In April 1797, as Napoleon Bonaparte continued his meteoric rise, Thomas Paine made his way to 4 Rue du Théatre Français. With his knock on the door, life changed for Nicolas and Marguerite Bonneville and their very young children. Paine had grown close to the couple during the early days of the French Revolution. Now, stateless and homeless in the wake of the Committee of Public Safety’s Terror, an 11-month incarceration that almost killed him, and his long recuperation at the home of American Minister to France, James Monroe, Paine had been invited to take refuge at the Bonneville home. Madame Bonneville expected the great man to stay for a fortnight. Instead, he stayed for six years.

Surrounded by the Bonneville’s circle of writers and intellectuals—headstrong, passionate, and yet still optimistic even in the wake of so much death—Paine new companions rekindled his revolutionary spirit. The Bonnevilles were great admirers of Paine. They even named their fourthborn son, Thomas Paine Bonneville, in the great man’s honor the year after Paine arrived at their home, and asked him to serve as godfather. As Paine’s fortnight turned into months and then years, his presence as a doting, albeit eccentric, “grandfather” became the norm, while the family’s hospitality towards him—between 1797 and 1802—became the foundation of an abiding friendship.

In 1802, Nicolas Bonneville was arrested by Napoleon and his printing presses were seized just as Paine was finally preparing to return to the United States. Paine saw a way to pay the struggling Bonnevilles back for their generosity, so Madame Bonneville and three of her four boys—12-year old Louis, 5-year-old Benjamin and 4-year-old Thomas, sailed to America shortly after Paine’s return, planning to stay until Nicolas could get back onto a solid financial footing. Instead, for the next seven years in New York, this “odd couple” became a part of Paine’s sometimes eccentric orbit. Little Nicolas was too frail to travel and remained in France, while Louis, the oldest, was unhappy in New York, so arrangements were made for him to return to France and to the care of a family friend until he could be reunited with his father.

By 1808, prone to a growing litany of frailties, Paine was not the easiest person to be around. The small town of New Rochelle, 22 miles from New York, was no panacea for a happy life. There was an ill-executed attempt on Paine’s life by a disgruntled workman, and the town had infuriatingly refused to let him vote in an election, alleging that he was not an American citizen. As a result, the Paine-Bonneville “family” began spending more time in what is now Greenwich Village. Paine began facing physical struggles. A bad fall and episodes of transient ischemia made it difficult for him to hold a pen. But he was still busy trying to make the world a better place.

As Paine shuttled between a series of rooming houses, Madame Bonneville became his occasional secretary: “I …went regularly to see him twice a week; but, he said to me one day: “I am here alone, for all these people are nothing to me, day after day, week after week, month after month, and you don’t come to see me.” An aging, ailing man, who thrived on arguments in the service of great ideas, now roiled against the infirmities of old age and his confinement in lonely, shabby rooms. At the same time, the futures of the Bonneville boys weighed heavily upon Madame Bonneville. It was the central bond between Paine and her.

On June 8, 1809, Thomas Paine—physically diminished but with his mind still clear—died peacefully. With the reading of Paine’s will, the responsibilities for his burial and the execution of his estate lay on Madame Bonneville’s shoulders.

Whatever scholars may make of Paine’s feelings about Madame Bonneville, and hers about him, there can be no disputing her position as the principal beneficiary in Paine’s will. His bequest included “shares, movables, and money… for her own sole and separate use, and at her disposal, notwithstanding her coverture.” Small amounts were dispensed to old friends, including Nicolas, but the most significant chunk, including 100 acres in New Rochelle, went to Madame Bonneville: “…in trust for her children …their education and maintenance, until they come to the age of twenty-one years, in order that she may bring them well up, give them good and useful learning, and instruct them in their duty to God.”

Madame Bonneville wrote, “Paine, doubtless, considered me and my children as strangers in America. His affection for us was…great and sincere.” His generous bequest to the boys in his will proves that.

In March of 1810, Marguerite Bonneville, with Paine’s dear friend Walter Morton by her side, took a stage coach to Albany, and, associated with Paine’s estate, posted a bond of $14,000—an amount that would today be the equivalent in purchasing power of about $359,973. Paine had indeed provided for his “boys”. Thomas Paine—physically diminished but with his mind still clear—died peacefully. With the reading of Paine’s will, the responsibilities for his burial and the execution of his estate lay on Madame Bonneville’s shoulders.

What of Paine’s “Dear Boys”?

Benjamin Bonneville

Paine loved the youngest Bonneville boys. After his death, Madame Bonneville, with a boost from Lafayette, petitioned Thomas Jefferson for a place for Benjamin at West Point. He rose to Brigadier General in the U.S. Army as well as gaining fame as an explorer of the American northwest. The Bonneville Salt Flats and the Pontiac Bonneville are named for him.

Thomas Paine Bonneville

Thomas Paine Bonneville did not fare as well. On January 1, 1812, now dropping the “Paine,” the adolescent Thomas became a midshipman in the U.S. Navy. He was awarded a sword of valor for his service during a fierce battle, but Thomas was a discipline problem. Heroism and discipline did not go hand in hand. Thomas resigned from the Navy in 1816. In November 1820, he enlisted as an Army private for a five-year tour, took a 2-month leave for illness, left on March 26, 1821, and vanished from history’s gaze.

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250 years ago this month, while Paine was speed writing Common Sense, he addressed this critical shortage of gunpowder that threatened to bring the American rebellion to a grinding halt. He and a colleague conducted experiments on how families could make gunpowder from commonly available materials, with his report on the process and the results being printed in newspapers in Pennsylvania and other colonies.

Here is an image of the article that was published at the Pennsylvania Mercury and Universal Advertiser on Friday, November 24, 1775:

Here is a transcript of the article:

Philadelphia November 14, 1775

Experiments made since Friday last by Captain Pryor and Mr. Thomas Pain, for the purpose of fixing some easy, cheap, and expeditious method of making Salt-Petre in private Families, in order to shew the practicability of a plan, proposed by Mr. Pain of forming a Salt-Petre Association for voluntarily supplying the public Magazines with Gun-powder.

FIRST EXPERIMENT

Friday afternoon we sawed an old cask (of little or no value) into two tubs, and bored an hole in the bottom of each near to the side, of about the size of a common cork, and stopt it with a wooden peg; overeach hole, we put a full handful of straw, then filled the tubs with earth, taken from the bottom of the celler, and poured water thereon, filling it up as it sank in, till the water flood about an inch above the earth. This is the same as serting a lye tub.

Second, Saturday morning we drew the liquor off, throwing it up till it run clear, the quantity was about three gallons, which we put into a kettle and boiled to about three quarts.

Third, We took a little wooden keg, bored an hole, as in the former ones, stopt it with a cork, and covered the bottom of the tub with cut straw to about three or four inches, on which we put about the same depth of woodashes, and gently poured thereon the hot liquor, so as not to make holes in the ashes; after letting it stand a few minutes to settle, we drew it off, (throwing it up again till it ran clear) when it ceased running, we put on about a quart of cold water to drive out the lye which the ashes had sucked up.

Fourth, We boiled this second liquor to about a pint and a half then poured it gently off, into a basin, leaving the scum and sediment behind; after it had stood about a quarter of an hour to settle, we again poured it into two earthen soup plates, set them in a cool place till next morning, at which time the sides and bottom of the plates were beautifully covered with crystals of Salt-Petre sprung up like large blades of grass, being in quantity about quarter of a pound.

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As his London Packet approached the colonies in November 1774, Thomas Paine was not scanning for land. After turning northwards towards Philadelphia in Delaware Bay, he was not visualizing where, during the Seven Years War, French privateer ships awaited English prey within the folds of the eastern shore. Stricken with typhus fever that had ravaged his ship, the delirious and barely conscious Paine was confined to his cabin.

In a March 1775 letter to Franklin, Paine said he had “suffered dreadfully” during the voyage, “had very little hopes” he “would live to see America,” and that six weeks in the care of Dr. John Kearsley, Jr.—who “attended the ship on her Arrival, ”took Paine on as a patient, had him brought “on Shore,”and “provided a Lodging”— resulted in full recovery.

Why Kearsley? Many doctors then practiced in Philadelphia. Some Paine biographers assert that Kearsley had Paine brought to him because he heard about someone with a letter of introduction from Franklin. Kearsley did not hear it through the grapevine.

He “attended the Ship on her Arrival. ”Presumably appointed under Pennsylvania law to inspect the infected ship, he learned of Paine and the letter during that inspection.

Where did Kearsley inspect the ship and where did Paine recover? Paine biographers, who specify where the ship docked and Paine’s care occurred, assume Philadelphia locations. Instead, Pennsylvania law expressly prohibited ships “disordered with any infectious disease” from coming closer than Little Mud Island, seven nautical miles downriver, and required that infected persons be quarantined at a “hospital or pest house” on adjacent Province Island.

Unless the captain risked severe penalties by flouting Pennsylvania law and obtained Kearsley’s cooperation, Paine sailed no closer than Little Mud Island and was brought “on Shore” on Province Island.

Kearsley would not have defied a law requiring that infected ships be cleansed with vinegar. Kearsley derived significant income from operating a vinegar factory and vigorously advocated vinegar’s health benefits, recommending “bathing the body” of patients “with very strong warm vinegar ”as“ an auxiliary to stop the progress of putridity,” and drawing “hot steams of vinegar” and other ingredients “through a funnel into the lungs.”

The mortality rate for “highly intellectual” people who contracted typhus fever, like Paine, was “very high.” Paine’s delirium upon arriving suggested untreated severe typhus and heightened the prospect of death.

Available evidence indicates that Paine’sship docked downriver, and that, quarantined on Province Island, he was rescued from likely death by Kearsley’s care. Cabin “passengers” like Paine had to pay for care. The hospital’s “Keeper” could charge for a passenger’s stay. Since Paine lacked financial resources, Kearsley having “provided a Lodging” during recovery may mean that he absorbed those charges.

Caring for Paine distant from Philadelphia was a considerable economic hit. Why did Kearsley decide to care for Paine without charge, perhaps pay the Keeper, and travel far downriver on multiple occasions?

Charity was an unlikely motivator. Kearsley prioritized his financial pursuits over needs of the poor. His uncle, dying in 1772, intended to create and fund an infirmary for poor women. Kearsley substantially delayed and nearly thwarted that bequest. Suing to obtain more from his uncle’s estate, his claim prevailed before a jury though legally groundless, and his uncle’sintent was realized only through additional donations by others.

Franklin’s letter of introduction was also an unlikely motivator. Kearsley detested Franklin, who he sarcastically called “The Electrician,” Kearsley accused Franklin of misusing public revenues for his private benefit and cynically predicted he would succeed because “he is wicked enough to Blind the people.”

The most likely rationale for Kearsley taking on Paine’s care isironic. A Loyalist who forcefully opposed American resistance to England, Kearsley was, as friends and foes perceived, “violent” in his Loyalist views and actions. Before and after Paine arrived, Kearsley headed “The Association” that was designed to assure all “Englishmen” actively support British forces, drink to their success against the Americans, and “combine together to join the British Forces when they should arrive.”

Did Kearsley view the Englishman Paine as a potential Association member and fodder for his Loyalist plans? During his inspection, did Kearsley read notes in Paine’s cabin and recognize his extraordinary written communication skills? This explanation gainstraction by considering Kearsley’s actions in October 1775 that were, to Pennsylvanians supporting the American cause, stunningly treasonous.

Kearsley tried to send a map to London that disclosed precisely where British ships could maneuver around carefully constructed and critically important sharpened log structures sunk into the Delaware River – chevaux defrise – to reach and attack Philadelphia. The map was accompanied by a letter proposing that, if Britain sent troops, Kearsley would lead those troops and an equivalent number of Loyalists who, he promised, would come forward. Those papers were intercepted and Kearsley and his co-conspirators were arrested. Kearsley remained imprisoned until, 53 years old, he died in November 1777.

Locations of those chevaux defrise—the prime defense protecting Philadelphia from British ships—were deeply held secrets. Other Loyalists were hanged for far less egregious activities.

Kearsley presumably read Paine’s Common Sense and his first four Crisis essays, published before November 1777. Imagine Kearsley’s rage while consuming Paine’s proclamation that “every Tory is a coward” and, “though he may be cruel, never can be brave.” Or Paine’s claims that “the instant that” a Tory “endeavors to bring his toryism A TRAITOR” and that a “traitor is the foulest fiend on earth.”

Did Kearsley realize that, had he not cared for Paine, independence may never have transpired? Dwelling on that irony, would execution shortly after arrest have seemed an attractive alternative? Rather than being hanged in October 1775, Kearsley watched helplessly for two years —perhaps going insane—as his world turned upside down and the decision to bring Paine back from the brink gave birth to his nightmare.

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