More on the Use of High Island as an "Actors' Paradise" by Famous New York Stage Legends in the 19th Century

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High Island is roughly an 18-acre island a few hundred feet off the northeastern tip of City Island.  It is one of the "Pelham Islands" that once were part of the Town of Pelham but since have been annexed by New York City. At low tide a sandbar links the island with City Island. A small private bridge wide enough for a single vehicle to pass also links the island to City Island. 

The island has a fascinating history about which I have written before.  See, e.g.:  Fri., Feb. 17, 2017:  More on the History of High Island in the Town of Pelham.  

For many years during the 19th and 20th centuries, the island was a popular tent and bungalow summer resort. In about 1962, the bungalows were removed and, in 1964, Columbia Broadcasting System purchased the island as a new location for its transmission tower for WCBS Radio. In 1967, a small plane crashed into the tower, knocking out radio transmissions the day before WCBS switched to an all-news format. Consequently, that switch-over was delayed by about a week. Today, the island is believed to be one of only two places in North America where "a single tower radiates not one but two non-directional 50,000 watt signals." See Tower Site of the Week from FYBush.com, High Island, New York (April 24 - May 1, 2003) (visited Sep. 28, 2019). Today the private island is home to two famous AM radio signals: WFAN (formerly WNBC) on 660 AM and WCBS on 880 AM."

One interesting aspect of the history of High Island is its use for many years beginning in 1869 as an annual encampment clubhouse and grounds of club known as "Multum in Parvo."  (The Latin phrase means "Much in Little.")  The Multum in Parvo club was a product of the imagination of an actor named Harry Cunningham.  He organized the club on September 12, 1869.  The club promptly leased High Island from its owner, a member of the King family of New York City fame, for a term that, according to differing accounts, was either for ten years or twenty years.  

The Multum in Parvo Club was an organization of well-known actors and entertainers principally from New York City. During summers in the early and mid-1870s, the organization installed a cook and an extensive bar in the clubhouse on the island and hosted over-the-top dinners for its members. The dinners became an odd spectacle because the actors often appeared in costume during the grand celebrations of the club. Heavy drinking was involved, even on Sundays when the bar in the clubhouse was closed but the members brought their own "bottles." 

Women were not allowed on the island. Thus, wives often accompanied club members, but remained on City Island where, according to one report, each day while on the island, "the married men have to go to the water's edge and say 'good morning' to their wives on City Island through a telescope." The Multum in Parvo Club had grand plans including a plan to construct a grand new clubhouse on High Island in 1872. The club, however, promptly faded into obscurity and, by 1878, reportedly was defunct though its ten-year lease of the island had not yet ended.

Harry Cunningham was a jovial and well-liked actor who graced the New York Stage for a few decades beginning in the early 1850s.  Though not a leading man, he is recorded as playing in Uncle Tom's Cabin as early as 1853 and, later that decade, in farces at Barnum's Museum in New York City during the summer season.  He played the Barnum's Museum house during summer and some regular seasons through the fall of 1864.  At various times in his career he played roles in shows at the Bowery Theatre, and the separate Bowery Amphitheatre.   

Today's Historic Pelham article transcribes the text of an article that appeared in the sporting magazine New York Clipper on August 31, 1872.  The article describes the club's third annual summer "encampment" on High Island.  The article is most notable, it seems, for conveying how outlandish and sophomoric the annual "encampments" of the club actually were -- strongly corroborating multiple sources that alcohol always was heavily involved in the gatherings.  

The encampment was held on High Island on August 4, 1872.  Visitors to the encampment traveled to City Island first.  From there, they were rowed to High Island for the festivities.  

A centerpiece of the encampment was a nice meal in the clubhouse.  The report makes clear that a man named "Brown" was hired by the club to act as a "chef."  The clubhouse -- the only structure on the island at the time -- had a small cellar that served as a dining hall.  Although the dining hall lacked niceties such as tablecloths and napkins, the food reportedly was excellent and centered around a clam chowder.  

After the meal, club members gathered near the water.  They placed two barrels and a wooden lounge near the water and lit a large bonfire.  During this particular encampment, members of the club dressed in witches costumes.  There was "quaint" live music.

New York City actor George Johnson, labeled the "life of the club" and referenced as "Governor Johnson," apparently served as the master of ceremonies.  Late in the evening, apparently after much enjoyment of hard liquor, Governor Johnson stood on the wooden lounge to stir the fire without realizing the bonfire had burned away the supports beneath the lounge on which he stood.  The lounge collapsed and he tumbled over a large rock into the "damp and darkness below."  His comrades found his misfortune hilarious and asked him what happened.  He replied that he merely thought it was his time to "exit" the stage.  

These men who trod the boards of New York stages around the time of the Civil War and afterward clearly enjoyed their time together -- and their time in the little Town of Pelham very summer!

Detail from 1872 Beers Map Showing the "Multum Inparvo

Club House" on High Island Just Off the Shores of City

Island.  Source:  "Town of New Rochelle, and Pelham,
Westchester County, New York [Insets] Pelhamville and

City Island" in Beers, J.B., County Atlas of Westchester New

York, pp. 53-54 (Washington, D.C., J. B. Beers & Co., 1872).

NOTE:  Click on Image to Enlarge.

High Island, Upper Right, With Sandbar and Bridge Linking

It to the Northeast Tip of City Island, on the Left.  Source:

Recent Google Maps Earth View.

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"THE ACTOR'S PARADISE.
-----
HIGH ISLAND CORRESPONDENCE OF THE NEW YORK CLIPPER.
-----

The idea of forming an association of actors for the purposes of mutual enjoyment and sociability, was ventilated in Harry Cunningham's place one day in the fall of '69, and the projects and plans then proposed appearing feasible, a course of action was immediately entered upon, which resulted in the organization of on the 12th of September, 1869, of the 'Multum in Parvo' club.

They secured a twenty years' lease of High Island, a desirable spot in Long Island Sound, in the vicinity of City and Hart's Islands, upon which every summer they hold their 'annual encampment,' where, in freedom of the most comfortable kind, they while away the summer solstice, and obtain that much-needed rest and recreation which certainly, of all people, the actor stands in so much need of.  The rules of the club, the means of enjoyment, the actions of the members themselves -- in fact, everything surrounding the 'encampment' point unmistakably to the objects in view, to wit, an entire freedom in actions and dress, and an utter disregard of uncomfortable customs and stilted formalities.

Each and every member appears to make earnest endeavors to contribute to the general comfort, so that, in the words of their preamble, 'we may continue to enjoy our annual encampment sociably and agreeably to promote harmony and good feeling.'

It may be easily imagined that with the above objects in view, and with a determination on the part of the members to stand by them, a decidedly pleasant and enjoyable state of affairs has been arrived at.  And such is the case, as a visit to the 'Encampment' last week satisfactorily proved, every thing working in harmony, and the members thereof enjoying themselves to the top of their bent, undisturbed by those little bickerings and petty jealousies which so often retard the growth and welfare of clubs and associations of all kinds.  At the third annual meeting, held on the Island on the 4th Inst., the following officers were elected for 1872-3: -- 

Harry Cunningham, president; Isaac L. Street, vice-president; Dr. S. S. Fitch, jr., treasurer; Gilbert V. Ryder, secretary; and Richard Street, captain of the boats.

Among the members, on the occasion of our visit, were Harry Cunningham, the worthy president and originator of the club; the jovial Harry Macarthy, prize swimmist and story-teller; Charlie Parsloe, the lively, with his talented little 'un, Sniffen; the Streets -- sociable, pleasant Streets -- one and all; George Johnson, the life of the club; 'Across the Continent' O'Neil, whose champion oar practice increases instead of diminishes his 'heft,' and who can row as well as the next man, if the passengers would but please be costive [sic] with their orders and directions; 'Gid' Ryder, another jovial 'consumptive;' Frank Sanger, easy-going and sociable; 'Doc' Fitch, the courteous and efficient treasurer, whose professional services, to judge by the remarkably healthy look of the 'Multum' tribe, will not often be required; Ben. Porter; J. H. Mulligan, whose moustache requires almost as much waxing as the Napolenoic Heresford's Hen. Fisher; Chas. Norris, who was made in the Boothenian mould, and who looks enough like one of the Booths to be taken for a -- friend; Gen. Wright, an enthusiastic 'Multum;' Mike O'Brien, the quiet, etc.

In this connection we mustn't forget to make mention of Brown, the colored chef de cuisine, whose handiwork, it is needless to say, is well appreciated by the hungry High Islanders; in fact, Brown's work is always done Brown.  Among the High Island pets may be mentioned 'Beauty,' who is 'not poorly but good;' the Rock of Gibraltar Ram, who passes the time on an imitation Gibraltar near the house, meditatively musing, and wonderingly much no doubt how it ever came there; the hens 'Maggie Mitchell,' 'Janauschek,' etc., all of which it is needless to say are much petted by the boys, and are thriving wonderfully.

In company with a sociable crowd of 'Multums' we made the trip to the 'Encampment' last week.  After a pleasant run of about sixteen miles, we reached City Island, where we were met by another detachment of 'Multums' in costumes decidedly original and -- well, slightly out of style.  Top boots, whose appearance precluded the idea of their ever having fit anybody; pantaloons, which apparently wouldn't be much 'siled' if the wearers thereof should happen to brush against a dirty wall; hats 'fearfully and wonderfully made;' these were the principle articles of their costumes, which, as before remarked, although not entirely fashionable, were nevertheless decidedly comfortable and sensible withal, as all those can testify who have felt the entire 'out-of-placeness' -- if we can coin an expression -- of fine clothes, 'city' clothes, immaculate shirts and stiff collars, during a pleasant 'roughing' it in the country.

From City Island we were rowed over the THE 'Island' High Island -- and were received at the landing by still another detachment of 'Multums,' who, posted on 'Plymouth Rock,' welcomed our party with cheers and a salvo of firecrackers.  Passing over a bridge of primitive make, after our landing, we proceeded to the only house on the island, the 'Multum in Parvo Club' House, in the 'drawing room' of which our city costumes were laid aside and we were invested with the 'loose and happy' rig of the 'islanders.'  The curiosities and sights of the island were then inspected, viz., 'Whally's boots,' a pair of remarkably ferocious-looking top boots, in which Whally was won't to play his 'hefty' characters, and which were formerly used by the club as a mark of distinction for their visitors and guests, the putting on of which recognized the wearer as the guest of the club; 'Enoch Arden,' a tree overlooking the water, so called from its wonderful resemblance to a scene in 'Enoch Arden,' the illusion of which is heightened by the fact of there being a bush at the foot of it, which, at night, could be readily taken for a human figure peering over the waters, a la Enoch; the unique and original mantel ornament in the 'drawing room,' to which the attention of the visitor is at once called; the old well; the comfortable-looking old cellar (so pleasant to eat clams in -- real clams, too, manufactured  expressly for the Multums) -- all these, and many other sights and curiosities are the visitors called upon to examine.

The 'welcome cry of' -- not 'larboard watch' but 'dinner' caused all hands to inspect the attractions of the dining room, which may be summarized as follows:  --  An alarming absence of conventionalities, tablecloths, napkins, discomfort and bad food, and a corresponding increase and profusion of comfort, sociability and true politeness, topped off with a bill of fare which could not be improved upon.  Johnson's chowder was successful to the highest degree -- decidedly the chowderest chowder ever chowdered for hungry chowderists.  The meats, the 'puddins,' and last but not least, the 'A' High well water, together with the German mixture which ornamented the dining room were things of enjoyment indeed.  At night, two tar barrels and an antiquated lounge were placed on the rocks near the water, and the jovial 'Multums' having gathered around, the pyre was lighted with comical ceremonies, the Macbeth music being sung by the assembled 'witches,' Gov. Johnson officiating with a boat hook.  The scene at this juncture was decidedly picturesque -- the jovial 'Multums' in their outre costume, dispersed in various attitudes around the rocks, the quaint music (rendered in fine style) swelling on the night air, the ludicrous appearance of the 'party with the boat hook,' which a lively imagination would readily associate with the idea of old Neptune and his trident, as with exaggerated motions and comical antics he alternately stirred the fire and directed the assembled 'witches,' the whole picture made vividly distinct and striking by the blaze of the 'furniture,' was long to be remembered, and not to be equalled [sic] for effect by the most dazzling of 'transformation scenes.'

The climax was capped in the the [sic] above scene, when a sudden [illegible] had the effect of causing the 'witches' to roll over and over in paroxysms of laughter.  While attending the fire, Johnson was suddenly startled by the fall of the lounge, the supports of which had burnt away, and believing that he was to be damaged he jumped back with such 'emphaticness' [sic] that he was precipitated head and heels over the rock.  The sudden transition of Johnson in the blazing light on the rock to Johnson in the damp and darkness below, was as ludicrous as can well be imagined.  When, after a little appearance, in reply to a question as to why he had left the rock so suddenly, he gravely answered that, thinking the drop had come down, he had 'gone off, the hilarity was at its height.  Johnson's 'exit' from that rock was decidedly rich.  May all his comical 'exits' on the boards be provocative of as much mirth to his audience as was that.

Another Johnsonian adventure eventuated on the dock at City Island, fully as ludicrous as the above.  The boat, laden with passengers, was just about leaving, when Johnson espied an antiquated looking female of grotesque appearance passing near him.  Throwing up his hands, and giving a yell that attracted the attention of all on board, Johnson cried out, in fearfully pathetic tones, looking the antiquated  female straight in the eye: 'Ah! ha! ha! Yes, Tis me mother's face! Ah! ha!' and then 'swoonded' [sic] into the arms of a fellow 'Multum.'  The aged specimen on being thus 'come at,' uttered a yell of terror, and darted from the spot instanter, while the passengers were convulsed with laughter.  Among those who had been 'taking in' this scene were a number of countrymen on the dock, one of whom, with mouth open from 'here to here' with laughter, was approached by Charlie Parsloe with the question:  --  'Say, now, wasn't that funny, eh; wasn't that funny?'  The laughing countryman nodded assent.

'Wasn't it real good and funny, eh; wasn't it?' Again the countryman nodded.

'Did you see it?' continued Parsloe.  The countryman, still laughing, nodded negatively.

'Then what in thunder are you laughing at?' roared Parsloe, while a fresh burst of laughter from the spectators testified to the rib-tickling powers of the happy 'Multums,'  May they 'ever be happy.'"

Source:  THE ACTOR'S PARADISE -- HIGH ISLAND CORRESPONDENCE OF THE NEW YORK CLIPPER, N.Y. Clipper, Aug. 31, 1872, Vol. XX, No. 22, p. 1, cols. 5-6.  

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The Ghost of Captain Kidd Guards His Treasure on an Island Off Pelham

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It is terrifying to imagine.  Not once; not twice; but, several times treasure hunters on an island off the shores of Pelham and New Rochelle have been confronted by the ghost of William Kidd.  Today Historic Pelham tells the story of the Ghost of Captain Kidd who continues, to this day, to guard his treasure on an island in Long Island Sound off the shores of Pelham.

It is doubtless that the infamous 17th century pirate William Kidd, known as Captain Kidd, prowled the waters of Long Island Sound near Pelham.  Moreover, ancient Pelham lore holds that Captain Kidd buried treasure on an island off the shores of our town.  See:

Thu., Jun. 08, 2017:  More 19th Century Reports of Captain Kidd's Treasure Buried Off Pelham Shores.

Wed., Feb. 15, 2017:  Captain Kidd's Treasure: Buried on High Island in the Town of Pelham.

Fri., Jan. 22, 2016:  Did the Notorious Captain Kidd Bury Treasure on an Island Off the Shores of Pelham?

The story of the ghost of Captain Kidd is nearly always the same.  Those who have stumbled into the ghost's lair have told their terrifying tales, but have never revealed which Pelham island is inhabited by Kidd's ghost because, of course, to reveal the ghost's lair would reveal the location of Kidd's buried treasure.  The terrifying tale goes something like this.

Bitten long ago by the gold bug, during the 1870s a bedraggled old treasure hunter hopped from island to island off Pelham shores in search of the storied pirate's treasure of Captain Kidd.  He and others of his ilk (and greed) tore up nearly every nearby island in Long Island Sound.  They explored and dug up virtually every inch of Huckleberry Island, High Island, Rat Island, The Blauzes, Goose Island, South No Nations, East No Nations, Twin Islands, Middle Reef Island, Cuban Ledge, Big Tom, Green Flats, Hunter's Island, Davids Island, and many, many others.

One particular day, the bedraggled old treasure hunter was tired from searching.  The sun began to sink.  Daylight began to fade.  But, the old man refused to give up his search for treasure.  With the fading light, he squinted as he poked among rocks and boulders on the island.  His bronzed face was deeply etched with the wrinkles of a long and hard life.  His tattered clothing was speckled with patches, some of which were worn through and in need of patching themselves.  His unkempt gray hair waved in a light breeze as he used an old bent shovel with a weathered and cracked handle to poke at the island rocks and boulders.  Occasionally the old fellow spoke, though there was no one on the island to listen to his rants.

Though easy to dismiss such an old codger, there was something fascinating about him.  It could be seen in his eyes (had there been anyone there to stare into them).  He had brilliant blue eyes that flashed brightly as they searched for treasure.  These were not the vacant, unfocused eyes of a demented old man.  These were the clear eyes of a younger man burning with greed.  They darted back and forth, up and down.  No crevice, rock, boulder, stone, or even speck of ground escaped their searching gaze when the old man was on the prowl.

That evening, the old man's bright blue eyes locked onto an oddity among the boulders and stones of the island he was searching.  Two large boulders rested against one another, but seemed odd.  Though they were separate boulders, they rested together with such a perfect, matched fit that it did not seem possible that even a sheet of paper would fit between them anywhere from top to bottom.

The bedraggled old man tried to stick the blade of his shovel between the two stones.  Only a fraction of an inch of the blade made it.  The boulders seemed fitted together.

Like a predator circling its prey, the old fellow began walking around the two boulders.  On the opposite side there was a cascade of large stones resting against the two boulders.  It looked as though an ancient rock slide had piled the stones in that spot.  Something, however, was amiss.  There was nothing above the two large boulders from which such stones could have slid.

The old man had a hunch.  He leaped onto the pile of stones and began tossing them aside.  They were large and heavy.  That made no difference.  A surge of strength electrified him as he shoved, pushed, and threw aside the stones from top to bottom until . . . . . 

There it was!

Beneath the pile of stones was a large flat stone nearly three feet square.  Clearly it covered something.

The old man scrambled to remove the flat stone.  It also was heavy.  He pried at it with the blade of his shovel as the sun finally rested on the western horizon momentarily, before beginning to sink below.  With Herculean effort, the frenzied treasure hunter pried the stone up enough to get a grip on it.  He dragged it away.  Beneath was a dark hole that seemed to extend downward several feet and underneath the two giant boulders.  

The old man had no light -- no matches or candles.  Sweat beads dribbled down his forehead and into his eyes.  He licked his lips and started down into the blackness of the hole.  

He could sense there was a fairly large open area under the two boulders above him.  His bright eyes darted back and forth, but could see little until they adjusted to the darkness.  Indeed, it was a race against time.  While his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, the light outside was growing dimmer and dimmer, offering little hope that the old man could explore the cave-like area.  

As his eyes searched, he thought he could make out a stack of something in the darkness.  He could not see what it was when he looked directly at it, but when he glanced to the side, his peripheral vision perceived something -- a stack of something.  

The old man stepped forward slowly, sliding his feet on the dirt floor and holding his hands in front of himself to feel his way in the dark.  He approached the stack and stumbled into it.  He felt with his hands all over the stack.  Old wooden boxes!  Heavy old wooden boxes!  Was this what he had sought for years? Was it Captain Kidd's treasure?

As the old man's brain swirled, a flash of light illuminated the room.  He spun around and there before him -- between him and the only way out -- was a large, luminous spirit.  The luminescence lit the cave.  The old man now could see that the area was small and was filled with a stack of wooden boxes, some of which at the base of the stack had rotted and were crushed by the weight of the ones above.  The glint of gold and silver could be seen amidst the rotted debris of the boxes at the base that had rotted and settled under the weight of the crates stacked on top.

 The bedraggled old treasure hunter knew in an instant he had found Captain Kidd's treasure.  He was torn between exhilaration and terror.  His attention instantaneously returned to the apparition.  Though the spirit made no sound, it began to float around the old man, circling his prey.  The spirit seemed to be dressed in 17th century seaman's clothing that, like the clothing of the old man, was bedraggled and torn.  

The old man turned slowly with the spirit as the apparition slowly circled him.  The old man never let the spirit get behind him and never turned his back on the ghastly ghost.  As the spirit circled, it soon was between the treasure and the old man.  That meant the ghost no longer floated between the old man and the only exit.

The old treasurer hunter began backing up toward the exit.  As he did, the ghost became agitated, then enraged.  In a flash the spirit pulled from somewhere a giant luminous and ghastly saber that flashed as though made of real steel.  The ghost darted forward and slashed at the old man with the giant blade.

Before the ghost could slash again, the old man scrambled out of the hole and ran for his life.  He left his old shovel and never looked back as he stumbled over the rough ground in the dim twilight toward his ancient rowboat on the island's shore.  There he leaped into the vessel and took off for the mainland.  As he looked back, he could see the luminous ghost of Captain Kidd floating above the shore of the island.  It held the flashing saber over its head triumphantly.  Occasionally it pointed the tip of the saber directly at the old man rowing away as if to threaten him.  The old man rowed for his life, never to return to the island again.

Had the old man returned to the island even as early as the following day, he would have seen that everything was exactly as it had been the day before as though nothing had ever happened at the site.  The flat stone was back in place, covered with a large pile of large stones at the back of the two boulders.  The only thing that would have seemed out of place on the island was an old bent shovel with a weathered and cracked handle that was broken into pieces lying on the shore of the island from which the old man had fled.

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Below is an example of an article published in the 1870s that mentions the ghost of Captain Kidd guarding Kidd's treasure on an island off the shores of Pelham and New Rochelle.  It is followed by a citation and link to its source.

"THE HUGUENOTS.
-----
The Settlement and History of New Rochelle.
-----
Special Correspondence of the Cincinnati Times.

NEW ROCHELLE, December 22.

We took the New Haven road for Rochelle, which is one of the handsomest and aristocratic suburbs of New York, about eighteen miles . . . distant from the city.

The history of this town is very interesting.  It was settled by the French Huguenots, who fled from Old Rochelle, in France.  That heroic city which had sheltered the survivors of St. Bartholomew, and for seventy years withstood the power of France, at length only succumbed when conquered by the fiendish ingenuity of Cardinal Richelieu, who erected a mole across their harbor, closing the mouth of their channel, which moles was made impregnable by men and cannon.  The Rochellese defended themselves until their number was reduced from twenty-seven thousand to five thousand, and they were reduced almost to skeletons by starvation.

Their surrender was followed by unheard of cruelties.  Men and women were condemned to the galleys; sent to the French Provinces in America; sold as slaves, and this was done, accompanied by other atrocities hard to believe even in that age.  Many of them fled to England, and finally, came to America.  The charity of Trinity Church, New Rochelle, specified that its members fled from France in 1681.  They were a part of the fifty thousand Huguenots who had found refuge in England.  

Settling here near Long Island Sound, their industry, ingenuity and courtesy soon made their colony a favorite resort.

Nothing could exceed the devotion of these French Huguenots to their God and their religion.  They must attend service on the Sabbath.  The nearest church was the old Church St. Esprit, in Pine street, New York, twenty-three miles distant by the road.  Every Sunday morning, they left their children in the care of friends, put their shoes and stockings in their pockets and men and women began their march to St. Esprit, always singing as they went along, one of Clement Marot's hymns; he who was the favorite and friend of Margaret of Valais, Duchess of Alencon.

Reaching a pond on the edge of New York city, they stopped, washed their feet, and put on their shoes and stockings, preparatory to entering the house of worship.  Their religious duties performed, they divested themselves of their shoes and started for home, generally reaching there late Sunday evening.  Even after their church was erected, they continued to do this at intervals, to partake of the communion, until the breaking out of the Revolution, when the country became too unsettled for such travel.

The French Bible used by these people, also a prayer book and catechism, are still in existence.  One of the prayers read:

'Oraison Du Fidele Detenu En Captivite.'

The Church of New Rochelle, like the great old Church of Rochelle, France, was destroyed by fire.  The present edifice was erected on the ground it occupied.  It has in the belfry the bell which formerly swung in the tower of the French Church du St. Esprit, New York City, and which was presented by Sir Henry Amherst.  On it is inscribed --

'Samuel Newton made me -- 1706.'

On the communion chalice and poten, is engraved,

'The Queen's chalice and poten, presented A. D. 1706.'

This was the gift of Queen Anne of England.

THOMAS PAINE.

Here, in New Rochelle, is the monument erected by his friends, to Thomas Paine.  Transplanted under the auspices of Benjamin Franklin, from a garret in London to America, Thomas Paine moved in the best society of Philadelphia and New York, and did good work in the cause of independence by writing his 'Common Sense.'  This was followed by his 'Crisis,' and for the service done the cause by these books the State of New York presented him with a farm at New Rochelle.

His subsequent career is well known.  His return to Europe, his connection with Robespierre, his escape from the dungeons of Paris, and his return to this country, and his settling on his farm.  Grant Thorburn tells the following story of Mr. Paine's escape from the guillotine, as told him by Paine himself;

'Paine was in the dungeon, and his name was on the list with 23 others to be executed next morning.  It was customary for the clerk of the tribunal to go through the cells at midnight and put a cross with chalk on the back of the door of such as were to be guillotined.  In the morning, when the executioner came with his guard, wherever they found a chalk the victim was brought out.  There was a long passage in the cellar of this Bastile, having a row of cells on each side, containing prisoners.  The passage was secured at each end, but the doors of the cells were left open through the day, and the prisoners were allowed to step into each others' rooms to converse.  Paine had gone into the next cell, leaving his door open back against the wall of the passage.  Just then came the chalkers, and probably being drunk, crossed Paine's door on the inside, which was out.  Next morning the guards came with an order to bring out twenty-four victims.  They could find only twenty-three, (Paine being in bed and his door being shut,) so they took another prisoner from the other end of the passage, and made up the number.'

In 1809 Thomas Paine died; his remains were interred on his farm.  In 1810, William Cobbett, who had lately become one of Paine's disciples, visited this country, went to New Rochelle, disinterred and carried his remains away by night, and conveyed them to England.  When Mr. Cobbett died, among his household goods and chattels was found a box of bones, which has caused many to doubt if Paine's remains were ever interred again.  If they were, I am under the impression Cobbet made no mention of the fact or the place of interment.

Some thirty or thirty-five years ago, the friends and admirers of Paine, purchased the site of his grave and erected a handsome monument there.  On this monument is a medallion likeness of him, and under it the inscription:

THOMAS PAINE, 
Author of
COMMON SENSE.

From out the empty grave near by a hickory tree has grown and spread its branches.

For two generations the French of New Rochelle kept their language in all its parity, and many youths were sent here to learn it.  John Jay and Phillip Schuyler of Revolutionary memory were educated here, as was also later Washington Irving; an ivy covering a house is pointed out as having been planted by the latter.

CAPTAIN KIDD.

The harbors of the sound here and on Long Island, were frequented by the notorious pirate, Captain Kidd.  He was employed in 1690 to suppress the 'buccaneers,' from the knowledge he possessed of their numbers, strength and places of resort.  It is said he was unable to govern such a horde of men under no pay, as composed his crew, and therefore he was in a measure compelled to engage in the very business he was employed to suppress.  This, however, is more than doubtful.

After a short but desperate career of a few years, he was captured at Boston, and sent to England, where he was executed in 1701.

He usually provisioned his vessel in this vicinity, and many men of desperate fortunes from the neighborhood flocked to him, hoping by so doing to secure great treasures.  It was reported that he had buried great treasures in the islands in the sound and the shores around, and consequently almost every part of land and island has at some time or other been dug up by infatuated treasure seekers.

Every few years this mania is revived, and we hear of those that are in search of the pirate's hidden gold, but, as yet, I believe none has been discovered.

Huckleberry Island was a favorite resort of the renowned freebooter -- almost every inch of the soil of which has been turned up.  Kidd's Point, on the opposite shore of Long Island, has also received attention in this way, much time and labor having been expended there.

The superstitious firmly believe that Kidd's ghost guard's his treasures to this day, and many amusing stories are told of the adventures of those who have essayed to rob him.  Men have declared that they have reached, and would have secured the golden harvest but for the sudden apparition of Kidd himself seated on his boxes, guarding them with a drawn sword.

M. M. T."

Source:  THE HUGUENOTS-- The Settlement and History of New Rochelle, The Weekly Kansas Chief [Troy, KS], Jan. 18, 1877, Vol. XX, No. 31, p. 1, cols. 4-5.

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