a glass or two of his choice wine, allow me to describe my host.

He is a grand-looking man of fully eighty-seven years, with fine features, and though he has now lost the straightness and suppleness of early manhood, and his eyesight is rapidly failing, in other respects his age sits [p. 66 / p. 67] lightly upon him.* [Footnote Transcribed Below at End of This Page.] But what is more remarkable is that his intellect is as clear and keen as though he were still in the prime of life, and he retains a quickness of perception that many a young man might envy.

As the cheery fire begins to have a soothing effect upon us and the discomforts of my boisterous ride commence to wear away, our conversation turns from the events of the day, back to that land of mist and fable called the past. There is nothing around us to jar upon our dream-land; the glowing hickory logs, the bright-polished fire-dogs, the low ceilings of the old homestead, and the old gentleman himself, as he sat there in his great easy chair, all seemed to belong to the epoch of which we were talking.

I remember admiring some fine trees that I could see through a window, upon an island in the bay, a short distance off.

'Yes,' said the old gentleman,

* Died about 1890. [This is the Footnote.] [p. 67 / p. 68]

'those trees have not been disturbed since the wood-famine of 1777.'

Upon my asking the particulars of that event, he continued: 'I well remember hearing my father speak about it some eighty years ago. The winter of 1777 was an intensely cold one, and the British troops posted in the city, as well as the town-people, suffered much for want of fuel, as the country was in such a disordered state that the farmers of the surrounding districts did not bring in the usual supply. Towards the close of the season the fuel became so scarce that something had to be done, as the entire population were brought to such a strait that much suffering and inconvenience was occasioned, and the price of even the poorest wood was something appalling.

'Under these circumstances, the commander of the post thought it advisable, as soon as the Sound opened, to send a small war-vessel a short way to the eastward to procure a load of [p. 68 / p. 69] cord wood for the use of the garrison. The point selected for cutting the wood was this same island at which we are now looking. Accordingly, the little sloop-of-war left port upon her not very nautical or romantic mission; and, doubtless, much to the disgust of her officers and crew, took a couple of large scows in tow, and proceeded slowly up the Sound. On through Hell Gate and past many a quiet farmhouse she sped, now sending her men aloft to set her royals, and now training her guns upon some imaginary enemy on shore. The sun set, and the stars twinkled in the frosty sky, but the wind was light and the progress slow. Several watches were set and relieved ere she rounded Throggs Neck, and the sun of a chill March morning was just rising when she anchored as near the island as her draught of water would allow.

'The expedition of the wood foragers had, however, not been kept as quiet as prudence and military caution [p. 69 / p. 70] ought to have suggested, for, in some unknown manner, the news had been spread abroad throughout the county of Westchester that a British man-of-war with a crew of wood-choppers was about to ascend the Sound, to give the city a supply of fuel. The movements of the ship had been eagerly watched from the shores as she passed along, and word carried to several irregular bodies of colonial troops and other persons favorable to the cause of the revolted provinces. So that a large body of armed men were secreted in the bushes of the main-land near the island when the English sloop-of-war anchored and prepared to land her party.

'Very foolishly, the captain sent nearly all his men ashore to chop and carry the wood, reserving only barely enough to attend to mooring the vessel, little thinking an enemy was in the vicinity. The colonists watched all these proceedings carefully, and saw that their chance had come. [p. 70 / p. 71]

Rushing to their boats they crossed the narrow channel, and boarded the ship before the wood party had time to observer their movements, or to give the slightest aid to their few companions left in charge. The resistance was necessarily feeble, and the ship's company was soon overpowered and compelled to yield the vessel to their captors, who no sooner got possession than they began to train their guns upon the wood-choppers, now deeply interested but helpless spectators of their proceedings.

'Although for the present masters of the situation, it was far too dangerous for the visitors to let the ship remain where she was. It was determined that the best plan would be to run her into some eastern port, and there fit her out as a colonial cruiser: so a sufficient crew was selected from among the most daring and best sailors in the neighborhood, and, under the command of a master of a coasting-vessels, the man-of-war again [p. 71 / p. 72] crossed her yards, shook out her canvas, and pointed her prow seaward. Out into the gray mists of the Sound she sped, every stitch of canvas drawing. Slowly, slowly she sank from the view of the watchers on shore behind the eastern horizon, and never by mortal eye was ship or crew seen again.

'Day after day, day after day, and still no tidings of the captured ship, until the heart was weary, and the eye was dim with watching. At last the skipper of a coaster gave the somewhat startling report: 'While lying-to off New London, in a fearful gale, he saw a small war-ship approach, apparently of English build, with every stitch of canvas set, even to her royal studding-sails. She heeded neither bar, shoal, nor rock, but kept steadily on her course, until nearly abreast of him, when sail after sail and mast after mast began to vanish, until nothing but the hull of the vessel with her open ports, through which the guns were projecting, was visible. Slowly and silently [p. 72 / p. 73] the outlines of the ship became less and less clearly defined, until nothing of the majestic vessel was left.'

'What this vision of another world portended nobody ever knew, but even to our own time many old salts are willing to swear that often, before the most terrific storms, when their vessels were compelled to lay-to under reefed topsails, they have distinctly seen an old-fashioned war-ship, under a cloud of canvas, approach near to them, and then gradually vanish into air. Some go so far as to say they could see the crew on her deck, and plainly recognized the knee-breeches and cocked hats of the last century. But, be this as it may, the vessel or crew, so far as I am able to learn, never reached port in this world, and was probably lost in one of the severe spring gales, so prevalent in this latitude at that season.'

And now the old gentleman ceased speaking, took a sip of wine, and indicated that his story had concluded, [p. 73 / p. 74] though he soon informed me that this was far from being the only tale he could relate of the olden time, and the exciting doings of the people now silent, and, except by him and a few tradition-hunters, forgotten."

Source: Pryer, Charles, Reminiscences of an Old Westchester Homestead, pp. 65-74 (New York and London: G. P. Putnam's Sons The Knickerbocker Press 1897).

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Below is a local newspaper article published in 1959 recounting the tale of the Patriot Ghost Ship that sails off the shores of Pelham. The transcription of the text is followed by a citation and link to its source.

"GHOST SHIP: Did you know The Bronx had a mysterious 'Flying Dutchman' all its own. Neither did I until I read John McNamara's account in 'Alarm,' publication of the Edgewater Park Volunteer Fire Co. It seems that during the Revolutionary War a group of British soldiers came ashore to Locust Pt. from a sloop, leaving only a few sailors aboard. American patrols sighted the vessel, rowed out silently, captured the vessel and set sail around City Island for Connecticut. Alas, they disappeared in the fog and never again were heard of, though veteran schoonermen do say that on foggy nights you can see an old-fashioned sloop sailing up and down Long Island Sound. The crew, dressed in 18th century clothes stares silently from the rails."

Source: Gumpert, Bert, The Bronx Bandwagon . . . GHOST SHIP, N.Y. Post, Aug. 12, 1959, p. 13, col. 1.

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I have collected ghost stories and legends relating to the Town of Pelham for more than fifteen years. To read more examples that now total in the several dozens, see:

Bell, Blake A., Pelham's Ghosts, Goblins and Legends, The Pelham Weekly, Oct. 25, 2002, p. 1, col. 1.

Bell, Blake A., More Ghosts, Goblins of Pelham, The Pelham Weekly, Vol. XIII, No. 43, Oct. 29, 2004, p. 12, col. 1.

Bell, Blake A., More Ghosts & Goblins of Pelham, The Pelham Weekly, Vol. XV, Issue 40, Oct. 13, 2006, p. 10, col. 1.

Bell, Blake A., Archive of HistoricPelham.com Web Site: Pelham's Ghosts, Goblins and Legends (Oct. 2002).

Bell, Blake A., Bibliography of Pelham's Ghost Stories and Legends (Oct. 2002).

Fri., Oct. 26, 2018: The Ghostly Gunship That Sails Off the Shores of Pelham.

Thu., Oct. 25, 2018: The Ghostly Lantern-Bearer of Baychester and Pelham Bridge.

Tue., Oct. 31, 2017: An Eyewitness Account of the Headless Apparitions of the Haunted Cedar Knoll in Pelham.

Mon., Oct. 30, 2017: The Ghost of Captain Kidd Guards His Treasure on an Island Off Pelham.

Fri., Oct. 27, 2017: An Unusual Account of the Dark Spirit of the Devil and His Stepping Stones: A Pelham Legend.

Thu., Oct. 26, 2017: The Cow Rustler Ghosts of Pelham Road.

Mon., Oct. 31, 2016: Pelham Was Overrun by Ghosts for a Few Months in the Winter of 1887-1888.