Henry Ward Beecher, sometime between 1855 and 1865
I came across the following story while conducting some research for my upcoming Cat About Town cat-themed walking tours of Brooklyn Heights (more to come on these tours shortly!). The tour will be ending at the Plymouth Church, so imagine my surprise when I found out that Henry Ward Beecher, the famous first pastor of this church, was a cat man!
Henry Ward Beecher was an American clergyman, social reformer, and speaker known for his support of the abolition of slavery, women’s suffrage, and Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, to name just a few of his passionate causes. In 1847, Beecher became the first pastor of the Plymouth Church on Orange Street in Brooklyn Heights.
In addition to his clergy duties, Beecher was the chief editor of the Christian Union. In April 1870, he wrote the following lengthy tribute to cats in this publication (the “we” may be implying that his wife, Eunice White Beecher, also liked cats):
When we profess a warm liking for cats, we don’t wish to be judged by too rigorous an ideal. We do not like them above all animals, but simply among other things. It is folly to compare them with horses, dogs, birds, and judge them by qualities which they were not sent into the world to possess. It is as cats that we like them.
They hold a place in the series which nothing else can fill, and in their place they are to be admired. They are reproached with fierceness, with selfishness, with treachery. But the fierceness is ancestral. The cat is appointed of men to destroy vermin.
It must match itself with the game it hunts. In the battle of wainscots and crevices where rats do harbor, and mice, cats must be fierce. Every litter of rats is a threat at the pantry and cupboard, and a defiance to cats. What a cat’s normal constitution is, we have no book that discloses. But if there is a rudimentary conscience in a cat, without doubt the alleged fierceness is but an irregular action of the moral sense. It is eagerness in performance of duty.
Do we not like inflections of conscience in the human race? ls the cat anything but the inquisitor of the cellar and the barn? Is it not the heresy-hunter of the feline sex? With what unerring instinct does it suspect!
How keen is its eye, how still its bearing, and how terrible its spring, when some luckless heretic of the granary or cupboard ventures to publish himself? If nature has whispered to the cat, “Lo I make thee ruler over all vermin,” ought not every conscientious cat to exercise justice to the uttermost?
They are called selfish. We sorrowfully admit that cats are not generous–but we see no evidence of a grasping, avaricious selfishness. They have self respect. They know instinctively whether they are liked or hated. They hold themselves aloof from strangers because they have had too much experience of the world’s opinion of cats.
It is said that a cat will court you, rub against your knee, solicit your hand upon your head, for the mere sake of its own pleasure. As this is an exhibition never permitted in human life, no wonder you are disgusted with it! But our own experience and observation teach us that cats are susceptible of attachments among themselves and toward men, and even toward animals of different species.
If kindly treated, they will often manifest as much affection as a dog…Is there not in such a cat something of the fidelity of the dog? A cat is sooner taught the properties of life than is a dog, and well grown, with half a chance, is far neater than dogs or horses. Only birds are as neat as cats.
Their power, grace, agility, and shrewdness are known of all. If we were obliged to choose which we would have, a cat or a dog, we should unhesitatingly say, Both of them!
The attachment which human beings form to cats speaks well for these domestic hunters. The family cat is as much the joy of children as the family dog.”
Hoosier Cat
Hoosier Cat was described as grey with white nose and feet; perhaps she looked like this vintage kitty.
At the end of Beecher’s extensive essay on cats, he mentioned a letter he had received from a young boy in Boone County, Indiana. The boy told Beecher that his family was moving to Arkansas, and his father told him that they could not afford to pay for the cat to come with them.
According to the boy, the female cat was about two years old and gray with white feet and a white nose. The boy asked his father if they could ship the cat to Henry Ward Beecher, but again, his father said they could not afford to ship the cat.
“I know you like pets,” the boy wrote to Beecher. “If you do not want the cat, I will not expect to hear from you. And if you do want him you can let me know.”
Beecher did want the cat. He responded, “We accept the care of the cat, and will be as good to it as we can. It was a humane thing in you to see that your cat had a good home. With your leave, she shall be called the Hoosier Cat. God bless in your new home.”
As Beecher explained to his readers, he directed the boy to send the cat in a box by express, directed to Peekskill, NY. “The expressmen are kind on such occasions, he said, and no doubt will feed Pussy, and see that she has fair play on the road. If they will be reasonable in charges, he would not begrudge the bill for the sake of receiving the Hoosier boy’s cat.”
“Here is a Hoosier boy, who has a favorite cat, and being about to move to Arkansas, he looks about to pick the man on this continent most likely to do justice by the cat; and, blessing on his head! He has selected us! It is the most flattering compliment of our lives. The Universities that were about to offer degrees can step aside now–we have no need of them.”
A Brief History of Beecher’s Brooklyn Heights
When Beecher moved to Brooklyn in 1847, he lived at 126 Columbia Heights, just a few blocks west of the church. In 1870, when he agreed to adopt Hoosier Cat, he was living at 82 Columbia Heights (today the site of the Harry Chapin Playground), which is where he resided from about 1859 to 1878.
Beecher’s last residence was at 124 Hicks Street (corner of Clark Street), a 19th-century stone mansion built for Navy Rear Admiral Silas Horton Stringham and his wife, Henrietta Hicks Stringham. It was in this home, which Beecher leased from Mrs. Stringham, that the preacher died in 1887.
This home, pictured below, was torn down in 1907 to make way for a modern apartment building.
Beecher lived in this home at 124 Hicks Street
When Mrs. Stringham died in October 1888, she was the last of of the famous Hicks family, who were among the very first of Brooklyn’s settlers. Her father was Jacob Middagh Hicks and her uncle was John Middagh Hicks.
Brothers Jacob and John were the sons of Maritje Middagh Hicks and Samuel “Woods” Hicks (a lumber dealer) and the grandchildren (on their mother’s side) of Jan Gerrittse Middagh and Hannah Middagh.
The Hicks and Middaghs were two of the largest property owners in Brooklyn Heights, then called Clover Hill. The Hicks brothers inherited most of their property–all part of the original Middagh estate–through their mother.
The Middagh farm dates back to about 1657, when Aert (aka Anthonze or Teunsen) Middagh, a hatter from Utrecht in the Netherlands, came to the new settlement. He and his wife, Brekje Hansen Bergen, married around 1661.
In the 18th century, John Middagh, also a hatter, built what was called “John Middagh’s big house,” which stood on the southeast corner of present-day Old Fulton and Henry Streets. The first Church of England services in Brooklyn took place in the Middagh barn behind the house until 1787. A portion of the home was still standing as late as 1866.
During the Revolution, the lands in this area were used as a burial ground for British soldiers and sailors; the graves were leveled off at the end of the war when the Hicks family first established their home.
In 1840, a merchant named T.W. Peck jacked up the old Middagh house and added three stores on the ground floor. D.S. Quimby conducted a stove and range business in the old barn (see left building) for about 30 years.
Jacob lived with his wife and children in the Hicks homestead, a stone farm house which stood in the fields not far from what is now the intersection of Hicks and Old Fulton Streets (back then, Old Fulton was called Old Ferry Street; it was originally a cow path leading to the ferry).
The Brooklyn Daily Eagle described the home as “an ancient, roomy, low roofed house of stone, roughly plastered over and shaded by two immense willow trees.” The large homestead is noted on the map below.
John and his wife lived small frame house on the southwest corner of Hicks and Doughty streets. This is the smaller house noted on the far right of the map below. (The map was drawn by surveyor Jeremiah Lott of Flatbush, following a dispute between the Hicks brothers and their neighbor Aert Middagh as to the boundary line between their respective properties.)
Note the stone house on the lower far right of this 1806 map of the Hicks’ property. This would have been the Hicks homestead. The smaller house was the home of John Hicks.
Although Jacob and John had more than enough money to live comfortably without working, Jacob sold lumber and John sold milk. In later years, the brothers built three new homes for themselves on Hicks Street near Clark Street. John died in 1829 at the age of 77 and Jacob died in 1843 at the age of 93.
Henry Ward Beecher and his sister Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
In closing, here is a limerick written about Beecher by poet and fellow cat-man Oliver Herford:
Said a great congregational preacher to a hen, “You’re a beautiful creature.” And the hen, just for that, Laid an egg in his hat, And thus did the Hen reward Beecher.
I’m excited to announce that my next book, The Bravest Pets of Gotham, is now available for pre-ordering from Rutgers University Press, with a projected delivery date of August 16. If you are interested in purchasing an autographed book, please contact me by sending an email (pgavan@optonline.net) and I will ship it to you as soon as I get my copies (additional $3 shipping charge).
Like my website and my first book in the Gotham series, The Cat Men of Gotham, The Bravest Pets of Gotham focuses on the late 1800s and early 1900s, when the New York Fire Department (FDNY) permitted firemen to keep one dog, one cat, or singing birds in their firehouse. Since the firemen were required to live and work at the firehouse full time, these animal mascots—along with the horses that pulled the fire apparatus—were their constant companions, making a dangerous workplace feel more like home.
The Bravest Pets of Gotham will take you on a fun historical tour of firefighting in Old New York, as you enjoy touching and comical stories about the bond between FDNY firefighters and their four-legged friends and co-workers. You’ll also discover the history of fire escapes in New York, find out where the very first fire hydrant was, meet the fireman who starred in a Tarzan movie, and much more!
Jennie, the monkey mascot of FDNY Engine 20, saved her own firehouse from burning down. Her story is featured in The Bravest Pets of Gotham.
The book contains more than 100 astonishing, emotional, and sometimes hilariously absurd tales of the FDNY animal mascots whose extraordinary intelligence, acts of bravery, and funny antics deserve to be preserved, shared, and remembered. More than 200 fire companies are featured or mentioned in the book, so if you or a loved one was or are still in the FDNY, there’s a fairly good chance you’ll find your company in the book.
In addition to stories about the traditional fire horses and dogs, the The Bravest Pets of Gotham also has dozens of tales about cats, monkeys, goats, and even turtle mascots. Whether you are an animal lover, a history buff, or a fan of firefighting, The Bravest Pets of Gotham is full of stories that will thrill and amuse you.
“While the celebration of brotherhood and the connection between man and machine of the fire service has been widely covered for generations, Peggy Gavan’s The Bravest Pets of Gotham is a body of work that stands alone. Remarkably researched, her stories provide both inspiring and informative confirmation of the bond between the men and animals who so valiantly served the FDNY. Without question, Gavan’s book is a must-have for the library of any fire buff, historian, or animal lover.” ~Brent DeNure, Publisher, Vintage Fire Trucks
From 1891 to 1925, Jack’s Restaurant (aka Manhattan Oyster Bar and Chop Bar) on 6th Avenue at 43rd Street was one of the most popular restaurants in midtown Manhattan. Located across from the Hippodrome (1905-1939), which was then called the world’s largest theater, Jack’s was the after-hours place to be for Broadway celebrities, rowdy college boys, and notable guests including Teddy Roosevelt, Diamond Jim Brady, and O. Henry.
Jack’s Restaurant, owned by Jack Dunston, occupied the ground floor of a four-story with basement building at 761-765 6th Avenue (now the site of 1125 6th Avenue).* The three floors above were occupied by apartments. The top floor was occupied by a Mrs. James L. Ward, who took in sewing, boarders, and cats. Lots of cats.
Mrs. Ward, a widow and proverbial “crazy cat lady,” took a lease of the top floor in July 1910. At that time, she had two cats, a pug dog, and a parrot. But then the cats had two cats, and they had two cats, and so on, and so on.
Within a few months, the downstairs neighbors began to complain about the cats. They told Jack Dunston that the place “was suffering from a violent eruption of cats. It was broken out with cats,” they said, “like a case of nettlerash.”
Mrs. Ward had a pug, a parrot, and 34 cats.
Upon receiving the complaints, Jack went upstairs to investigate. On the way up, he saw several cats cascading down the stairs. Inside Mrs. Ward’s apartment, he found an assortment of cats running from room to room. In the kitchen, he met a dishwasher named–I’m not making this up–Kitty Katzenberg. He fired poor Kitty on the spot.
Over the next few months, on several occasions, Jack told Mrs. Ward that she would have to vacate the apartment and take her cats with her. Each time he told her to leave, Mrs. Ward refused to budge. And each time he paid a visit, there were a few more cats.
In March 1911, Jack went to the Municipal Court and received a warrant for dispossession on the ground that she was “harboring a nuisance.” A few men from the sheriff’s office arrived later that afternoon to evict Mrs. Ward and her 34 cats.
Holding a gray gentleman cat named Plutarch’s Lives and a lady cat named The Nine Muses, Mrs. Ward defied the men to kick her out. A group of men marched up the stairs and proceeded to carry everything out of Mrs. Ward’s apartment, including bedding, furniture, cats, the pug, the parrot, more cats, sewing machines, utensils, pictures, ornaments, carpeting, clothing, and more cats.
All of Mrs. Ward’s belongings ended up on the sidewalk, including her pug dog, parrot, furniture, bedding, pictures, and cats. (I don’t see the cats, but I do see the pug on the far left).
The men dumped everything on the sidewalk, smack in front of Jack’s Restaurant. This created a barricade of sorts on the sidewalk, which Mrs. Ward sat upon. It didn’t take long for crowds of people to begin gawking at the odd sight.
The next morning, Mrs. Ward was still perched on the barricade, and her three dozen cats were weaving in and out of the pile. As a reporter for the New York Evening World noted, “ever larger and more enthusiastic grew the crowd until it blocked Sixth Avenue.” Bystanders told the reporter that “it was a spectacle worth seeing.”
Police Officer Cavanaugh ordered the woman to leave, but Mrs. Ward told him that home was where her cats were. And her cats were in front of Jack’s Restaurant (probably hoping to get a few bits to eat).
Officer Cavanaugh told Mrs. Ward that she would have to go to the Night Court, and then he offered to walk her there. Many of the cats followed the pair, including The Nine Muses, Plutarch’s Lives, Violin Strings, Celluloid, Double Cross, and several others whose names the reporter could not write down fast enough.
Mrs. Ward was released with only a reprimand from the magistrate, but she never returned to her apartment above Jack’s Restaurant. She took most of the cats with her, but several felines were orphaned and remained on the pile in front of Jack’s.
*All the properties on 6th Avenue were renumbered in 1929 as part of the 6th-Avenue subway expansion project.
A Brief History of Sixth Avenue and 43rd Street
The site of Jack’s Restaurant was quite historic, owing to the fact that this was once part of the famous Medcef Eden farm.
The red circle marks the location of Jack’s Restaurant, which was once part of the Eden Farm. In 1905, the Hippodrome would replace the Sixth Ave. Railway Depot.
The area of New York City extending along the old Bloomingdale Road (what we call Broadway today) — from 42nd Street to 46th Street and thence northwesterly to the Hudson River — was the property of an Englishman (from Yorkshire) named Medcef Eden.
Eden was a farmer and a prosperous brewer who lived with his wife, Martha, at 85 Gold Street, at the northwest corner of Spruce Street. Eden owned a lot of property in downtown Manhattan, including much of the property facing Ryder Street (or Alley) in the mid- to late 1700s (as many as 20 buildings). Today’s Edens Alley was likely a horse cart lane leading from Gold Street to his brewery.
Edens Alley may have served as a horse cart leading to Medcef Eden’s brewery.
Eden, who was a close friend and associate of Aaron Burr, also owned a large parcel uptown near today’s Time’s Square, called the Eden Farm. Here, he raised the hops for his brewery as well as potatoes, sheep, poultry, and horses.
In his will in 1798, Eden left one portion of his vast Manhattan real estate holdings to his son Joseph and another to his son Medcef Jr., with the provison that if either died without children, the other son would inherit the deceased brother’s share. In case both sons died without children, the property would go to other relatives.
The Eden Farm homestead in the 18th century, somewhere between Broadway and the Hudson River from 42nd to 46th Street.
As it turns out, Joseph died without children, and then Medcef Jr. died without children, leaving his estate to his wife and others of his choosing. That didn’t turn out too well for the Edens.
One day in 1803, William Cutting–the sheriff of the City and County of New York–and a fur merchant with a German accent purchased for $25,000 a one-third interest in an outstanding mortgage on the 70-acre Eden farm. For that price, the two men got 22 acres of land, two dwelling houses, and two barns. Cutting took the western portion of the land and the fur merchant took the eastern section.
Although the Eden heirs in England brought a suit against the sheriff and fur merchant, in the end the buyers prevailed. The fur merchant was, after all, John Jacob Astor. His land eventually became known as Times Square.
In my last three posts, I wrote about the Army cats of New York City’s Army Building on Whitehall Street, the black cat mascot of the New York Tank Corps, and the Army dogs, cats, and rabbits of Governors Island. This next story for Military Appreciation Month goes to a special naval mascot stationed at Fort Lafayette in the Narrows of New York Harbor.
Buster, a 67-pound wolf, arrived at Fort Lafayette in 1929. By 1932, he had made his 10,000 rowboat voyage from the island to Brooklyn and back again.
According to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Buster’s mother was killed during a hunt near Bear Mountain on the Hudson River. Gerald Powers, a second-class boatswain’s mate, found the baby wolf at the naval ammunition depot at Iona Island. He brought the tiny ball of orange-red fur to Fort Lafayette.
When Powers was assigned to the survey ship Hannibal, he could not take Buster along, so the wolf remained at Fort Lafayette.
Fort Lafayette at the southern tip of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, in 1904.
One of Buster’s major jobs was to accompany the depot workboat about 11 times a day to the shore and back. A strong swimmer, sometimes Buster would swim back to the fort for extra exercise.
Buster’s other job was helping the Fort Lafayette cats keeps the rats at bay. He was reportedly a pretty good ratter, and he loved nothing more than picking up the kittens and carrying them off to a corner to play with them.
Buster and Privates Frederick Moan and William Thomas came to the rescue of this man when his canoe tipped over in the Narrows. The rescued man presented the canoe to the men of Fort Lafayette.
In addition to the cats, Buster had many human friends at Fort Lafayette. Chief Gunner F.T. Green, who was in charge of the island, adored the wolf, as did Sergeant Jack Davis of the marines. His other friends included Corporals Jacob L. Rau and Eugene H. Wilson and Privates Stanley Adkins, Nathan Brandt, Melvin H. Martin, Frederick Moan, Jay Mountjoy, William Marsh, William Thomas, and William E. Woodfield.
Not once did he ever harm any cats or humans at the depot.
Fort Lafayette, 1869. New York Public Library Digital Collections
A Brief History of Fort Lafayette
In 1805, Colonel Jonathan Williams, Chief of Army Engineers, was tasked with making a study of New York Harbor and submitting a plan for fortifying the city. His plan, published in 1807, called for two structures to protect the Narrows in New York Harbor: Fort Lafayette and Fort Richmond on Staten Island.
Construction on the fort began during the War of 1812 and was completed in 1822. Originally named Fort Diamond for the shape of the two-acre island–called Hendrick’s Reef–it was renamed in 1823 to celebrate the Marquis de La Fayette, a hero of the American Revolution.
During the Civil War, the island fort served as a prison, mostly for civilians and politicians viewed as disloyal to the Union. The prison had quite a civil reputation under the charge of Colonel Martin Burke, who reportedly allowed the prisoners to lead a rather carefree and festive life within the stone prison (they even held banquets for the prisoners).
Some historians reportedly theorize that the festive air at the prison was a carryover from a fancy ball that took place the night before the first prisoners arrived. Apparently, nobody bothered to take down the colorful bunting after dancing the night away within the fortress walls. As the merrymakers rowed off in their boats to return to the shore, the first batch of prisoners arrived.
The brownstone from Colonel Phillip Van Cortlandt’s large quarry in today’s Nutley, NJ, was provided to build Fort Lafayette. Museum of the City of New York Collections
One of the fort’s most notable prisoners was Robert Cobb Kennedy, formerly a captain in the 1st Louisiana Regular Infantry. Kennedy was one of several Confederate conspirators who had plotted to burn down New York City on Thanksgiving Day of 1864 in retaliation for the burning of Atlanta. The only one caught, Kennedy was imprisoned, court-martialed, and hanged at Fort Lafayette on March 25, 1865.
Fort Lafayette was dismantled in 1868, its approximately 80 guns removed to other forts, including Fort Hamilton. The fort caught fire during roof repairs on December 1 of that year, and the building was left to decay. The fort was rebuilt, but for many years it served only as a storehouse.
Fort Lafayette is visible (center right) in the 1854 illustration of the Narrows.
From 1898 to 1946, the fort was used by the Navy for ammunition storage and transfer. It was during the later part of this era that Buster served as the Fort Lafayette mascot.
To thwart efforts to turn the fort into a night club or cover the island with unsightly docks, the city’s Park Department took it over in 1948. The city had no plans to use the fort; the purchase was “for protection” only.
The fort was demolished over a period of five weeks in 1960 to make way for the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. The Brooklyn tower of the bridge was built upon the site of the old fortress.
The Verrazano-Narrows Bridge Brooklyn tower was constructed on top of the old Fort Lafayette site. Museum of the City of New York
One popular dog on the island was Puglets, who guarded the prisoners at Castle Williams (this vintage pug is not Puglets; he was much heavier).
In my last two posts, I wrote about the Army cats of New York City’s Army Building on Whitehall Street and the black cat mascot of the New York Tank Corps. This next story for Military Appreciation Month goes to the military dogs of Governors Island.
During the past 350 years of its recorded history, Governors Island (named in 1784 for “His Majesty’s Governors) has served as a fishing camp and a pasture, a source of timberland, a game preserve, summer resort, garrison, arsenal, and military prison (plans to use the island as an airport never materialized).
For almost 200 years, the island was in continuous military use. From 1821 to 1966, Governors Island was home to the U.S. Army. Several major commands were headquartered at the island, beginning in 1878 with the Military Division of the Atlantic and the Department of the East and ending with the First United States Army.
For 30 years following the Army’s departure, the Coast Guard’s Third Coast Guard District and the Atlantic Area had its headquarters on the island, which made it the largest Coast Guard base in the world. The Coast Guard ceased operations on Governors Island in 1997.
This illustration of Governors Island was made in 1865. Castle Williams, which was utilized as a prison during and after the Civil War, is on the right. New York Public Library Digital Collections.
No Unleashed Dogs Allowed!
In 1905, all dogs, military or otherwise, were banished from Governors Island. That included Puglets, the chubby pug who guarded the prisoners at Castle Williams, Blanco, a white dog from Puerto Rico who was reportedly the smartest dog in the army, and all the other dogs who made the island their home. (The dogs weren’t actually banished, but they were prevented to run free, so the army men released the dogs to other posts where they could have their freedom.)
Dogs were banished from Governors Island after it came under the command of James Franklin Wade.
The order that effected the deportation of dogs was issued shortly after General James Franklin Wade, commander of the Division of the Atlantic at Fort Jay on Governors Island, assumed command. According to a news report, the order was issued to help save the 46 white rabbits and 200 tame squirrels on the island (squirrels first arrived on the island in 1895).
Allegedly, the dogs had already killed many rabbits and squirrels, and they were also damaging the lawns and flower gardens.
Prior to the arrival of General Wade, dogs were free to roam the island at will. Dozens if not hundreds of dogs took advantage of the welcoming home.
Major General Henry C. Corbin, who was in command of Governor’s Island before General Wade, was a dog lover. He owned a Scottish collie, and his wife owned a Pomeranian. He didn’t care if the dogs killed the squirrels or damaged the lawns and gardens.
New York Times, February 17, 1902
In 1902, a reporter from the New York Times asked Lieutenant Browning, the Adjutant at Governors Island, how many dogs were living on the island. Just as about a dozen dogs scampered past his window, he told the reporter that he could not do the calculations in his head fast enough to provide an accurate answer.
According to Lt. Browning, many of the dogs, such as a lean yellow mutt named Lazarus, swam to the island after deserting from barges or other ships in the Buttermilk Channel. Some dogs hitched a ride to the island on the ferry boat General Hancock, and other dogs were the mascots of the various troops garrisoned on the island. None of the dogs seemed anxious to leave this canine paradise.
The first army-controlled ferry service, which replaced private ferries, was introduced in the late 1800s under General Winfield Scott Hancock; it was free to army personnel and their families. Many dogs hitched a ride on the ferry General Hancock and never returned home.
Lt. Browning rattled off the names of dozens of dogs, including a smart fox terrier named Joe who stood at attention and walked a regular post; Skiggety, who was eventually banished to Sandy Hook because he hated the squirrels; Major, a large St. Bernard who came to the island after leaving his home in Brooklyn; Spot, a fox terrier who liked to play leap frog; and Prince, a Scotch collie owned by Quartermaster Sergeant Edmund.
There was also at this time a dog named Skye, was was banished to the Governors Island ferry slip after digging up all the bulbs in Colonel Riley’s flower garden, and Sporty, a dog who was kidnapped from Puerto Rico and refused to sleep on anything but a cot or eat anything but army food. Other favorite dogs on the island included Bob, Billy, Aggie, Dewey, Hobson, Lopez, Weyler, Blanco, and Puglets.
Puglets, the Guard Dog of Castle Williams
One of the most poplar dogs on Governors Island prior to the banishment order was Puglets, a hefty pug with a strong aversion to most cats (more on this later).
Puglets formerly belonged to the wife of Captain Doyle, but after she kicked him from the home for his “unbending animosity” toward her fine cats, he received a life sentence guarding the prisoners at Castle Williams. His new master was Sergeant Martin Way, Supervisor of Military Prisons.
Puglets quickly adapted to his new job and life, and soon he knew everyone and everything that was connected to the prison. He was a great friend to all the incarcerated men–he loved nothing more than being pet by each man as he passed by Sergeant Way’s office.
Castle Williams was constructed in the early 19th century to protect the New York Harbor. During the Civil War, interred enlisted men were crammed into the old artillery casemates of Castle Williams, which had been sealed and barred off into individual cells. It was designated a US Army Prison in 1895 and remained a branch of the US Army Disciplinary Barracks until the base closed in 1966.
Although Puglets spent most of his day within the prison walls, he was granted daily furlough to roam the grounds and play with his best canine friend, Skiggety (before this dog was exiled to Sandy Hook). His other best friend was a cat named Minnie. Yes, a cat.
Minnie, the Cat of Governors Island In 1900, Minnie, described as a Maltese cat, was living in a fashionable home in Havana, Cuba. During this time, Havana was governed by U.S. military authorities. That June, an artilleryman slipped her on board a transport and brought her to New York. In other words, Minnie was catnapped.
Minnie did not understand one word of English, but she did make friends with some of the other army cats living on Governors Island. The one mistake she made, though, was spending too much time harassing the squirrels (the army officers had a thing about protecting the squirrels).
Minnie had two choices: leave the island or serve a life sentence in Castle Williams with Puglets. A court-martial was called for, and Sergeant Way was made president of the court. After a day of deliberations, he relegated her to the prison.
This vintage cat and dog are not Minnie and Puglets, but we can imagine the best friends posing like this.
Shortly after she entered the prison, Minnie came across Puglets, who was playing with some of the inmates. Her tail poofed out and the fur on her back bristled up. Soon the cat and dog were rolling on the ground, with Puglets, naturally, getting the worst of the battle scars.
Sergeant Way put an end to the scuttle and the two animals went their separate ways. Minnie and Puglets had a few more fights, but eventually they realized that they were stuck in Castle Williams together and would be better off making the most of the situation.
Over time, the cat and dog became the best of friends. They also had each other’s backs, forming a mutual alliance to protect themselves from any stray dogs and cats that managed to sneak into the prison when the guards were not looking.
Puglets died two years after Minnie’s arrival, in October 1902. A heartbroken Sergeant Way, who was still in mourning for the dog two months later, adopted a parrot named Bob to serve as Puglets’ successor. Bob was a Cuban parrot who arrived at Governors Island with an artilleryman who presented the bird to the sergeant.
On the day of Bob’s arrival, the parrot began yelling out, “Water cure! Water cure!” Sergeant Way handed the bird a container of water. Bob drank greedily for about five minutes and then exclaimed in his parrot voice, “Obliged, you old tin soldier, obliged! No cure now, no cure now, got enough, old tin soldier!”
According to Sergeant Way, within six weeks Bob had learned how to say the names of every prisoner and was able to recite the manual of arms. He was also learning how to chew tobacco.
Look closely: Is that a black cat and white rabbit that I see inside Castle Williams, or are my eyes just deceiving me (and I’m wishing too much for this to be true)? Museum of the City of New York Digital Collections
No More Dogs Allowed!
Over the next 15 years, the rules changed and dogs were once again allowed on the island. However, on August 2, 1928–six days before my late Uncle Bill was born–Major General Hanson E. Ely announced that the fixed quota on Governors Island dogs had been met; therefore, no more new dogs were allowed on the island. Even if a resident dog left or died, he could not be replaced by another.
Brooklyn Daily Eagle, August 2, 1928
Under Major General Ely’s orders, every dog on the island had to be listed with the post quartermaster. The quota was set as the total number of dogs on Governors Island as of June 6, 1928.
Not only was there a quota placed on the dogs, but their freedoms were also taken away. No longer could they roam free and move from company to company. Now they would have to wear muzzles and leashes, just as the ordinary dogs on the mainland had to do. If a dog were found loose on the island, its owner would have to report to the post commandant.
In addition to the dog quota, Ely placed a quota on the number of vegetable and flower gardens allowed on the island. He reportedly wanted to make his post the “Spotless Town,” going as far as making his own inspections rather than delegating control to his officers. The news did not make any mention of a quota on squirrels.
This rooftop photo of Governors Island was taken in 1924, four years before the dog quota was put in place. Is that a little white dog I see walking freely on the dirt path? Museum of the City of New York Digital Collections
Modern-Day Dogs
Today the island is open to the public daily year-round for recreation and events, with ferries operating daily from the Battery Maritime Building. Dogs were not allowed at first, but as of 2022, leashed civilian dogs have been permitted to visit Governors Island with their owners on Saturdays. In addition to these family pets, the Trust for Governors Island has also been “hiring” canine employees to control the island’s goose population since 2015.
Most recently, in December 2023, Atlas, a blue merle border collie, and Reed, a puppy of the same breed, joined two veteran border collie employees (Chip and Aspen) on Governors Island. The four dogs take turns patrolling the grounds to “help control the geese population on the Island and prevent the birds from befouling public areas.”
The modern-day dogs of Governor’s Island have their own Instagram page, where you can check out many pictures of the dogs at play and at work.
