It is a small patch of land sitting in the river between Woodsville, New Hampshire, and Wells River, Vermont. Today, it looks quiet enough. A few trees. Some rocks. Water moving past on either side. Nothing about it immediately suggests dancing, late-night entertainment or possible scandal. But this is No Man’s Island, and its history is considerably more colorful than its size might suggest. More than a century ago, people reportedly crossed a small bridge to visit a dance hall on the island. Then came one of the most destructive floods in New England history. The building disappeared, the island became quiet again and a wonderfully suspicious local legend survived:

Was this isolated entertainment spot also home to a bar—or even a house of ill repute? Let’s separate what we know from what people have been whispering about for generations.

Two States, Three Counties, Four Towns and Two Rivers

A vintage postcard makes a remarkable claim about No Man’s Island: It “divides 2 states, 3 counties, 4 towns and is at the junction of 2 rivers.” That sounds like an impressive workload for one tiny island. The two states are easy: New Hampshire and Vermont, divided here by the Connecticut River. The three counties are Grafton County in New Hampshire and Orange and Caledonia counties in Vermont.

The four surrounding towns are Haverhill and Bath on the New Hampshire side and Newbury and Ryegate on the Vermont side. More precisely, those municipal and county boundaries converge in the immediate area rather than the island somehow occupying every jurisdiction at once.

The two waterways are the Connecticut River and the Ammonoosuc River, which reaches its mouth at Woodsville after traveling approximately 55 miles from the White Mountains. No wonder the place became known as No Man’s Island. If someone caused trouble, figuring out which town, county or state should deal with it may have required its own committee meeting.

When No Man’s Island Had a Dance Hall

The best-documented piece of the island’s entertainment history is a dance hall or pavilion reportedly built in 1899 by P.J. Haley on the island’s highest ground.

Visitors could reach it by a small bridge from shore, and historical accounts mention a ticket booth connected with the attraction. Imagine the scene around the turn of the 20th century: music carrying over the water, couples crossing the bridge and residents arriving from both sides of the Connecticut River for an evening out.

In an era before television, streaming services or a quick drive to a large entertainment complex, a local dance pavilion would have been a major social destination. Its location on an island between two villages—and practically at the meeting point of several jurisdictions—would only have added to its appeal.

All Right, But Was There a Bar?

This is where documented history begins giving way to local legend. Stories have circulated that the island’s entertainment establishment also had a bar or saloon. That would not be surprising for a popular dance venue of the period, but we have not yet located a dependable contemporary source, liquor license or newspaper advertisement proving exactly what was served there. It is certainly possible that “refreshments” included something stronger than lemonade. It is also possible that decades of retelling transformed an ordinary dance pavilion into a much wilder establishment. Which brings us to the story everyone really wants to discuss.

The Rumored “House of Ill Repute”

Some versions of the island’s history go further, suggesting it may have operated as—or been connected to—a brothel or house of ill repute. It is a fantastic story. It also makes a certain kind of geographical sense. An isolated building surrounded by water, reached by bridge and positioned among multiple towns, counties and states sounds almost custom-built for avoiding unwanted attention. But a good story is not automatically a historical fact. So far, no reliable document has surfaced that explicitly identifies the dance hall as a brothel. The claim should therefore be treated as local folklore unless additional evidence emerges.

That does not mean the story is necessarily false. Many pieces of local history survive first through family stories, whispered reputations and memories that were never written into official records. It simply means we need an old newspaper report, court record, business advertisement, diary entry or similar source before moving it from “legend” to “confirmed.” For now, the most accurate description might be this:

No Man’s Island definitely had a dance hall, may have had a bar and has long carried rumors of considerably more scandalous activity.

Not bad for a pile of rocks and trees in the Connecticut River.

The Flood That Ended the Music

Whatever happened inside the pavilion, nature eventually brought the island’s entertainment era to an abrupt end. In November 1927, catastrophic flooding swept across Vermont and parts of New Hampshire. The event is still regarded as Vermont’s worst natural disaster. Eighty-four people died across the state, bridges and buildings disappeared and communities throughout the region suffered extraordinary destruction. The dance hall on No Man’s Island was reportedly swept away during that flood. The music stopped. The bridge and pavilion vanished. The island gradually returned to the quiet landscape we see today—but the stories remained.

Who Owns No Man’s Island Today?

No Man’s Island is now owned by the Bagonzi Family Trust, connecting another well-known Woodsville family name to this unusual landmark. The island is private property, not a public historical attraction. Its story, however, belongs to the broader history of the Twin State region and the communities that grew along these rivers.

Can You Help Solve the Mystery?

The dance hall and the Flood of 1927 are significant pieces of the island’s known history. The bar and brothel stories remain tantalizing—but unconfirmed.

That is where community memory can help. Do you have an old photograph, newspaper clipping, family story or document connected to No Man’s Island? Did a parent or grandparent talk about the dance hall? Have you heard a specific name for the establishment—or a particularly scandalous story about what happened after dark? We would love to hear it. Just remember: If your great-grandfather insisted he only went there for the dancing, we will respectfully take him at his word.