The Secrets of the Great City
by James Dabney McCabe · English · Gutenberg #8856 · 878,480 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Secrets of the Great City
Author: James Dabney McCabe
Release date: September 1, 2005 [eBook #8856]
Most recently updated: January 2, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRETS OF THE GREAT CITY ***
E-text prepared by David Moynihan, Charlie Kirschner, Charles Franks, and
the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE SECRETS OF THE GREAT CITY
A Work Descriptive of the Virtues and the Vices,
the Mysteries, Miseries and Crimes of New York City
BY
EDWARD WINSLOW MARTIN
CHAPTER I.
THE CITY OF NEW YORK.
The City of New York is the largest and most important in America. Its
corporate limits embrace the whole of Manhattan Island, on which it is
situated, and which is bounded by the Hudson, the East and Harlem
rivers, and by Spuyten Duyvil creek, which last connects the Harlem
with the Hudson. Being almost entirely surrounded by deep water, and
lying within sight of the ocean, and only sixteen miles from it, the
city is naturally the greatest commercial centre of the country. The
extreme length of the island is fifteen miles, and its average breadth
a mile and a half. The city lies at the head of New York Bay, which
stretches away for miles until the Narrows, the main entrance to the
harbor, are reached, presenting a panorama unsurpassed for natural and
artificial beauty. The people of New York are very proud of their bay,
and justly regard it as one of the most magnificent in the world.
The city was originally settled by the Dutch, toward the close of the
year 1614, and called by them New Amsterdam. In 1664, it passed into
the hands of the English, and was named New York, which name was also
given to the whole province. The first settlement was made at the
extreme lower part of the island, on the spot now known as the Battery.
A fort was erected, and the little hamlet surrounded by a strong
stockade as a protection against the savages. The first settlers were
eminently just in their dealings with the red men, and purchased the
island from them, giving them what was considered by all parties a fair
price for it. They felt sure that their new home was destined to become
a place of importance in the course of time. Its commercial advantages
were evident at a glance; the climate was delightful, being neither so
rigorous as that of the Eastern colonies, nor so enervating as that of
the Southern. The hopes of the founders of New York are more than
realized in the metropolis of to-day.
The city grew very slowly at the beginning. In 1686, it was regularly
incorporated by a charter. In 1693, the first printing press was set up
in the city by William Bradford. In 1690, New York contained five
hundred and ninety-four houses and six thousand inhabitants. In 1790,
one hundred years later, the city had a population of thirty-three
thousand. It was not until the beginning of the present century that it
commenced that wonderful growth which has given it its present
importance. At first it spread more rapidly on the east side than on
the west. As late as the close of the Revolution, what is now Chambers
street was the extreme upper limit, and its line was marked by a strong
stockade, built across from river to river, with gates leading to the
various country roads which traversed the upper part of the island.
The City of New York now extends from the Battery to the Harlem river
and Spuyten Duyvil creek, and is built up with great regularity as far
as One-hundred and Thirtieth street. Harlem, Yorkville, Manhattanville,
Bloomingdale, Carmansville, and Washington Heights or Fort Washington,
were all originally separate villages, but are now parts of the great
city. The island comes to a point at the Battery, and from this
extremity stretches away northward like a fan. It attains its greatest
width at Fourteenth and Eighty-seventh streets. Broadway is the longest
street, running from, the Battery to Spuyten Duyvil creek, a distance
of fifteen miles. It is lighted with gas along the entire line. Street
railways and omnibus lines connect the various parts of the city,
affording cheap and rapid transportation within its limits. Ferry boats
ply constantly between the island and the neighboring shores, and
railroads and steamboats connect it with all parts of the world.
THE POPULATION.
The population of New York is over one million of inhabitants. This
does not include the immense throng of visitors for business and
pleasure. It is estimated that forty thousand of these arrive and
depart daily. During times of more than ordinary interest--such as a
national convention of some political party, the meeting of some great
religious body, the world's fair, or some such special attraction--
these arrivals are greatly increased. During the recent session of the
Democratic National Convention, in July, 1868, the number of strangers
present in the city was estimated at two hundred thousand. The amount
of money brought into the city by these strangers is astonishing.
Millions are spent by them annually during their visits to the
metropolis.
The population is made up from every nation under Heaven. The natives
are in the minority. The foreign element predominates. Irishmen,
Germans, Jews, Turks, Greeks, Russians, Italians, Spaniards, Mexicans,
Portuguese, Scotch, French, Chinese--in short, representatives of every
nationality--abound. These frequently herd together, each class by
itself, in distinct parts of the city, which they seem to regard as
their own.
Land is very scarce and valuable in New York, and this fact compels the
poorer classes to live in greater distress than in most cities of the
world. The whole number of buildings in the city in 1860 was fifty-five
thousand, which includes churches, stores, etc. In the same year the
population was eight hundred and five thousand, or one hundred and
sixty-one thousand families. Of these fifteen thousand only occupied
entire houses; nine thousand one hundred and twenty dwellings contained
two families, and six thousand one hundred contained three families. As
we shall have to recur to this subject again, we pass on now, merely
remarking that these "tenement sections" of the city, as they are
called, are more crowded now than ever, the increase in buildings
having fallen far behind the increase of the population in the last
eight years.
This mixed population makes New York a thorough cosmopolitan city; yet
at the same time it is eminently American. Although the native New York
element is small in numbers, its influence is very great. Besides this,
numbers flock to the city from all parts of the Union, and this
constant influx of fresh American vitality does much to keep the city
true to the general character of the country.
It has been well said, that "New York is the best place in the world to
take the conceit out of a man." This is true. No matter how great or
flattering is the local reputation of an individual, he finds upon
reaching New York that he is entirely unknown. He must at once set to
work to build up a reputation here, where he will be taken for just
what he is worth, and no more. The city is a great school for studying
human nature, and its people are proficients in the art of discerning
character.
In point of morality, the people of New York, in spite of all that has
been said of them, compare favorably with those of any other city. If
the darkest side of life is to be seen here, one may also witness the
best. The greatest scoundrels and the purest Christians are to be found
here. It is but natural that this, being the great centre of wealth,
should also be the great centre of all that is good and beautiful in
life. It is true that the Devil's work is done here on a gigantic
scale, but the will of the Lord is done on an equally great, if not a
greater, scale. In its charities New York stands at the head of
American communities--the great heart of the city throbs warmly for
suffering humanity. The municipal authorities expend annually seven
hundred thousand dollars in public charities. The various religious
denominations spend annually three millions more, and besides this the
city is constantly sending out princely sums to relieve want and
suffering in all parts of our broad land.
The people of New York are the most liberal of any in America in
matters of opinion. Here, as a general rule, no man seeks to influence
the belief of another, except so far as all men are privileged to do
so. Every religious faith, every shade of political opinion, is
tolerated and protected. Men concern themselves with their own affairs
only. Indeed, this feeling is carried to such an extreme that it has
engendered a decided indifference between man and man. People live for
years as next door neighbors, without ever knowing each other by sight.
A gentleman once happened to notice the name of his next door neighbor
on the door-plate. To his surprise he found it the same as his own.
Accosting the owner of the door-plate one day, for the first time, he
remarked that it was singular that two people bearing the same name
should live side by side for years without knowing each other. This
remark led to mutual inquiries and statements, and to their surprise
the two men found they were brothers--sons of the same parents. They
had not met for many years, and for fully twelve years had lived side
by side as neighbors, without knowing each other. This incident may be
overdrawn, but it will illustrate a peculiar feature of New York life.
Strangers coming to New York are struck with the fact that there are
but two classes in the city--the poor and the rich. The middle class,
which is so numerous in other cities, hardly exists at all here. The
reason of this is plain to the initiated. Living in New York is so
expensive that persons of moderate means reside in the suburbs, some of
them as far as forty miles in the country. They come into the city, to
their business, in crowds, between the hours of seven and nine in the
morning, and literally pour out of it between four and seven in the
evening. In fair weather the inconvenience of such a life is trifling,
but in the winter it is absolutely fearful. A deep snow will sometimes
obstruct the railroad tracks, and persons living outside of the city
are either unable to leave New York, or are forced to spend the night
on the cars. Again, the rivers will be so full of floating ice as to
render it very dangerous, if not impossible, for the ferry boats to
cross. At such times the railroad depots and ferry houses are crowded
with persons anxiously awaiting transportation to their homes. The
detention in New York, however, is not the greatest inconvenience
caused by such mishaps. Many persons are frequently unable to reach the
city, and thus lose several days from their business, at times when
they can ill afford it.
We have already referred to the scarcity of houses. The population of
the city increases so rapidly that house-room cannot be provided for
all. House rent is very high in New York. A house for a family of six
persons, in a moderately respectable neighborhood, will rent for from
sixteen hundred to twenty-five hundred dollars, the rate increasing as
the neighborhood improves. On the fashionable streets, houses rent for
from six thousand to fifteen thousand dollars per annum. These, it must
be remembered, are palatial. Many persons owning these houses, live in
Europe, or in other parts of the country, and pay all their expenses
with the rent thus secured.
In consequence of this scarcity of dwellings, and the enormous rents
asked for them, few families have residences of their own. People of
moderate means generally rent a house, and sub-let a part of it to
another family, take boarders, or rent furnished or unfurnished rooms
to lodgers.
Furniture is expensive, and many persons prefer to rent furnished
houses. These are always in demand, and in good localities command
enormous prices. Heavy security has to be given by the lessee in such
cases, as, without this, the tenant might make away with the furniture.
Many persons owning houses for rent, furnish them at their own expense,
and let them, the heavy rent soon paying a handsome profit on the
furniture.
Persons living in a rented house are constantly apprehensive. Except in
cases of long leases, no one knows how much his rent may be increased
the next year. This causes a constant shifting of quarters, and is
expensive and vexatious in the highest degree. It is partly due to the
unsettled condition of the currency, but mainly to the scarcity of
houses.
Many--indeed; the majority of the better class of inhabitants--prefer
to board. Hotels and boarding houses pay well in New York. They are
always full, and their prosperity has given rise to the remark that,
"New York is a vast boarding house." We shall discuss this portion of
our subject more fully in another chapter.
To persons of means, New York offers more advantages as a place of
residence than any city in the land. Its delightful climate, its
cosmopolitan and metropolitan character, and the endless variety of its
attractions, render it the most delightful home in America. That this
is true is shown by the fact that few persons who have lived in New
York for twelve months ever care to leave it. Even those who could do
better else where are powerless to resist its fascinations.
[Illustration: Broadway, as seen from The St. Nicholas Hotel.]
CHAPTER II.
THE STREETS OF NEW YORK.
The City of New York has been regularly laid out and surveyed for a
distance of twelve miles from the Battery. It has over two hundred
miles of paved streets. Most of the streets in the old Dutch city are
crooked and narrow, but above that they are broader, and better laid
on; and after passing Fulton street, they become quite regular. Above
Fourteenth street, the city is laid off in regular squares. First
street is located about a mile and four fifths above the Battery. From
this the cross streets extend to Two hundred and twenty-eighth street.
The lengths of the blocks, between First and One-hundred and twenty-
first streets, vary from one hundred and eighty-one to two hundred and
eleven feet eleven inches.
Those between the avenues (which run at right angles to the streets),
vary from four hundred and five to nine hundred and twenty feet.
The avenues are all one hundred feet wide, excepting Lexington and
Madison, which are seventy-five, and Fourth Avenue, above Thirty-fourth
street, which is one hundred and forty feet wide.
The numerical streets are all sixty feet wide, excepting Fourteenth,
Twenty-third, Thirty-fourth, Forty-second, and eleven others, north of
these, which are one hundred feet wide.
There are twelve fine avenues at parallel distances apart of about
eight hundred feet. They begin about First or Fourth street, and run to
the end of the island. Second and Eighth are the longest, and Fifth and
Madison the most fashionable.
BROADWAY.
The most wonderful street in the world is Broadway. It extends, as we
have said, the whole length of the island. But its most attractive
features are between the Bowling Green and Thirty-fourth street--the
chief part of these being below Fourteenth street. The street is about
sixty feet wide, and is thronged with vehicles of every description.
Often times these vehicles crowd the streets to such an extent that
they become "jammed," and the police are forced to interfere and compel
the drivers to take the routes assigned them. The scene at such a time
is thrilling. A stranger feels sure that the vehicles cannot be
extricated without loss of life or limb to man or beast, and the shouts
and oaths of the drivers fairly bewilder him. In a few moments,
however, he sees a squad of policemen approach, and plunge boldly into
the throng of vehicles. The shouts and oaths of the drivers cease, the
vehicles move on, one at a time, according to the orders of the police,
and soon the street is clear again, to be blocked, perhaps, in a
similar manner, in less than an hour. Twenty thousand vehicles daily
traverse this great thoroughfare.
It is always a difficult matter to cross Broadway in the busy season.
Ladies, old persons, and children, find it impossible to do so without
the aid of the police, whose duty it is to make a way for them through
the crowds of vehicles. A bridge was erected at the corner of Broadway
and Fulton street, which is the most crowded part of the city, for the
purpose of allowing pedestrians to cross over the heads of the throng
in the street. It proved a failure, however. Few persons used it,
except to see from it the magnificent panorama of Broadway, and the
city authorities have ordered it to be taken down. It disfigures the
street very much, and its removal will be hailed with delight by the
native population.
Broadway properly begins at the Bowling Green. From this point it
extends in a straight line to Fourteenth street and Union Square. Below
Wall street, it is mainly devoted to the "Express" business, the
headquarters and branch offices of nearly all the lines in the country
centering here. Opposite Wall street, on the west side of Broadway, is
Trinity Church and its grave-yard. From Wall street to Ann street,
Insurance Companies, Real Estate Agents, Bankers and Brokers
predominate. At the corner of Ann street, is the magnificent "Herald
Office," adjoining which is the "Park Bank," one of the grandest
structures in the country. Opposite these are the Astor House and St.
Paul's Church. Passing the Astor House, the visitor finds the Park,
containing the City Hall, on his right. Across the Park are Park Row
and Printing House Square, containing all the principal newspaper
offices of the city. Old Tammany Hall once stood on this Square, but
the site is now occupied by the "The Sun," and "Brick Pomeroy's
Democrat"--_Arcades Ambo_.
Beyond the City Hall, at the north-east corner of Chambers street and
Broadway, is "Stewart's marble dry goods palace," as it is called. This
is the _wholesale_ warehouse of A. T. Stewart & Co., and occupies the
entire block. The _retail_ department of this great firm, is higher up
town. Passing along, one sees, in glancing up and down the cross
streets, long rows of marble and brown stone warehouses, stretching
away for many blocks on either hand, and affording proof positive of
the immensity and success of the business transacted in this locality.
Opposite Pearl street is the New York Hospital, standing back amidst
its noble old trees; the yard is cut off from the street by an iron
railing. Crossing Canal street, the widest and most conspicuous we have
yet passed over, we see the handsome establishment of Lord & Taylor.
rivals to Stewart, in the retail dry goods trade; on the corner of
Grand street. The brown stone building opposite, is Brooks' clothing
house, the largest and finest in the country. Between Broome and Spring
streets, are the marble and brown stone buildings of the famous St.
Nicholas Hotel. On the block above, and opposite, is Tiffany's, too
well known to need a description. On the corner of Prince street, is
Ball & Black's, a visit to which palace is worth a trip to the city.
Diagonally opposite is the Metropolitan Hotel, in the rear of which is
the theatre known as Niblo's Garden. Above this we pass the Olympic
Theatre, the great Dollar store, the Southern Hotel, the New York
Hotel, the New York Theatre, and Goupil's famous art gallery. On the
corner of Tenth street, is a magnificent iron building, painted white.
This is Stewards up town, or retail store. It is always filled with
ladies "shopping," and the streets around it are blocked with
carriages. Throngs of elegantly dressed ladies pass in and out, the
whole scene being animated and interesting. Above this is Grace Church,
one of the most beautiful religious structures in the city. On the
corner of Thirteenth street, is Wallack's Theatre. At Fourteenth
street, we find a handsome square, formerly a fashionable place of
residence, but now giving way to business houses and hotels. This is
Union Square. Passing around it, Broadway runs in a north-westerly
direction, and at the intersection of the great thoroughfare with Fifth
Avenue, at Twenty-third street, we see the magnificent front of the
Fifth Avenue Hotel. On the block beyond are the Albemarle and Hoffman
Houses, with the St. James a little above. Opposite are the Worth
Monument and Madison Square. Above this are several minor hotels, and
Wood's Theatre. The street is but little improved above Thirty-fourth
street.
Below Twenty-third street, and especially below Union Square, Broadway
is built up magnificently. Marble, brown stone, and iron warehouses,
extend in long rows on each side of the street. There are some old
shanties still standing on the great thoroughfare, but they are rapidly
disappearing, and in a few years will be entirely gone. The view from
any point below Fourteenth street, ranges from Union Square to the
Bowling Green, and is grand and exhilarating beyond description. The
windows of the stores are filled with the gayest and most showy goods.
Jewels, silks, satins, laces, ribbons, household goods, silver ware,
toys, paintings; in short, rare, costly, and beautiful objects, greet
the gazer on every hand.
There are no railroad tracks on Broadway below Fourteenth street; the
public travel is done by means of omnibusses, or stages, as they are
called. Several hundred of these traverse the street from the lower
ferries as far up as Twenty-third street, turning off at various points
into the side streets and avenues. At night the many colored lamps of
these vehicles add a striking and picturesque feature to the scene.
They are filled with all sorts of people.
The Broadway side walks are always crowded, and this throng of passers-
by is, to our mind, the most attractive feature of the busy scene.
Every class and shade of nationality and character is represented here.
America, Europe, Asia, Africa, and even Oceanica, has each its
representatives here. High and low, rich and poor, pass along these
side-walks, at a speed peculiar to New York, and positively bewildering
to a stranger. No one seems to think of any person but himself, and
each one jostles his neighbor or brushes by him with an indifference
amusing to behold. Fine gentlemen in broad cloth, ladies in silks and
jewels, and beggars in squalidness and rags, are mingled here in true
Republican confusion. The bustle and uproar are very great, generally
making it impossible to converse in an ordinary tone. From early
morning till near midnight this scene goes on.
A gentleman from the remote interior, once put up at the St. Nicholas
Hotel. He came to the City on urgent business, and told a friend who
was with him, that he intended to start out early the next morning.
This friend saw him, about noon the next day, waiting at the door of
the St. Nicholas Hotel, surveying the passing crowd with an air of
impatience.
"Have you finished your business?" he asked.
"No," said the gentleman, "I have not yet started out. I've been
waiting here for three hours for this crowd to pass by, and I see no
signs of it doing so."
The friend, pitying him, put him in a stage, and started him off,
telling him that crowd usually took twenty-four hours to pass that
point.
At night the scene changes. The crowd of vehicles on the street is not
so dense, and the "foot passengers" are somewhat thinned put. The lower
part of the city, which is devoted exclusively to business, is
deserted. For blocks the only persons to be seen are the policemen on
their beats. Above Canal street, however, all is life and bustle. The
street is brilliantly lighted. The windows of the stores and
restaurants, and the lamps of the theatres and concert saloons, add
greatly to the general illumination, while the long lines of the red,
green, and blue lights of the stages, rising and falling with the
motion of the vehicles, add a novelty and beauty to the picture.
Strains of music or bursts of applause, float out on the night air from
the places of amusement, not all of which are reputable. The street is
full of all kinds of people, all of whom seem to be in high spirits,
for Broadway is a sure cure for the "blues." One feature mars the
scene. At every step, almost, one passes women and girls, and even mere
children, seeking for company, and soliciting passers by with their
looks and manner, and sometimes by open words. The police do not allow
these women to stop and converse with men on the street, and when they
find a companion, they dart with him down a side street. This goes on
until midnight. Then the street gradually becomes deserted, and for a
few hours silence reigns in Broadway.
THE BOWERY.
Leaving the City Hall, and passing through Chatham street, one suddenly
emerges from the dark, narrow lane, into a broad square, with streets
leading from it to all parts of the city. It is not overclean, and has
an air of sharpness and repulsiveness that at once attract attention.
This is Chatham Square, the great promenade of that class generally
known as "the fancy."
At the upper end of the Square is a broad, well paved, flashy looking
street, stretching away to the northward, crowded with street cars,
vehicles of all kinds, and pedestrians. This is the Bowery. It begins
at Chatham Square, and extends as far as the Cooper Institute on Eighth
street, where Third and Fourth Avenues, the first on the right hand,
the other on the left, continue the thoroughfare to the Harlem river.
The Bowery first appears in the history of New York under the following
circumstances. About 1642 or 1643, it was set apart by the Dutch as the
residence of superannuated slaves, who, having served the Government
faithfully from the earliest period of the settlement of the island,
were at last allowed to devote their labors to the support of their
dependent families, and were granted parcels of land embracing from
eight to twenty acres each. The Dutch were influenced by other motives
than charity in this matter. The district thus granted was well out of
the limits of New Amsterdam, and they were anxious to make this negro
settlement a sort of breakwater against the attacks of the Indians, who
were beginning to be troublesome. At this time the Bowery was covered
with a dense forest. A year or two later, farms were laid out along its
extent. These were called "Boweries," from which the present street
derives its name. Bowery No. I. was bought by Governor Stuyvesant. His
house stood about where the present St. Mark's (Episcopal) Church is
located. In 1660, or near about that year, a road or lane was laid off,
through what are now Chatham street, Chatham Square, and the Bowery, to
the farm of Governor Stuyvesant, beyond which there was no road. To
this was given the distinctive name of the "Bowery Lane." In 1783, the
Bowery again came into prominent notice. On the 25th of November of
that year, the American army, under General Washington, marched into
the Bowery early in the morning, and remained until noon, when the
British troops evacuated the city and its defences. This done, the
Americans marched down the Bowery, through Chatham and Pearl streets,
to the Battery, where they lowered the British flag, which had been
left flying by the enemy, and hoisted the "Stars and Stripes" of the
new Republic.
[Illustration: Broadway, looking up from Exchange Place.]
After the city began to extend up the island, the Bowery, which had
been eminently respectable in its earlier history, lost caste. Decent
people left it, and the poorer and more disreputable classes took
possession. Finally, it became notorious. It was noted for its roughs,
its rowdy firemen, its courtezans--in short, it was the paradise of the
worst elements of New York. The march of trade and improvement along
the east side of the city has effected a partial reformation, but still
the Bowery is generally regarded as one of the doubtful localities of
the city.
The street runs parallel with Broadway, and is about a mile in length.
It is much wider than the latter thoroughfare. It is tolerably well
built up; and is improving in this respect every year. In connection
with Chatham Square, it is the great route from the lower part of the
island to the Harlem river on the east side. It is devoted principally
to the cheap trade. The Jews abound here. The display of goods in the
shops is attractive, but flashy. Few persons who have the means to buy
elsewhere, care to purchase an article in the Bowery, as those familiar
with it know there are but few reliable dealers along the street.
Strangers from the country, servant girls, and those who are forced to
put up with an inferior article from the want of a few dollars, and
often a few cents, to buy a better one, trade here. As a general rule,
the goods sold are of an inferior, and often worthless, quality, and
the prices asked are high, though seemingly cheap. Large fortunes are
made by the Bowery merchants, who, with but few exceptions, are adepts
in the art of swindling their customers.
Pawnbrokers' shops, "Cheap Johns," second class hotels, dance houses,
fifth rate lodging houses, low class theatres, and concert saloons,
abound in the lower part of the street.
The Sunday law, which, seems to be so rigidly enforced in other parts
of the city, is a dead letter in the Bowery. Here on Sunday, one may
see shops of all kinds--the vilest especially--open for trade. Cheap
clothing-stores, etc., concert saloons, and the most infamous dens of
vice, are in full blast. The street, and the cars traversing it, are
thronged with the lower classes, in search of what they call enjoyment.
At night all the places of amusement are open, and are crowded to
excess. Boughs, thieves, fallen women, and even little children, throng
them. Indeed, it is sad to see how many children are to be found in
these vile places. The price of admission is low, and, strange as it
may sound, almost any beggar can raise it. People have no idea how much
of the charity they lavish on street beggars goes in this direction.
The amusement afforded at these places ranges from indelicate hints and
allusions to the grossest indecency.
Another feature of the Bowery is the immense beer-gardens with which it
abounds. We refer to those of the better class, which are patronized
chiefly by the German element of the city. These are immense buildings,
fitted up in imitation of a garden. Some are very handsomely frescoed,
and otherwise adorned. They will accommodate from four hundred to
twelve hundred guests. Germans carry their families there to spend a
day, or an evening. Clubs, parties of friends, and public societies,
often pay such visits to these places. Some carry their own provisions;
others purchase them from the proprietor. There is no admittance fee:
the entrance is free. Beer and other liquids are served out at a small
cost. Guests are coming and going all the time. Sometimes as many as
five thousand people will visit one of these places in the course of an
evening. The music is a great attraction to the Germans. It is
exquisite in some places, especially in the Atlantic Garden, which is
situated in the Bowery, near Canal street.
[Illustration: City Hall]
The profits are enormous; the proprietors frequently realize handsome
fortunes in the course of a few years. Were these places all the
Germans claim for them; they would be unobjectionable; but there is no
disguising the fact that they encourage excess in drinking, and offer
every inducement for a systematic violation of the Sabbath.
Besides these, there are saloons and gardens where none but the
abandoned are to be seen. These will be noticed further on.
Respectable people avoid the Bowery, as far as possible, at night; but
on Sunday night, few but those absolutely compelled to visit it, are to
be seen within its limits. Every species of vice and crime is abroad at
this time, watching for its victims. Those who do not wish to fall into
trouble should keep out of the way.
THE AVENUES.
The Avenues of New York commence with First Avenue, which is the second
east of the Bowery. They are numbered regularly to the westward until
Twelfth Avenue is reached. This street forms the western shore of the
island in the extreme upper part of New York. East of First Avenue,
above Houston street, there are five short avenues, called A, B, C, D,
E,--the first being the most westerly. There are also other shorter
avenues in the city, viz.: Lexington, commencing at Fourteenth street,
lying between Third and Fourth Avenues, and extending to Sixty-sixth
street; and Madison, commencing at Twenty-third street, lying between
Fourth and Fifth Avenues, and running to Eighty-sixth street. Second
and Eighth are the longest. Third Avenue is the main street of the east
side, above Eighth street Eighth Avenue is the great thoroughfare on
the west side Hudson street, of which Eighth Avenue is a continuation
is rapidly becoming the West-side Bowery. Fifth and Madison are the
most fashionable, and are magnificently built up with private
residences, along almost their entire length. The cross streets
connecting them, in the upper part of the city, are also handsomely
laid off, and are filled with long rows of fine brown-stone and marble
mansions.
The streets of New York are well laid off, and are paved with an
excellent quality of stone. The side-walks generally consist of immense
stone "flags." In the lower part of the city, in the poorer and
business sections, they are dirty, and always out of order. In the
upper part they are clean, and are often kept so by private
contributions.
The avenues on the eastern and western extremities of the city are the
abodes of poverty, want, and often of vice, hemming in the wealthy and
cleanly sections on both sides. Poverty and wealth are close neighbors
in New York. Only a block and a half back of the most sumptuous parts
of Broadway and Fifth Avenue, want and suffering, vice and crime, hold
their court. Fine ladies can look down from their high casements upon
the squalid dens of their unhappy sisters.
CHAPTER III.
THE CITY GOVERNMENT.
The City of New York is governed by a Mayor, a Board of Aldermen and a
Board of Common Councilmen. The Mayor has been stripped by the
Legislature of the State of almost every power or attribute of power,
and is to-day merely an ornamental figure-head to the City government.
The real power lies in the Boards named above, and in the various
"Commissioners" appointed by the Legislature. These are the
Commissioners in charge of the streets, the Croton Aqueduct, Public
Charities and Corrections, the Police and Fire Departments.
We do not seek to lay the blame for the mismanagement and infamy of the
government of this City on any party or parties. It is a fact that
affairs here are sadly mismanaged, whoever may be at fault.
In place of any statements of our own concerning this branch of our
subject, we ask the reader's attention to the following extracts from a
pamphlet recently published by Mr. James Parton. He says:
The twenty-four Councilmen who have provided themselves with such ample
assistance at such costly accommodation are mostly very young men,--the
majority appear to be under thirty. Does the reader remember the
pleasant description given by Mr. Hawthorne of the sprightly young bar-
keeper who rainbows the glittering drink so dexterously from one
tumbler to another? That sprightly young barkeeper might stand as the
type of the young men composing this board. There are respectable men
in the body. There are six who have never knowingly cast an improper
vote. There is one respectable physician, three lawyers, ten mechanics,
and only four who acknowledge to be dealers in liquors. But there is a
certain air about most of these young Councilmen which, in the eyes of
a New-Yorker, stamps them as belonging to what has been styled of late
years "our ruling class,"--butcher-boys who have got into politics,
bar-keepers who have taken a leading part in primary ward meetings, and
young fellows who hang about engine-houses and billiard-rooms. A
stranger would naturally expect to find in such a board men who have
shown ability and acquired distinction in private business. We say,
again, that there are honest and estimable men in the body; but we also
assert, that there is not an individual in it who has attained any
considerable rank in the vocation which he professes. If we were to
print the list here, not a name would be generally recognized. Honest
Christopher Pullman, for example, who leads the honest minority of six
that vainly oppose every scheme of plunder, is a young man of twenty-
seven, just beginning business as a cabinet maker. Honest William B.
White, another of the six, is the manager of a printing office. Honest
Stephen Roberts is a sturdy smith, who has a shop near a wharf for
repairing the iron work of ships. Morris A. Tyng, another of the honest
six, is a young lawyer getting into practice. We make no remark upon
these facts, being only desirous to show the business standing of the
men to whom the citizens of New York have confided the spending of
sundry millions per annum. The majority of this board are about equal,
in point of experience and ability, to the management of an oyster
stand in a market. Such expressions as 'them laws,' 'sot the table,'
'71st rigiment,' and 'them arguments is played out,' may be heard on
almost any Monday or Thursday afternoon, between two and three o'clock,
in this sumptuous chamber.
But what most strikes and puzzles the stranger is the crowd of
spectators outside the railing. It is the rogues' gallery come to life,
with here and there an honest looking laborer wearing the garments of
his calling. We attended six sessions of this 'honorable body,' and on
every occasion there was the same kind of crowd looking on, who sat the
session out. Frequently we observed looks and words of recognition pass
between the members and this curious audience; and, once, we saw a
member gayly toss a paper of tobacco to one of them, who caught it with
pleasing dexterity. We are unable to explain the regular presence of
this great number of the unornamental portion of our fellow-beings,
since we could never see any indications that any of the crowd had an
_interest_ in the proceedings. As the debates are never reported by any
one of the seventeen reporters who are paid two hundred dollars a year
for not doing it, and as the educated portion of the community never
attend the sessions, this board sits, practically, with closed doors.
Their schemes are both conceived and executed in secresy, though the
door is open to all who wish to enter. This is the more surprising,
because almost every session of the board furnishes the material for a
report, which an able and public-spirited journalist would gladly buy
at the highest price paid for such work in any city.
_Debates_ is a ludicrous word to apply to the proceedings of the
Councilmen. Most of the business done by them is pushed through without
the slightest discussion, and is of such a nature that members cannot
be prepared to discuss it. The most reckless haste marks every part of
the performance. A member proposes that certain lots be provided with
curbstones; another, that a free drinking hydrant be placed on a
certain corner five miles up town; and another, that certain blocks of
a distant street be paved with Belgian pavement. Respecting the utility
of these works, members generally know nothing and can say nothing; nor
are they proper objects of legislation. The resolutions are adopted,
usually, without a word of explanation, and at a speed that must be
seen to be appreciated.
* * * * *
At almost every session we witnessed scenes like the following: A
member proposed to lease a certain building for a city court at two
thousand dollars a year for ten years. Honest Christopher Pullman, a
faithful and laborious public servant, objected, on one or two grounds;
first, rents being unnaturally high, owing to several well known and
temporary causes, it would be unjust to the city to fix the rent at
present rates for so long a period; secondly, he had been himself to
see the building, had taken pains to inform himself as to its value,
and was prepared to prove that twelve hundred dollars a year was a
proper rent for it even at the inflated rates. He made this statement
with excellent brevity, moderation, and good temper, and concluded by
moving that the term be two instead of ten years. A robust young man,
with a bull neck and of ungrammatical habits, said, in a tone of
impatient disdain, that the landlord of the building had 'refused'
fifteen hundred dollars a year for it. 'Question!' 'Question!' shouted
half a dozen angry voices, the question was instantly put, when a
perfect war of _noes_ voted down Mr. Pullman's amendment. Another
hearty chorus of _ayes_ consummated the iniquity. In all such affairs,
the visitor notices a kind of 'ungovernable propensity to vote for
spending money, and a prompt disgust at any obstacle raised or
objection made. The bull-necked Councilman of uncertain grammar
evidently felt that Mr. Pullman's modest interference on behalf of the
tax-payer was a most gross impertinence. He felt himself an injured
being, and his companions shared his indignation.
We proceed to another and better specimen. A resolution was introduced,
appropriating four thousand dollars for the purpose of presenting
stands of colors to five regiments of city militia, which were named,
each stand to cost eight hundred dollars. Mr. Pullman, as usual,
objected, and we beg the reader to mark his objections. He said that he
was a member of the committee which had reported the resolution, but he
had never heard of it till that moment; the scheme had been 'sprung'
upon him. The chairman of the committee replied to this, that, since
the other regiments had had colors given them by the city, he did not
suppose that any one could object to these remaining five receiving the
same compliment, and therefore he had not thought it worth while to
summon the gentleman. 'Besides,' said he, 'it is a small matter
anyhow';--by which he evidently meant to intimate that the objector was
a very small person. To this last remark, a member replied, that he did
not consider four thousand dollars so very small a matter. 'Anyhow,' he
added, 'we oughter save the city every dollar we kin.' Mr. Pullman
resumed. He stated that the Legislature of the State, several months
before, had voted a stand of colors to each infantry regiment in the
State; that the distribution of these colors had already begun; that
the five regiments would soon receive them; and that, consequently,
there was no need of their having the colors which it was now proposed
to give them. A member roughly replied, that the colors voted by the
State Legislature were mere painted banners, 'of no account.' Mr.
Pullman denied this. 'I am,' said he, 'captain in one of our city
regiments. Two weeks ago we received our colors. I have seen, felt,
examined, and marched under them; and I can testify that they are of
great beauty, and excellent quality, made by Tiffany and Company, a
firm of the first standing in the city.' He proceeded to describe the
colors as being made of the best silk, and decorated in the most
elegant manner. He further objected to the price proposed to be given
for the colors. He declared that, from his connection with the militia,
he had become acquainted with the value of such articles, and he could
procure colors of the best kind ever used in the service for three
hundred and seventy five dollars. The price named in the resolution
was, therefore, most excessive. Upon this, another member rose and
said, in a peculiarly offensive manner, that it would be two years
before Tiffany and Company had made all the colors, and some of the
regiments would have to wait all that time. 'The other regiments,' said
he, 'have had colors presented by the City, and I don't see why we
should show partiality.' Whereupon Mr. Pullman informed the board that
the _City_ regiments would all be supplied in a few weeks; and, even if
they did have to wait awhile, it was of no consequence, for they all
had very good colors already. Honest Stephen Roberts then rose, and
said that this was a subject with which he was not acquainted, but that
if no one could refute what Mr. Pullman had said, he should be obliged
to vote against the resolution.
Then there was a pause. The cry of 'Question!' was heard. The ayes and
noes were called. The resolution was carried by eighteen to five. The
learned suppose that one half of this stolen four thousand dollars was
expended upon the colors, and the other half divided among about forty
persons. It is conjectured that each member of the Councilmen's Ring,
which consists of thirteen, received about forty dollars for his vote
on this occasion. This sum, added to his pay, which is twenty dollars
per session, made a tolerable afternoon's work.
Any one witnessing this scene would certainly have supposed that _now_
the militia regiments of the City of New York were provided with
colors. What was our surprise to hear, a few days after, a member
gravely propose to appropriate eight hundred dollars for the purpose of
presenting the Ninth Regiment of New York Infantry with a stand of
colors. Mr. Pullman repeated his objections, and recounted anew the
generosity of the State Legislature. The eighteen, without a word of
reply, voted for the grant as before. It so chanced that, on our way up
Broadway, an hour after, we met that very regiment marching down with
its colors flying; and we observed that those colors were nearly new.
Indeed, there is such a propensity in the public to present colors to
popular regiments, that some of them have as many as five stands, of
various degrees of splendor. There is nothing about which Councilmen
need feel so little anxiety as a deficiency in the supply of regimental
colors. When, at last, these extravagant banners voted by the
Corporation are presented to the regiments, a new scene of plunder is
exhibited. The officers of the favored regiment are invited to a room
in the basement of the City Hall, where City officials assist them to
consume three hundred dollars' worth of champagne, sandwiches, and cold
chicken--paid for out of the City treasury--while the privates of the
regiment await the return of their officers in the unshaded portion of
the adjacent park.
It is a favorite trick with these Councilmen, as of all politicians, to
devise measures, the passage of which will gratify large _bodies_ of
voters. This is one of the advantages proposed to be gained by the
presentation of colors to regiments; and the same system is pursued
with regard to churches and societies. At every one of the six sessions
of the Councilmen which we attended; resolutions were introduced to
give away the people's money to wealthy organizations. A church, for
example, is assessed a thousand dollars for the construction of a
sewer, which enhances the value of the church property by at least the
amount of the assessment. Straightway, a member from that neighborhood
proposes to console the stricken church with a "donation" of a thousand
dollars, to enable it to pay the assessment; and as this is a
proposition to vote money, it is carried as a matter of course. We
select from our notes only one of these donating scenes. A member
proposed to give two thousand dollars to a certain industrial school,--
the favorite charity of the present time, to which all the benevolent
most willingly subscribe. Vigilant Christopher Pullman reminded the
board that it was now unlawful for the Corporation to vote money for
any object not specified in the tax levy as finally sanctioned by the
Legislature. He read the section of the Act which forbade it. He
further showed, from a statement by the Comptroller, that there was no
money left at their disposal for any _miscellaneous_ objects, since the
appropriation for 'City contingencies' was exhausted. The only reply to
his remarks, was the instant passage of the resolution by eighteen to
five. By what artifice the law is likely to be evaded in such cases, we
may show further on. In all probability, the industrial school, in the
course of the year, will receive a fraction of this money--perhaps even
so large, a fraction as one half. It may be that, ere now, some
obliging person about the City Hall has offered to buy the claim for a
thousand dollars, and take the risk of the hocus-pocus necessary for
getting it--which to _him_ is no risk at all.
It was proposed, on another occasion, to raise the fees of the
Inspectors of weights and measures--who received fifty cents for
inspecting a pair of platform scales, and smaller sums for scales and
measures of less importance. Here was a subject upon which honest
Stephen Roberts, whose shop is in a street where scales and measures
abound, was entirely at home. He showed, in his sturdy and strenuous
manner, that, at the rates then established, an active man could make
two hundred dollars a day. 'Why,' said he, 'a man can inspect, and does
inspect, fifty platform scales in an hour,' The cry of 'Question!'
arose. The question was put, and the usual loud chorus of _ayes_
followed.
As it requires a three-fourths vote to grant money--that is, eighteen
members--it is sometimes impossible for the King to get that number
together. There is a mode of preventing the absence, or the opposition
of members, from defeating favorite schemes. It is by way of
"reconsideration." The time was, when a measure distinctly voted down
by a lawful majority, was dead. But, by this expedient, the voting down
of a measure is only equivalent to its postponement to a more favorable
occasion. The moment the chairman pronounces a resolution lost, the
member who has it in charge moves a reconsideration; and, as a
reconsideration only requires the vote of a majority, _this_ is
invariably carried. By a rule of the Board, a reconsideration carries a
measure over to a future meeting--to any future meeting which may
afford a prospect of its passage. The member who is engineering it
watches his chance, labors with faltering members out of doors, and, as
often as he thinks he can carry it, calls it up again--until, at last,
the requisite eighteen are obtained. It has frequently happened, that a
member has kept a measure in a state of reconsideration for months at a
time, waiting for the happy moment to arrive. There was a robust young
Councilman, who had a benevolent project in charge of paying nine
hundred dollars for a hackney-coach and two horses, which a drunken
driver drove over the dock into the river, one cold night last winter.
There was some disagreement in the Ring on this measure, and the robust
youth was compelled to move for many reconsiderations. So, also, it was
long before the wires could be all arranged to admit of the appointment
of a 'messenger' to the City Librarian, who has perhaps less to do than
any man in New York who is paid eighteen hundred dollars a year; but
perseverance meets its reward. We hear that this messenger is now
smoking in the City Hall at a salary of fifteen hundred dollars.
There is a manoeuvre, also, for preventing the attendance of obnoxious,
obstructive members, like the honest six, which is ingenious and
effective. A 'special meeting' is called. The law declares that notice
of a special meeting must be left at the residence _or_ the place of
business of every member. Mr. Roberts's residence and Mr. Roberts's
place of business are eight miles apart, and he leaves his home for the
day before nine in the morning. If Mr. Roberts's presence at a special
meeting, at 2 P. M., is desired, the notice is left at his shop in the
morning. If it is not desired, the notice is sent to his house in
Harlem, after he has left it. Mr. Pullman, cabinet-maker, leaves his
shop at noon, goes home to dinner, and returns soon after one. If his
presence at the special meeting at 2 P. M. is desired, the notice is
left at his house the evening before, or at his shop in the morning. If
his presence is not desired, the notice is left at his shop a few
minutes after twelve, or at his house a few minutes past one. In either
case, he receives the notice too late to reach the City Hall in time.
We were present in the Councilman's Chamber when Mr. Pullman stated
this _inconvenience_, assuming that it was accidental, and offered an
amendment to the rule, requiring notice to be left five hours before
the time named for the meeting. Mr. Roberts also gave his experience in
the matter of notices, and both gentlemen spoke with perfect moderation
and good temper. We wish we could convey to our readers an idea of the
brutal insolence with which Mr. Pullman, on this occasion, was snubbed
and defrauded by a young bar-keeper who chanced to be in the chair. But
this would be impossible without relating the scene at very great
length. The amendment proposed was voted down, with that peculiar roar
of _noes_ which is always heard in that chamber when some honest man
attempts to put an obstacle in the way of the free plunder of his
fellow-citizens.
These half-fledged legislators are acquainted with the device known by
the name of the 'previous question.' We witnessed a striking proof of
this. One of the most audacious and insolent of the Ring introduced a
resolution, vaguely worded, the object of which was to annul an old
paving contract, that would not pay at the present cost of labor and
materials, and to authorize a new contract at higher rates. Before the
clerk had finished reading the resolution, honest Stephen Roberts
sprang to his feet, and, unrolling a remonstrance with several yards of
signatures appended to it, stood, with his eye upon the chairman, ready
to present it the moment the reading was concluded. This remonstrance,
be it observed, was signed by a majority of the property-owners
interested, the men who would be assessed to pay for one half of the
proposed pavement. Fancy the impetuous Roberts, with the document held
aloft, the yards of signatures streaming down to his feet and flowing
far under his desk, awaiting the time when it would be in order for him
to cry out, 'Mr. President.' The reading ceased. Two voices were heard,
shouting 'Mr. President.' It was not to Mr. Roberts that an impartial
chairman could assign the floor. The member 'who introduced the
resolution was the one who 'caught the speaker's eye,' and that member,
forewarned of Mr. Roberts's intention, moved the previous question. It
was in vain that Mr. Roberts shouted 'Mr. President.' It was in vain
that he fluttered and rattled his streaming ribbon of blotted paper.
The President could not hear a word of any kind until a vote had been
taken upon the question whether the main question should be now put.
That question was carried in the affirmative, by a chorus of _ayes_, so
exactly timed that it was like the voice of one man. Then the main
question _was_ put, and it was carried by another emphatic and
simultaneous shout.
POLITICAL BLACK MAIL.
Mr. Parton thus briefly exposes the system of political black mail
practiced in the City government:
The plunder of the persons who are so unfortunate as to serve the
public, and of those who aspire to serve the public, is systematic, and
nearly universal. Our inquiries into this branch of the subject lead us
to conclude that there are very few salaries paid from the city or
county treasury which do not yield an annual per centage to some one of
the 'head-centres' of corruption. The manner in which this kind of
spoliation is sometimes effected may be gathered from a narrative which
we received from the lips of one of the few learned and estimable men
whom the system of electing judges by the people has left upon the
bench in the City of New York. Four years ago, when the inflation of
the currency had so enhanced the price of all commodities that there
was, of necessity, a general increase of salaries, public and private,
there was talk of raising the salaries of the fourteen judges, who were
most absurdly underpaid even when a dollar in paper and a dollar in
gold were the same thing. Some of the judges were severely pinched in
attempting to make six thousand half-dollars do the work which six
thousand whole ones had accomplished with difficulty; and none,
perhaps, more severely than the excellent and hospitable judge whose
experience we are about to relate. A person known by him to be in the
confidence of leading men about the City Hall called, upon him one day,
and informed him that it was in contemplation to raise the salaries of
all the judges $2,000 per annum. The judge observed that he was much
relieved to hear it, for he had gone so deeply into the Sanitary
Commission and other projects for promoting the war, and had made so
many expensive journeys to Washington in furtherance of such projects,
that he did not see how he could get through the year if the inflation
continued. 'Well, judge,' said the person, 'if the judges are disposed
to be reasonable, the thing can be done.' 'What do you mean by
_reasonable_?' asked the judge. The reply was brief and to the point:
'Twenty-five per cent, of the increase for one year.' The judge said
No. If his salary could not be raised without that, he must rub on, as
best he could, on his present income. The person was evidently much
surprised, and said: 'I am sorry you have such old-fashioned notions.
Why, judge, everybody does it here.' Nothing more was heard of
increasing the judges' salaries for a whole year, during which the
inflation itself had become inflated, and every door-keeper and copyist
had had his stipend increased. At length, the spoilers deemed it best,
for purposes of their own, to consent the salaries of the judges should
be increased $1,000; and, a year after that, the other $1,000 was
permitted to be added.
It was recently proved, in the presence of the Governor of the State,
that the appointment of the office of Corporation Attorney was sold to
one incumbent for the round sum of $10,000. This is bad enough, but
worse remains to be told Sworn testimony, from thirty-six witnesses,
taken by a committee of investigation, establishes the appalling fact,
that appointments to places in the public schools are systematically
sold in some of the wards--the wards where the public schools are
almost the sole civilizing power, and where it is of unspeakable
importance that the schools should be in the hands of the best men and
women. One young lady; who had just buried her father and had a
helpless mother to support, applied for a situation as teacher, and was
told, as usual, that she must pay for it. She replied that she could
not raise the sum demanded, the funeral expenses having exhausted the
family store. She was then informed that she could pay 'the tax' in
instalments. Another poor girl came on the witness-stand on crutches,
and testified that she had paid $75 for a situation of $300 a year.
Another lady went to a member of the Ring, and told him, with tears,
that she saw no way of procuring the sum required, nor even of saving
it from the slender salary of the place. The man was moved by her
anguish, took compassion upon her, and said he would remit _his share_
of 'the tax.' It was shown, too, that the agent of all this foul
iniquity was no other than the principal of one of the schools. It was
he who received and paid over the money wrung from the terror and
necessities of underpaid and overworked teachers. We learn from the
report of the committee that the Ring in this ward was originally
formed for the express purpose of giving the situations in a new and
handsome school 'to the highest bidder'; and, as the opening of the new
school involved the discharge of a small number of teachers employed in
the old schools, the Ring had both, the fear and the ambition of the
teachers to work upon. 'There was a perfect reign of terror in the
ward,' says the report of the investigating committee. 'The agent
performed his duty with alacrity and with a heartlessness worthy of the
employers. It appears that he not only summoned the teachers to come to
him, but that he called on their parents and friends as to the amount
they should pay for their appointments--the sums varying from $50 to
$600, according to the position sought.'
And who were the Ring that perpetrated this infamy? They were a
majority of the trustees elected by the people, and the School
Commissioner elected by the people--six poor creatures, selected from
the grog-shop and the wharf, and intrusted with the most sacred
interest of a republic, the education of its children.
THE RESULT.
"The result of all this plunder," continues Mr. Parton, "is, that in
thirty-six years the rate of taxation in the city and county of New
York has increased from two dollars and a half to forty dollars per
inhabitant! In 1830, the city was governed for half a million dollars.
In 1865, the entire government of the island, including assessments on
private property for public improvements, cost more than forty millions
of dollars. In 1830, the population of the city was a little more than
two hundred thousand. It is now about one million. Thus, while the
population of the county is five times greater than it was in 1830, the
cost of governing it is sixteen times greater. And yet such is the
value of the productive property owned by the city,--so numerous are
the sources of revenue from that property,--that able men of business
are of the deliberate opinion that a private company could govern,
clean, sprinkle, and teach the City by contract, taking as compensation
only the fair revenue to be derived from its property. Take one item as
an illustration: under the old excise system, the liquor licenses
yielded twelve thousand dollars per annum; under the new, they yield
one million and a quarter. Take another: the corporation own more than
twenty miles of wharves and water-front, the revenue from which does
not keep the wharves in repair; under a proper system, they would yield
a million dollars above the cost of repairs."
CHAPTER IV.
THE METROPOLITAN POLICE.
The Metropolitan Police are justly the pride of New York, for the City
is chiefly indebted to the force for its quiet and security. The old
police system needs no description here. It was a failure in every
respect. It failed to protect either life or property. Criminals
performed their exploits with impunity, and were either encouraged or
aided by the police in many instances. The members of the old force
were too often taken from the ranks of the criminal classes, and made
to serve the ends of unprincipled politicians. Finally the system
became so worthless and corrupt that the best men of the City and
State, without distinction of party, resolved to take the control of
the police out of the hands of the Mayor and Council, and place them
under the direction of a Commissioner appointed by the Legislature.
THE NEW SYSTEM.
The resolution to make the police independent of the politicians in the
City government, was the last resort left to the better class of
citizens, and the Legislature, appreciating the necessity for prompt
action, at once complied with the demand made for a change. A
"Metropolitan District,", consisting of the cities of New York and
Brooklyn, the counties of New York, Kings, Richmond, and Westchester,
and a part of Queens county, embracing a circuit of about thirty miles,
was created by law. The control of this district was given to a
commission of five citizens, subject to the supervision of the
Legislature. The Mayors of New York and Brooklyn were made ex-officio
members of this board.
Mr. Wood, who was Mayor of New York at the time of the passage of this
law, resolved to resist it, and to continue the old police in power.
His conduct came near creating a terrible riot, but he was at length
induced to submit to the law. The new system worked badly for some
years, owing to the incompetency of the persons appointed as
superintendent; but in 1860 a change was made. Mr. John A. Kennedy was
appointed Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, and the number of
the commissioners was cut down to three. The law was remodeled, and
besides other important changes, the duties of each member of the force
were clearly defined.
The new superintendent set to work with a will, and it was not long
before the benefits of his administration became manifest. He had been
informed that the force was almost as incompetent and inefficient as
its old time predecessor, and he resolved to stop this. He caused the
creation of the grade of inspector, and the appointment of energetic
and reliable men. These inspectors are required to keep a constant
watch over the rank and file of the force. They report every breach of
discipline, examine the station houses and every thing connected with
them, at pleasure. No member or officer of the force has the right to
refuse to allow such examination or to refuse to answer any question
put to him concerning his duty. The effect of this new rank was most
happy. The men became conscious that the eyes of their superiors were
on them at all times, and that the slightest breach of discipline on
their part was sure to be detected and reported. The force became
attentive and efficient, as if by magic. Incompetent and insubordinate
members were thrown out, and good men put in their places. Matters
continued to improve, until now, after a lapse of nearly eight years,
the city has the best police force in the world.
"KING KENNEDY."
Mr. Kennedy is not a popular man in New York. To say that he has made
mistakes in his present position, is but to say he is human. He has had
a hard task before him, but he has succeeded in accomplishing it. He
has given order, security, and a sense of security to the city, and it
is not strange that in so doing he has made numerous enemies. He has
often exceeded his power, and has committed acts that smack strongly of
petty tyranny; but there can be no doubt of the fact that he has
earnestly and faithfully labored for the cause of law and order. He
makes the best chief of police this country has ever seen, and when he
is gone, his place will be hard to fill.
Mr. Kennedy has Scotch-Irish blood in his veins, which may be the
reason of his success. He is small in size, and quiet and unobtrusive
in his demeanor. He has executive ability of a high order, but inclines
rather strongly to the side of arbitrary power, which trait has earned
him, amongst the masses, the title of "King Kennedy." He has infused
his energy into the force, and is entitled to the greater part, if not
all of the credit for the success of the new system.
THE FORCE.
The police force on duty in the city, consists of one super intendent,
four inspectors, thirty-four captains, one hundred and thirty-one
sergeants, one thousand eight hundred and six patrolmen, sixty-nine
doormen, and fifty special policemen, making a total of two thousand
and ninety-five officers and men. The men are clothed in a neat uniform
of dark blue cloth, with caps of hard polished leather. They are armed
with clubs and revolvers, and are regularly drilled in military
tactics. In case of a riot, this enables them to act together, and with
greater efficiency against a mob. The most rigid discipline prevails,
and the slightest error on the part of officers or men is reported at
headquarters.
There are thirty-three precincts, including the detective squad. The
force is charged with the duty of guarding about three hundred day and
four hundred night posts, about four hundred and twenty-five miles of
streets in the patrol districts, and fourteen miles of piers. There are
twenty-five station houses fitted up as lodging rooms for the men, and
having room also for accommodating wandering or destitute persons,
large numbers of whom thus receive temporary shelter.
During the year ending October 31, 1865, (which may be taken as a fair
specimen of the work of the force,) 68,873 arrests were made. Of these
48,754 were males, 20,119 females; 53,911 arrests were for offences
against the person; 14,962; for offences against property. The
following table will show the status of New York criminal society.
Total
Charge Males Females Arrests
Assault and Battery 6,077 1,667 7,744
Assault with intent to kill 197 1 198
Attempt at rape 40 ---- 40
Abortion 2 2 4
Bastardy 141 ---- 141
Bigamy 14 5 19
Disorderly conduct 8,542 5,412 13,954
Intoxication 11,482 4,936 16,418
Juvenile delinquents 154 25 179
Kidnapping 20 5 25
Suspicious persons 1,617 440 2,057
Vagrancy 978 838 1,816
Arson 35 ---- 35
Attempts to steal 236 9 245
Burglary 291 3 294
Forgery 151 3 154
Fraud 104 17 121
Grand Larceny 1,675 946 2,621
Gambling 249 3 252
Highway robbery 199 6 205
Keeping disorderly house 177 165 342
Picking pockets 225 20 275
Petit larceny 3,380 1,860 5,240
Passing counterfeit money 414 46 460
Receiving stolen goods 166 51 217
Swindling 5 3 8
Violations of the Sunday laws 183 20 203
ON DUTY.
The police are mustered at a certain hour in the morning by their
officers, and are marched from the station house to their "beats." The
day patrol is relieved by that appointed for night duty. The men are
required to be neat in their persons and dress, and to be polite and
respectful to citizens. They are required to give information to
strangers and citizens concerning localities, etc., and to render
prompt assistance in suppressing any kind of violence or disorder. They
are instructed to direct persons not to lounge or loiter on the main
thoroughfares, which are always too much crowded to permit such
obstructions. Details are made for places of amusement and public
resort. If the patrolman on duty at one of these places sees a known
thief or pickpocket enter, he orders him to leave the premises. If the
fellow refuses to obey, he is arrested and locked up in the station
house for the night. By this means respectable persons, at public
resorts, are saved heavy losses at the hands of the "light-fingered
gentry."
The largest and finest looking men are detailed for the. Broadway
Squad. The duties of this Squad are heavy, and often require not only
considerable patience, but great physical endurance.
HEADQUARTERS.
The Police Headquarters of the Metropolitan District are located in a
handsome marble building, five stories high, situated on Mulberry
Street, between Houston and Bleecker Streets. The building is fitted up
with great taste for the express accommodation of the business of the
force. The greatest order prevails. Every thing is in its place, and
every man in his. There is no confusion. Each department has its
separate room.
The Superintendent's office is connected by telegraph with every
precinct in the entire district. By means of this wonderful invention a
few seconds only are required to dispatch the orders of "King Kennedy"
to any part of the district. News of a robbery and description of the
burglar are flashed all over the city and adjoining country before the
man has fairly secured his plunder. If a child is lost a description is
sent in the same way to each precinct, and in a marvellously quick time
the little one is restored to its mother's arms. By means of his little
instrument, "King Kennedy" can track a criminal not only all over his
own district, but all over the Union. He is firm in the exercise of his
authority--often harsh and too impulsive, but on the whole as just as
human nature will allow a man to be.
[Illustration: A Model Policeman.]
THE TRIAL ROOM.
One of the most interesting rooms in the headquarters is that for the
trial of complaints against members of the force. Every sworn charge is
brought before Commissioner Acton? who notifies the accused to appear
before him to answer to it. Except in very grave cases, the men employ
no counsel. The charge is read, the Commissioner hears the statements
of the accused, and the evidence on both sides, and renders his
decision, which must be ratified by the full "Board". The majority of
the charges are for breaches of discipline. A patrolman leaves his beat
for a cup of coffee on a cold morning, or night, or reads a newspaper,
or smokes, or stops to converse while on duty. The punishment for these
offences is a stoppage of pay for a day or two. First offences are
usually forgiven. Many well-meaning but officious citizens enter
complaints against the men. They are generally frivolous, but are heard
patiently, and are dismissed with a warning to the accused to avoid
giving cause for complaint. Thieves and disreputable characters
sometimes enter complaints against the men, with the hope of getting
them into trouble. The Commissioner's experience enables him to settle
these cases at once, generally to the dismay and grief of the accuser.
Any real offence on the part of the men is punished promptly and
severely, but the Commissioners endeavor by every means to protect them
in the discharge of their duty, and against impositions of any kind.
Another room in the headquarters is called
THE PROPERTY ROOM.
This is a genuine "curiosity shop". It is filled with unclaimed
property of every description, found by or delivered to the police, by
other parties finding the same, or taken from criminals at the time of
their arrest. The room is in charge of a property, clerk, who enters
each article, and the facts connected with it, in a book kept for that
purpose. Property once placed in this room is not allowed to be taken
away, except upon certain specified conditions. Unclaimed articles are
sold, after being kept a certain length of time, and the proceeds are
paid to the Police Life Insurance Fund.
MISCELLANEOUS.
When a man applies for a position in the police force, he has to show
proofs of his good character and capacity before he can be employed. As
soon as he is appointed, he is provided with a uniform, assigned to a
precinct, and put on duty. For one month after his appointment he is
required to study the book of laws for the government of the force, and
to be examined daily in these studies by Inspector James Leonard; who
is in charge of the "Class of Instruction." These examinations are
continued until the recruit is found proficient in the theoretical
knowledge of his duties.
The following extract from the Metropolitan Police Law will show the
care taken of the men:--
If any member of the Metropolitan Police Force, whilst in the actual
performance of duty, shall become permanently disabled, so as to render
his dismissal from membership proper, or if any such member shall
become superannuated after a ten years' membership, a sum of not
exceeding one hundred and fifty dollars, as an annuity, to be paid such
member, shall become chargeable upon the Metropolitan Police Life
Insurance Fund. If any member of the Metropolitan Police Force whilst
in the actual discharge of his duty, shall be killed, or shall die from
the immediate effect of any injury received by him, whilst in such
discharge of duty, or shall die after ten years' service in the force,
and shall leave a widow, and if no widow, any child or children under
the age of sixteen years, a like sum, by way of annuity, shall become
chargeable upon the said fund, to be paid such widow so long only as
she remains unmarried, or to such child or children so long as said
child, or the youngest of said children, continues under the age of
sixteen years.
We do not claim, in what we have written, that the police of this city
are perfect, but we do maintain that they are better than those of any
other American city.
CHAPTER V.
SOCIETY.
In New York, poverty is a great crime, and the chief effort of every
man and woman's life, is to secure wealth. Society in this city is much
like that of other large American cities, except? that money is the
chief requisite here. In other cities poor men, who can boast of being
members of a family which commands respect for its talents or other
good qualities, or who have merit of their own, are welcomed into what
are called "select circles" with as much warmth as though they were
millionaires. In New York, however, men and women are judged by their
bank accounts. The most illiterate boor, the most unprincipled knave,
finds every fashionable door open to him without reserve, while St.
Peter himself, if he came "without purse or scrip," would see it closed
in his face. Money makes up for every deficiency in morals, intellect,
or demeanor.
Nor is this strange. The majority of fashionable people have never
known any of the arts and refinements of civilization except those
which mere wealth can purchase. Money raised them from the dregs of
life, and they are firm believers in it. Without education, without
social polish, they see themselves courted and fawned upon for their
wealth, and they naturally suppose that there is nothing else "good
under the sun."
WHO ARE THE FASHIONABLES.
The majority of the dwellers in the palaces of the great city, are
persons who have risen from the ranks. This is not said to their
discredit. On the contrary, every intelligent person takes pride in the
fact that in this country it is in the power of any one to rise as high
as his abilities will carry him. The persons to whom we refer, however,
affect to despise this. They take no pride in the institutions which
have been so beneficial to them, but look down with supreme disdain
upon those who are working their way up. They are ashamed of their
origin, and you cannot offend one of them more than to hint that you
knew him a few years ago as a mechanic, or shop-keeper.
Some of the "fashionables" appear very suddenly before the world. A
week ago, a family may have been living in a tenement house. A sudden
fortunate speculation on the part of the husband, or father, may have
brought them enormous wealth in the course of a few days. A change is
instantly made from the tenement house to a mansion on Fifth or Madison
Avenue. The newly acquired wealth is liberally expended in "fitting
up," and the lucky owners of it suddenly burst upon the world of
fashion as stars of the first magnitude. They are courted by all, and
invitations to the houses of other "stars" are showered upon them. They
may be rude, ignorant, uncouth in their manners, but they have wealth,
and that is all New York society requires. They are lucky if they
retain their positions very long. A few manage to hold on to the wealth
which comes to them thus suddenly, but as a general rule those who are
simply "lucky" at the outset find Dame Fortune a very capricious
goddess, and at the next turn of her wheel, pass off the stage to make
room for others who are soon to share their fate.
This element is known in the city as "The Shoddy Society." During the
time of the oil speculations, many persons were suddenly and
unexpectedly made rich by lucky ventures in petroleum lands and stocks,
and the shoddy element was in its glory; but now other speculations are
found to recruit the ranks of this class. Wall street is constantly
sending fresh "stars" to blaze on Fifth Avenue, and ruthlessly sweeping
away others to make room for them.
The "Shoddy" element is by no means confined to those who make fortunes
rapidly, or by speculations. There are many who rise very slowly in the
world, and who when blessed with fortune throw themselves headlong into
the arms of "Shoddy."
It is not difficult to recognize these persons. They dress not only
handsomely, but magnificently. Indeed they make up in display what they
lack in taste. They cover themselves with jewels, and their diamonds,
worn on ordinary occasions, might, in some cases, fairly rival the
state gems of European potentates. Their red, hard hands, coarse faces,
vulgar manners, and loud, rude voices, contrast strikingly with the
splendor with which they surround themselves. They wear their honors
uneasily, showing plainly how little accustomed they are to such
things. They look down with disdain upon all less fortunate in wealth
than themselves, and worship as demi-gods those whose bank account is
larger than their own. They have little or no personal dignity, but
substitute a supercilious hauteur for it.
A DEFEAT AND A TRIUMPH.
The following incident will show how money is worshipped in New York: A
gentleman, now one of the wealthiest men of the city, some years ago
found himself well off in worldly goods. He was the possessor of one
million of dollars. He was living at that time in a modest house, in a
modest street, and was anxious to get into society. In order to do
this, he resolved to give a ball, and invite the wealthiest and oldest
families in New York. These people were his customers in business; and
he supposed they would not object to receiving his hospitality. He was,
unlike most of those who worship society, a man of real merit. His
invitations were issued, and at the appointed time his mansion was made
ready for a magnificent entertainment, but, though the family waited,
and the rooms were kept lighted until the "wee hours of the morning,"
not a single one of those, to whom the invitations were sent, put in an
appearance during the evening. The mortification of the would-be host
and family, was intense, and it is said that he swore a mighty oath
that he would acquire wealth and luxury, sufficient to _compel_ the
intimacy of those who had scorned him because he was less fortunate
than themselves. He kept his word, and today he stands at the head of
that class to which he once aspired in vain.
WHAT THEY TALK ABOUT.
A work recently published in Paris gives the following account of the
topics discussed at a "shoddy" ball:
Following the advice of my companion, I listened to the gentlemen who
were idling through the rooms. Everywhere that word 'dollar,'
constantly repeated, struck upon my ear. All conversation had for its
subject mercantile and financial transactions; profits, either
realized, or to be realized, by the speakers, or the general prospect
of the market. Literature, art, science, the drama, those topics which
are discussed in polite European society, were not even alluded to.
Another peculiarity I noticed--namely, the practice of self-
commendation and praise. Egotism seemed to permeate the mind of
everybody--the word 'I' was constantly on the lips of the speakers.
FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION.
A ball or a party is the place to bring out the votaries of fashion.
They crowd the _salons_ of the host or hostess. Frequently they pay
little attention to their entertainers, except to ridicule their
awkwardness and oddities, conscious all the while that similar remarks
will be made about them when they throw open their own houses to their
friends.
The opera draws them out in crowds, especially the _Bouffe_. Few
understand the French or Italian languages, few are proficients in
music, but they go because "it is the thing, you know." Opera bouffe is
very popular, for those who cannot understand the language are
generally quick enough to catch or appreciate the indecency of the plot
or situations. The more indecent the piece, the more certain it is of a
long run.
Few fashionable women have time to attend to their families. These are
left to the mercy of hirelings. The titles of wife and mother are
becoming merely complimentary. They are ceasing to suggest the best and
purest types of womanhood. That of mother is becoming decidedly old
fogyish, and to-day your fine lady takes care that her maternal
instincts shall be smothered, and that her family shall not increase
beyond a convenient number. Children grow up in idleness and
extravagance, and are unfitted for any of the great duties of life.
They are taught to regard wealth as the only thing to be desired, and
they are forced up as rapidly as possible to join the ranks of the fast
young men and women of New York, who disgrace what are called our
"upper circles."
EXTRAVAGANCE.
Extravagance is the besetting sin of New York society. Money is thrown
away. Fortunes are spent every year in dress, and in all sorts of
follies. Houses are furnished and fitted up in the most sumptuous
style, the building and its contents often being worth over a million
of dollars.
[Illustration: A Fashionable Thief--Shoplifting.]
People live up to every cent of their incomes, and often beyond them.
It is no uncommon occurrence for a fine mansion, its furniture,
pictures, and even the jewels and clothes of its occupants, to be
pledged to some usurer for the means with which to carry on this life
of luxury. Each person strives to outdo the rest of his or her
acquaintances. The rage for fine houses and fine clothes is carried to
an amazing extent, and to acquire them, persons of supposed
respectability will stoop to almost any thing. Of late years, a number
of fashionable ladies have been detected in dry-goods stores in the act
of purloining fine laces, embroideries, and other goods, and concealing
them under their skirts.
A LADY'S GLOVE.
Two or three years ago the fashionable world was thrown into a state of
excitement by the marriage of a Fifth Avenue belle to a gentleman of
great wealth. The night before the wedding the bride's presents,
amounting to a small fortune in value, were exhibited to a select
circle of friends. Amongst the various articles was a magnificent
diamond necklace, the gift of the groom, which attracted universal
attention. After the guests departed, the bride-elect, before retiring
for the night, returned to take a parting glance at her diamonds. To
her horror, they were missing. The alarm was given, and a search was
made. The jewels could not be found, however, but a small kid glove--a
lady's--was discovered lying on the table. The bride's father was a
sensible banker, and he at once "hushed up" the affair, and put the
glove and the case in the hands of an experienced detective. In a few
weeks the thief was discovered. She proved to be the wife of a wealthy
merchant. She had stolen the diamonds with the intention of taking them
to Europe to have them reset. In consequence of the return of the
jewels, and the social position of the thief, the matter was dropped.
MARRIAGES.
Only wealthy marriages are tolerated in New York society. For men or
women to marry "beneath" them is a crime society cannot forgive. There
must be fortune on one side. Marriages for money are directly
encouraged. It is not uncommon for a man who has made money to make the
marriage of his daughter the means of getting the family into society.
He will go to some young man within the pale of good society, and offer
him the hand of his daughter and a fortune. The condition on the part
of the person to whom the offer is made is, that he shall use his
influence to get the bride's family within the "charmed circle." Such
proposals are seldom refused.
When a marriage is decided upon, it is the bounden duty of the happy
pair to be married in a fashionable church. To be married in or buried
from Grace Church is the desire of every fashionable heart. Invitations
are issued to the friends and acquaintances of the two families, and no
one is admitted into the church without such a card. Often "no cards"
are issued, and the church is jammed by the outside throng, who profane
the holy temple by their unmannerly struggles to secure places from
which the ceremony can be viewed. Two clergymen are engaged to tie the
knot, a single minister being insufficient for such grand affairs. A
reporter is on hand, who furnishes the city papers with the full
particulars of the affair. The dresses, the jewels, the appearance of
the bride and groom, and the company generally, are described with a
slavishness that is disgraceful.
If the wedding is at Grace Church, Brown, the "great sexton," is in
charge of all the arrangements. He understands every detail connected
with such an affair, and will not allow any one to interfere with him.
A wedding over which he presides is sure to be a success. It is
needless to say he has his time well taken up with such engagements. At
weddings and at parties, Brown makes out the list of persons to be
invited. He allows no interference. He knows his invitations will be
accepted, and as he knows who is in town, both stranger and resident,
he can always make out a full list. He directs every thing, and carries
his arrangements out with the decision and authority of an autocrat.
The Lenten Season is his bugbear. It is fashionable to observe Lent in
New York, and funerals are then the only opportunities for the display
of his peculiar talents. These he makes as interesting as possible. He
charges a liberal price for his services, and is said to have amassed
considerable money.
FASHIONABLE DEATH.
As it is the ambition of every one to live fashionable, it is their
chief wish to be laid in the grave in the same style. Undertakers at
fashionable funerals are generally the sexton of some fashionable
church, that, perhaps, of the church the deceased was in the habit of
attending. This individual prescribes the manner in which the ceremony
shall be carried out, and advises certain styles of family mourning.
Sometimes the blinds are closed and the gas lighted. The lights in such
cases are arranged in the most artistic manner, and every thing is made
to look as "interesting" as possible.
A certain fashionable sexton always refuses to allow the female members
of the family to follow their dead to the grave. He will not let them
be seen at the funeral at all, as he says "it's horridly vulgar to see
a lot of women crying about a corpse; and, besides, they're always in
the way."
After the funeral is over, none of the bereaved ones can be seen for a
certain length of time, the period being regulated by a set decree.
They spend the days of their seclusion in consultations with their
_modiste_, in preparing the most fashionable mourning that can be
thought of; in this they seem to agree fully with a certain famous
_modiste_, who declared to a widow, but recently bereaved, that
"fashionable and becoming mourning is _so_ comforting to a person in
affliction."
A ROMANCE OF FIFTH AVENUE.
Hollow as it is, Shoddy in New York has its romances. One of the most
striking of those which occur to us is the story of a family which we
shall designate by the name of Swigg. There will, doubtless, be those
who will recognize them.
If Mr. and Mrs. Ephraim Swigg had a weakness for any thing it was for
being considered amongst that "select and happy few," known to the
outside world as "the upper ten." Mr. Swigg had wealth, and Mrs. Swigg
meant to spend it. She could not see the use of having money if one was
not to use it as a means of "getting into society;" and though she
contented herself with being thus modest in her public expressions, she
was, in her own mind, determined to make her money the power which
should enable her to _lead_ society. She meant to shine as a star of
the first magnitude, before whose glories all the fashionable world
should fall. She would no longer be plain Mrs. Ephraim Swigg, but the
great and wealthy Mrs. Swigg, whose brilliancy should eclipse any thing
yet seen in Gotham. Oh! she would make Fifth Avenue turn green with
jealousy. There was only one difficulty in the way--Mr. Swigg might not
be willing to furnish the sum necessary for the accomplishment of this
grand purpose: still she would attempt it, trusting that when he had
fairly entered upon the joys of fashionable life, he would be too much
charmed with them to begrudge "the paltry sums" necessary to continue
them.
Mr. and Mrs. Swigg had not always enjoyed such advantages. There was a
time when the lady might have been seen in a market stall, where her
robust beauty drew to her crowds of admirers of doubtful character. She
had made a wise choice, however, and after looking coldly upon these
swains, had bestowed her hand upon Ephraim Swigg, a rising young
butcher, who sold his wares in the same market. To be sure, Mr. Swigg
was not a beauty, nor even as handsome as the plainest of the admirers
she had cast aside; but he had a more substantial recommendation than
any of them. He was the owner of a lucrative business, and had several
thousands laid by in hard cash. So, influenced by these considerations,
Miss Polly Dawkins became Mrs. Ephraim Swigg. In justice to her, be it
said, she made a good wife. He was equally devoted, and they were
genuinely happy. They had one child, a daughter, who, as she grew up,
bade fair to ripen into a very pretty woman.
They prospered steadily, and matters went on smoothly with them until
the rebellion startled the men of means with a vague fear for the
safety of their worldly possessions; then Mr. Swigg, reckoning over his
property, found himself possessed of a handsome fortune. He watched the
course of affairs anxiously until the great disaster at Bull Run, and
then, like a good patriot, set to work to see how he could help the
country out of its difficulties. Mr. Swigg's patriotism was of the
substantial kind--he derived the chief benefit from it. He bethought
himself of taking out a contract for supplying the Army of the Potomac
with cattle and other necessaries. He put his scheme into execution,
and, like every thing he attempted, it was successful. The army was
fed, and towards the close of the year 1864 Mr. Swigg found himself
worth three millions of dollars.
Of course, with all this to "back" them, the Swiggs at once became
people of note. Their entrance into society was easy enough, and no one
was sufficiently impolite to remember their past lives against them.
Mr. Swigg's coarse red face was attributed to his fine health, his
rudeness of manner was called eccentricity, and his frequent breaches
of etiquette were passed over in polite silence. Mrs. and Miss Swigg
got on better. The mamma was naturally a shrewd woman, and she quickly
adopted herself to the requirements of New York society, which are very
few and simple to one who has two or three millions at command. The
daughter had enjoyed greater advantages than her parents; she had been
trained in the best schools, and as far as her naturally weak mind was
capable of doing so, had profited by the efforts of her teachers. She
was a weak and silly girl, and was indulged in every whim and caprice
by her parents. She was nineteen years old, and having fulfilled the
promise of her youth, was indeed a handsome girl. Of course she was a
belle, the sole heiress of three millions could be nothing else, were
she as ugly as Hecate.
Mrs. Swigg had reasoned correctly. With all his shrewdness and good
sense, her liege lord shared her own weakness for high life, and
readily complied with all her requests for money. He was not a stingy
man at heart, and he was really glad to see his wife and daughter doing
so well. Indeed they were all very good people--only their sudden rise
in the world had turned their heads.
Mr. Swigg purchased an elegant mansion on Fifth Avenue, which some
broken down patrician offered for sale, and the family commenced their
fashionable career in a blaze of glory. They had one of the finest
establishments in the city; they gave splendid entertainments, and the
young bloods soon found that they could enjoy themselves at the Swigg
levees very much as they pleased, as their host and hostess were too
glad to see them, to criticize their conduct very closely. The worthy
couple counted many celebrities amongst their guests. There were
generals, both major and brigadier, colonels and captains in abundance,
and occasionally some dark-skinned, bewhiskered foreigner, who rejoiced
in the title of count, marquis, or lord, and who looked more like he
had passed his days in the galleys, than in the courts of the old
world. The warmest welcome of the host and hostess, especially the
latter, was reserved for these gentlemen. Between the man in the blue
and gold of his country's livery, who had daily perilled his life for
the perpetuity of the institutions that had made the fortunes of the
Swiggs, and the titled, suspicious-looking foreigner, of whom they knew
nothing with certainty, the good people never hesitated. The preference
was given to the latter.
One of these gentlemen was especially welcome. This was the Baron Von
Storck, who claimed to be an Austrian nobleman of great wealth. In
support of his assertion, when he appeared at fashionable
entertainments, he covered the front of his coat with ribbons of every
hue in the rainbow. He made his appearance in New York society almost
simultaneously with the Swiggs, and from the first, devoted himself
particularly to them or to Miss Arabella, the heiress of the three
millions.
As might have been expected, in the course of a few months the Baron
proposed for the hand of Miss Arabella, to the great delight of papa
and mamma, and the 'young people' were formally engaged. After this the
young lady and her mother constantly amused themselves with writing the
future title of the former, 'just to see how it looked.' Such a piece
of good fortune could not be kept secret; and Miss Arabella was the
object of the envy of scores of damsels who had been trying in vain to
ensnare the elegant foreigner in their own nets, which were not so
heavily baited.
One morning the Baron waited upon Mrs. Swigg, and producing an enormous
document, written in German, and furnished with a huge red seal stamped
with an eagle, informed her that the paper was a peremptory order from
his Government, which he had just received, commanding him to return
home at once, as his services were needed. He added that he could not
disobey the command of his sovereign, and asked that his marriage with
Arabella might take place at once, so that they might sail for the old
world in the next Bremen steamer.
Mr. Swigg was summoned, and the matter laid before him. At first he
hesitated, for he did not like so much haste; but his wife and daughter
at last wrung a reluctant consent from him, and the marriage was
solemnized with great splendor at Grace Church, the inevitable Brown
declaring, as usual, he had never experienced so much satisfaction in
his life.
Mr. Swigg, like a good father, settled half a million of dollars upon
his daughter. The Baron had expected more, but the old man's shrewdness
came to his aid in this instance, and he declared to his wife that this
was money enough to risk at one time. His suspicions were very vague,
and they were roundly denounced by his better half. He held his tongue,
and after the marriage handed the Baron bills of exchange on Paris and
Vienna for the five hundred thousand. Herr Von Storck, on his part,
formally delivered to his father-in-law a deed, drawn up in German,
(and which bore a wonderful likeness to the letter of recall he had
shown Mrs. Swigg,) in which he said he settled a handsome estate near
Vienna upon his bride. He apologized for not making her the usual
present of diamonds, by saying that his family jewels were more
magnificent than any thing that could be found in New York, and that he
was afraid to risk their being sent across the ocean. They awaited his
bride in his ancestral home. The parents expressed their entire
satisfaction, and begged that he would not mention "such trifles."
The "young couple" were to sail on the second day after their marriage;
and, at the appointed time, the new baroness awaited her husband, with
packed trunks. He had gone out early in the morning to wind up his
business at the Austrian Consulate. The steamer was to sail at noon,
and as the hour drew near, and the Baron did not appear, the fears of
Papa Swigg began to be aroused. Two, three, four o'clock, and yet no
Baron Von Storck. Terror and dread reigned in the hearts of the Swigg
family.
Towards five o'clock, a policeman, accompanied by a coarse-looking
German woman, arrived at the mansion. He informed Mr. Swigg that he had
orders to arrest Conrad Kreutzer, alias the Baron Von Storck. The
_denouement_ had come at last. The policeman informed the old gentleman
that the supposed Baron was simply a German barber, who had been
released from the penitentiary but a short time, where he had served a
term for bigamy, and that the woman who accompanied him was Kreutzer's
lawful wife.
Poor Papa Swigg! Poor Mamma Swigg! Poor Arabella, "Baroness Von
Storck!" It was a fearful blow to them, but it was not altogether
undeserved.
The successful scoundrel had sailed at noon on the steamer, under his
assumed name, carrying with him the bills of exchange, which were paid
on presentation in Europe, there being then no Atlantic telegraph to
expose his villainy before his arrival in the old world. He has never
been heard of since.
His victims were not so fortunate. All New York rang with the story,
and those who had tried hardest to bring this fate upon themselves were
loudest in ridiculing the Swiggs for their "stupidity;" so that, at
last, parents and daughter were glad to withdraw from fashionable life,
to a more retired existence, where they still remain, sadder, and
decidedly wiser than when their career began. Mr. Swigg takes the
matter philosophically, consoling himself with the determination to
vote against every foreigner who may 'run for office' in his district.
His wife and Arabella, however, still suffer sorely from their
mortification, and are firmly convinced that of all classes of European
society, the German nobility is the most utterly corrupt.
ETIQUETTE OF CARDS.
From the following article, which appeared recently in the _Evening
Mail_, the reader will obtain a clear insight into some of the outside
customs of society:
Even the cut of the pasteboard upon which a man announces his name is
regulated by fashion. The man who wishes to have his note-paper,
envelopes and cards, 'on the square' must know what the mode is.
Visiting cards for the present season will be rather larger than
formerly, and of the finest unglazed Bristol board. The new sizes will
tend rather to the square than otherwise. The shape of the card may be
varied, according to taste, the proper adaptation to the size of the
lettering being maintained.
[Illustration: Fifth Avenue, near Thirty-Fourth Street.]
Among the various texts in use, nothing will supercede the English
script, and those inimitable styles of old English text; the most novel
being those with dropped capitals, and the extremely neat, extra-
shaded. Visiting cards, with the familiar words denoting the object of
the call, will remain in use, to some extent, especially for calls of
congratulation or condolence. The word _visite_, on the left hand upper
corner, will be engraved on the reverse side. The corner containing the
desired word will be turned down, so as to denote the object of the
call. The word on the right-hand corner, _Felicitation_, will be used
for visits of congratulation on some happy event, as, for instance, a
marriage, or a birth; on the left lower corner, the word _Conge_, used
for a visit previous to leaving town; the other corner is to be marked
_Condolence_. Cards sent to friends before leaving for a long journey,
are issued with the addition of P. P. C. in the left hand corner. These
cards are inclosed in heavy and elegant, though plain, envelopes,
ornamented with a tasteful monogram or initial.
In wedding invitations, all abbreviations, like eve. for evening, will
be avoided, as well as P. M.; the word afternoon being preferable.
Invitations to ceremonious weddings consist of a square note-sheet,
embellished with a large monogram in relief, entwining the combined
initials of the bride and groom. The individual cards of both bride and
groom must be also inclosed, united with a neat white satin tie; and,
in some cases, another card, with reception days for the following
month.
A very neat style of card has the customary 'at home' on a note-sheet,
a ceremony card, (at fixed hour,) and the united cards of bride and
groom, all enclosed in a splendid large envelope, of the very finest
texture, with an elaborate monogram, or ornamental initial. Among the
neater forms for a quiet wedding at home is the following:
MR. AND MRS.--
Request the pleasure of M.---'s company at breakfast, on Wednesday,
December 16, at one o'clock.
'--_Hamilton Square_.'
Cards of bride and groom must be inclosed for general invitations. Very
simple forms are in the best taste. They may be varied to suit the
occasion, either of _dejeuner_, dinner reception or evening parties.
For example:
MRS. WILSON.
AT HOME,
Wednesday evening, January 7.
'--_Fifth Avenue_.
'Cotillion at 9.'
Or; Soiree Dansante.
MR. AND MRS. E. DAY
Request the pleasure of your company on Monday evening, at 9 o'clock.
R.S.V.P.
An afternoon wedding reception may be announced in terms like the
following:
MR. AND MRS. HENRY ROBINSON
Request the pleasure of your company at the wedding reception of their
daughter, on Thursday, October 15, from 2 until 4 o'clock.
'--_Maple Grove_.'
Or again:
MR. AND MRS. RICHARD WILSON
Request the pleasure of your presence at the marriage ceremony of
their daughter Adelaide to Mr. Jones, at Trinity Chapel, on Wednesday
evening, October 5, at 8 o'clock.
Reception from 9 until 11 o'clock.
'--_West Hamilton street_.'
The mode for private dinners may claim a paragraph. Of late, private
dinners have been conducted with great ceremony. The menu, or bill of
fare, is laid at each plate, an illuminated monogram embellishing the
top of the menu. The list of dishes, tastefully written, and a
beautifully adorned illuminated card are laid on each plate, to
designate the seat of the particular guest. Another style of these
cards is plain white, bound with a crimson or blue edge, and has the
words _Bon Appetit,_ in handsome letters, above the name of the guest,
which is also beautifully written in the same original style, or,
perhaps, in fancy colored ink.
Acceptance and regret notes are found very useful and convenient on
some occasions. The best forms are:
MR. AND MRS. C. WHITE'S
Compliments to Mrs.----, accepting, with, pleasure, her kind invitation
for Wednesday evening, January 14, 1869.
'----Clinton Place.'
If the note be one of regret, 'regretting the necessity to decline,' is
substituted. These blanks are neatly put up in small packages, with
proper envelopes.
For billet or note-paper, some new styles of fine Parisian papers have
just been introduced, and, for the extreme neatness of the design, or
figure, in the paper, have become very fashionable. The different
styles in paper and envelopes could scarcely be enumerated. The forms
are small, square, and rather large, oblong shape; both folding in a
square envelope, with pointed flap. A novelty has just been introduced,
in a sheet of paper, so cut as to combine note sheet with envelope.
Monograms will, this season, tend to an enlarged size, besides being
more complicated than usual. In many cases, the monograms spell pet
names, and sometimes names of several syllables. Illuminated monograms,
especially for heading of party or ball invitations, will be greatly
sought after. For usual letter writing, monograms in one delicate
color, or in white embossed, will be in vogue. These are very stylish,
when used on thick English cream laid paper. Names of country
residences, in rustic design, are also used at the top of the note
sheet. Jockey monograms are formed of riding equipments. Some novelties
in this way have recently made their appearance. For those fond of the
game of croquet, monograms are formed of the implements of the game;
and smokers may have their articles of smoking so arranged as to
represent their initials.
AN ECONOMICAL WEDDING.
New York has long been celebrated for its magnificent entertainments,
and especially for its weddings, and wedding breakfasts. On such
occasions the guests, unwilling to be outdone by the host in
liberality, sometimes vie with each other in presenting the bride elect
with costly gifts of every description. One, two, or three rooms, as
the case may be, are set apart at every "fashionable wedding," where
the presents are displayed and commented upon by the invited guests. It
has been frequently suggested by the more prudent members of society
that these offerings be entirely suppressed, and that none but the
immediate relations should commemorate the day in this wise; but the
idea has met with no favor, till of late, when one of our fashionable
"Murray Hill princes," took a most determined step toward reform. As it
is the only case of the kind on record, a description of the wedding
may not be uninteresting. Several hundred invitations were given, and
at the appointed hour the parlors were crowded almost to suffocation.
The bride was attired in a white marceline silk of most scant
proportions; her veil consisted of one breadth of tulle caught in her
comb, at the back of her hair; no flowers were worn except a very
minute bunch in front of her dress. The groom was attired with like
simplicity, thereby attracting considerable attention.
No refreshments were offered to the wearied guests, who gladly bade
adieu, and returned to their homes. There was a false hope, raised in
the minds of a few, on seeing a large bride cake in one corner, that a
glass of wine and a piece of cake might be served; but the illusion was
dispelled on questioning the waiter (one only being in attendance), who
informed them he had instructions not to cut it! The presents were
spread upon a small table, and created not a little astonishment. One
five dollar gold piece was laid upon a card, bearing the inscription,
"From your affectionate grandfather." A coin of half this value was
presented by the "affectionate grandmother," while devoted brothers and
sisters testified their affection by the presentation of a gold dollar
each. As might be expected, the guests departed early. One lady was
unfortunate enough to have ordered her carriage to call for her at
midnight. She saw all depart, and then seated herself to await
patiently its coming. After awhile a savory smell of oysters, coffee,
etc., came floating on the air. With some confusion of manner the
members of the family one by one disappeared, and after some delay, the
host hesitatingly invited her to partake of some refreshments. She
declined, and the family retired to discuss the supper; leaving her to
await her carriage alone in the parlor.
THE BEST SOCIETY.
If New York has a profusion of gilt and glitter in its high life, it
has also the real gold. The best society of the city is not to be found
in what are known as "fashionable circles." It consists of persons of
education and refinement, who are amongst the most polished and
cultivated of the American people. To this class belonged Fennimore
Cooper and Washington Irving. It is small, very exclusive, and careful
as to whom it admits to its honors. Shoddy and its votaries cannot
enter it, and therefore it is decidedly unfashionable.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TOMBS.
Leaving Broadway at Leonard or Franklin streets, one finds himself,
after a walk of two blocks in an easterly direction, in a wide
thoroughfare, called Centre street. His attention is at once attracted
by a large, heavy granite building, constructed in the style of an
Egyptian temple. This is the Tombs. The proper name of the building is
"The Halls of Justice," but it is now by common consent spoken of
simply as the Tombs. It occupies an entire square, and is bounded by
Centre, Elm, Franklin, and Leonard streets. The main entrance is on
Centre street, through a vast and gloomy corridor, the sternness of
which is enough to strike terror to the soul of a criminal. Within the
walls which face the street, is a large quadrangle. In this there are
three prisons, several stories high. One of these is for men, the other
for boys, and the third for women. The gallows stands in the prison
yard, when there is need for it, all executions of criminals in this
city being conducted as privately as possible.
The prison is one of the smallest in America, and is utterly inadequate
to the necessities of the city. It was built at a time when New York
was hardly half as large as the metropolis of to-day, and is now almost
always overcrowded to an extent which renders it fearful. It is kept
perfectly clean, its sanitary regulations being very rigid. It is very
gloomy in its interior, and is one of the strongest and securest
prisons in the world.
[Illustration: The Tombs--City Prison.]
No lights are allowed in the cells, which are very small, but a narrow
aperture cut obliquely in the wall, near the ceiling, admits the
sunshine, and at the same time cuts off the inmates from a view of what
is passing without. Besides these, there are six comfortable cells
located just over the main entrance. These are for the use of criminals
of the wealthier class, who can afford to pay for such comforts.
Forgers, fraudulent merchants, and the like, pass the hours of their
detention in these rooms, while their humbler, but no more guilty
brothers in crime are shut up in the close, narrow cells we have
described. These rooms command a view of the street, so that their
occupants are not entirely cut off from the outer world.
THE BUMMER'S CELL.
The main cell in the prison is a large room, with a capacity for
holding about two hundred persons. It is known as the "Bummer's Cell."
It is generally full on Saturday night, which is always a busy time for
the police. The working classes are paid their weekly wages on
Saturday, and having no labor to perform on the Sabbath, take Saturday
night for their periodical dissipation, comforting themselves with the
reflection that if they carry their revels to too great an excess, they
can sleep off the bad effects on Sunday.
From sunset until long after midnight on Saturday, the police are busy
ridding the streets of drunken and disorderly persons. As soon as a
person is arrested, he is taken to the Toombs, or one of the station
houses. It is the duty of the captain in charge of the precinct to lock
up every person thus brought in. He has no discretion, and he is often
compelled to throw those of whose innocence he is satisfied, into the
company of the most abandoned wretches for an entire night.
Drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and fighting are the principal charges
brought against the Saturday night inmates of the Bummer's Cell. Many
visitors to the city, by yielding to the temptation to drink too much
liquor, pay for their folly by an acquaintance with the Bummer's Cell.
They lose their self control in the splendid gin palaces of the city,
and when they recover their consciousness find themselves in a hot,
close room, filled with the vilest and most depraved wretches. The
noise, profanity, and obscenity, are fearful. All classes, all ages,
are represented there. Even little children are lost forever by being
immured for a single night in such horrible company. The females are
confined in a separate part of the prison. No entreaties or
explanations are of the least avail. All must await with as much
patience as possible, the opening of the court the next morning.
THE TOMBS POLICE COURT.
The Court opens at six o'clock on Sunday morning. It is presided over
by Justice Joseph Bowling, a short, thick-set man, with a handsome
face, and a full, well-shaped head, indicating both ability and
determination. Judge Dowling is still a young man, and is one of the
most efficient magistrates in the city. His decisions are quickly
rendered, and are generally just. He has a hard class of people to deal
with, and this has made him not a little sharp in his manner. A
stranger is at once struck with the quick, penetrating power of his
glance. He seems to look right through a criminal, and persons brought
before him generally find it impossible to deceive him. This has made
him the terror of criminals, who have come to regard an arraignment
before him as equivalent to a conviction, as the one is tolerably sure
to follow the other. At the same time he is kind and considerate to
those who are simply unfortunate. Vice finds him an unrelenting foe,
and virtue a fearless defender. So much for the man.
As soon as the Court is opened, the prisoners are called up in the
order of their arrival during the previous night. Here drunkenness
without disorder, and first offences of a minor character, are punished
with a reprimand, and the prisoners are discharged. These cases
constitute a majority of the arrests, and the number of persons in the
dock is soon reduced to a mere handfull. The more serious cases are
either held for further examination or sent on trial before a higher
court.
All classes of people come to the Justice with complaints of every
description. Women come to complain of their husbands, and men of their
wives. The Justice listens to them all, and if a remedy is needed,
applies the proper one without delay. In most instances, he dismisses
the parties with good advice, as their cases are not provided for by
the law.
A SAD CASE.
Some of the cases which are brought up before the Tombs Court are
deeply interesting. We take the following from the report of the
General Agent of the New York Prison Association:
The case referred to is that of a woman indicted for burglary and grand
larceny. She was guilty, and she felt and acknowledged it. She had
lived in a neighboring city for the last six years, and for the last
three years on the same floor with the complainant, and the consequence
was they were very friendly and intimate. Her husband sustained a
severe injury from a fall, and has since been in declining health,
earning nothing for the last eighteen months. At length his mind gave
way and his friends advised his removal to the Lunatic Asylum. He had
been an inmate for six months, and his wife frequently visited him,
always contributing to his wants and comforts. He improved so rapidly
that the doctor informed his wife that on the following week, if the
weather proved clear and fine, he should discharge him. The wife felt
anxious to make her home more than ever cheerful and her husband happy,
but she had no means. She thought of the abundance of clothing her
neighbor possessed, and that some articles could be spared for a short
time, probably without detection; and if she should be detected before
she could redeem them, her friend would excuse her. She devised means
to enter, and conveyed to the pawnbroker's two parcels of clothing,
upon which she realized nine dollars; she made some purchases for the
house, redeemed a coat for her husband, and then started for the asylum
for the purpose of fetching him to her home. But on her arrival there,
the physician told her that he had left a few hours before, that he was
well and happy, and that she must keep him so. On her return home the
larceny had been discovered, and the property found at the
pawnbroker's; it had been pledged in her own name, and where she was
well and favorably known. An officer was waiting, and she was taxed
with the crime; she had destroyed the duplicate. The complainant gave
her into the custody of the officer, but promised to forgive her if all
the property was recovered. The husband went to his friends, and they
advanced funds to redeem the property. It was returned, and also a hat
paid for which had been taken. I carefully examined into this case and
all its surroundings. The woman had sustained the reputation of being a
sober, industrious, honest person; her state of mind was truly
distressing, her greatest fear was that her husband would relapse, and
she would be the cause of all his future misery. I submitted all these
facts to the district attorney; he could not consent to any compromise,
and again referred me to the county judge, who would not yield a
tittle. Counsel having been assigned, a plea of guilty of grand larceny
was put in by him, and she was remanded for sentence until Saturday. I
felt very unhappy at her condition. On Friday evening I endeavored to
find the district attorney, but failed; on Saturday morning I wrote him
and asked him to concede that she could not be convicted of burglary,
and then, was it not very doubtful whether she could be convicted of
any thing more than petit larceny? If so, I urged him to consent to the
withdrawal of the plea put in by her counsel, and then permit it to be
substituted by one of petit larceny. My proposition met with favor; its
suggestions were adopted, and the prisoner, instead of ignominy in the
State Prison, was sent to the Penitentiary for three months. The woman
is now in a situation at work, but her mind is ill at ease, as her
husband has not been heard of since her imprisonment.
SAVED IN TIME.
"A member of an eminent firm in this city," says the gentleman from
whose report the above case is taken, "called upon me with a request
that I would visit a youth, aged seventeen years, now in the Tombs,
charged upon his complaint with embezzling various sums of money whilst
in their employ as collecting clerk. He felt anxious I should see him,
and then advise what should be done. The next morning I repaired to the
prison, and had the youth brought from his cell, when he made the
following statement: That he lived and boarded with his widowed mother
and sisters in a neighboring city, where also he had taken an active
part in all their religious meetings and enterprises. He thinks he
experienced a great moral change when first he became a member, and
until of late had made religious duties his greatest delight. He had
regarded his family as one of the happiest that could be found. Some
seven or eight months since he was introduced to the firm referred to,
and they engaged his services, agreeing to give him five dollars per
week. He was soon appreciated by his employers, and they advanced his
salary to seven dollars a week, out of which he paid his mother for
board five dollars, and one dollar for his weekly fare on the railroad.
This left him but one dollar for his own use. He soon became acquainted
with other collecting clerks, with whom he took lunch, first a sandwich
and a cup of coffee, and then dinners and dessert. _In this way the
money of his employers disappeared._ He could not charge himself with
any one special act of extravagance. He felt, he said, ashamed of
himself, and deeply pained before God, and wondered that he could not
see and feel before that he has sinned greviously. I now urged him to
conceal nothing, but tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, and to
pause and consider before he answered the next question I should put to
him, as it was a very serious one. 'How long would it take to induce
him, with solemn purpose of heart, to resolve, unalterably resolve,
never to be guilty of a repetition of crime, never to spend a cent
belonging to another?' The penalty for his offence was from one year to
five in a State prison. I then begged him to inform me how I should
approach his honor the judge, before whom he must be brought if
prosecuted. Should I ask the court to show him mercy, and send him but
for two years? or would it require a longer sentence to effect a
permanent change in his life? He wept distressingly, and said: 'Oh,
save me from such a fate, if not for mine, for my mother's sake. Beg
and pray of the firm to show me mercy, and I will be careful and honest
for the future.' One of the gentlemen called upon me and inquired if I
had seen this youth."
[Illustration: Scene in the Tombs Police Court]
I replied that I had. 'Then what do you advise?' I asked if it
was known in the house that the lad was a defaulter. 'To none but my
partner' he replied. Then, said I, the best advice I am capable of
giving is, _forgive him, ask the court to discharge him, and take him
back again into your office_. I am happy to say that my advice was
adopted. The youth was discharged, forgiven, and taken back again into
the house, and is now performing his duties with alacrity, very
grateful to the Association, and more especially to the firm for their
noble conduct in this matter. That young man has no doubt been saved
from a career of crime.
RELIGIOUS SERVICES.
The prisoners confined in the Tombs are provided with the means of
hearing divine service every Sunday. The Roman Catholic clergy have the
exclusive privilege of ministering to the spiritual wants of the women
and children, and for this purpose have quite a nice little chapel
fitted up in the female department of the prison. The Sisters of
Charity preside over this part of the prison at all times, and no one
is permitted to interfere with them.
The Protestant clergy are permitted to preach to the male prisoners in
the main corridor of the prison. The preacher stands on the platform at
the upper end of the passage, and the prisoners in their cells can hear
him without seeing him. They pay little or no attention to him, but
receive their friends in their cells, or employ themselves according to
their own fancies during the preaching. The bummers are grouped in the
corridor just below the preacher, and are called out from time to time
by the keepers, as they are wanted in the court room. The minister is
frequently annoyed and embarrassed by the shouts; jeers, and imitations
of the prisoners in their cells.
CHAPTER VII.
REFORMATORY ESTABLISHMENTS.
The principal reformatory establishments of New York city are the
Penitentiary, on Blackwell's Island, and the House of Refuge, devoted
to juvenile criminals, on Randall's Island.
THE PENITENTIARY.
The large pile of buildings which forms such a prominent object on
Blackwell's Island, known as the Penitentiary, is familiar to most of
the residents of New York City, though the every day life of its
inmates is practically known only to that class to which they
immediately belong.
The Penitentiary, which is under the wardenship of Mr. Fitch, is
capable of accommodating about seven hundred and fifty prisoners, but
at present their numbers are slightly under five hundred--about three
hundred men, and ninety women. The prisoners are divided into classes,
the particular dress of each indicating the nature and gravity of their
offences, and though amenable to the same laws as to labor and
discipline, they work in separate gangs and mess by themselves. They
are under the control of twenty-four keepers, each keeper, who is
heavily armed, having fifteen men in his charge, whose roll he calls,
and for whose absence he is responsible. At six o'clock the prisoners
are all paraded to call the roll, at half-past six they have breakfast,
consisting of dry bread and a bowl of coffee, and at seven, those who
are skilled workmen are told off to the blacksmiths', carpenters',
tailors', and weavers' shops, where all necessary repairs to the
building and its fittings are done, and the clothing for the prisoners
is made; others to labor in the gardens and fields, while the remainder
are marched off in two divisions, one to work in the stone quarries at
home, the others to be conveyed by the Commissioners' steam vessel
Bellevue to the quarries on Ward's Island. The female prisoners are
principally occupied in the sewing-room, in the brush-manufactory, in
washing clothes, and scrubbing out the cells.
The majority of the prisoners are committed for assault and battery or
larceny, for terms varying from one month to four years and a half;
those committed for graver offences are confined at Sing Sing; all
drunkards, vagrants, and disorderly characters at the workhouse. During
the past year two thousand three hundred and fifteen persons were
incarcerated for different periods--two thousand one hundred and
thirty-nine whites, one hundred and seventy-six blacks. Of these about
one third were native Americans, one third Irish, one tenth German, and
the remainder of various nationalities. The visitor to the Penitentiary
cannot but be struck by the youth of the male prisoners compared with
that of the females, the bulk of the males being between fourteen and
thirty years of age, the females between twenty-five and fifty. Few
young girls find their way here, as in their earlier career they are
able to gain enough by a life of prostitution, without committing
larceny, and consequently do not resort to it till their charms begin
to wear, and the consequent diminution of their means of subsistence
from such a source compels them to resort to some other. There is
another fact which appears in these statistics of crime, one highly
suggestive to the housekeeper. Of the four hundred and eleven female
prisoners committed during the past year, no less than three hundred
and two were domestic servants, and of these two hundred and forty-one
were Irish girls and women.
At twelve o'clock the prison bell rings for dinner. It is a sad sight
to stand on the terrace and see the various gangs of men and lads march
home from their work, the greater proportion of them fine, sturdy
looking young fellows; it is sadder still to see some of them carrying
a heavy iron ball and chain slung over the shoulder and attached to a
strong iron band locked round the leg immediately above the ankle.
These men have tried to escape. Necessary as it may be to adopt such
measures to prevent them from repeating the attempt, surely it is
unnecessarily cruel to compel these poor creatures to wear their irons
at night. Their dinner consists of a can of soup, a plate of meat, and
ten ounces of bread. They are allowed one hour, and are then marched
back again to their work in the quarries; they have supper, bread and
coffee, at five o'clock, and at half-past five they are all locked in
their cells, which, though scrupulously clean, are certainly too small
(about the size of an ordinary clothes closet), considering that the
prisoners have to pass twelve hours out of the twenty-four in them.
On Sunday the sewing-room of the female prisoners is used as a Chapel,
the men attending services in the morning, the women in the afternoon;
once a month there is service for the Roman Catholic prisoners. The
convicts have no privileges; a sharp, intelligent lad may become a hall
boy or get employed in the mess room; or a mechanic may be appointed to
one of the workshops and so gain some slight relief from the monotony
of their lives; but they get no reward, beyond a little tobacco once a
week for chewing; smoking is strictly prohibited; once a month they are
allowed to be visited by their friends. On entering the building the
visitor is forcibly struck by the following inscription over the
doorway.
'The way of the transgressor is hard.'
'Such is the greeting to the unfortunate criminal as he puts his foot,
often for the first time, within the prison walls. If an inscription be
necessary, surely the Department of Public Charities and Correction
might have chosen one less harsh in character; one that breathes a
larger amount of Christian charity to a poor fellow creature, one that
may offer him some small portion of that encouragement which is so
essential to his reformation. Some such epigram as 'it is never too
late to mend' would be altogether more suitable and far more
encouraging.
THE HOUSE OF REFUGE.
The Commissioners of Public Charities and Correction, in their last
report, made the startling announcement that there are no less than
thirty-nine thousand children in the City of New York, growing up in
ignorance and idleness. These children, influenced from their cradles
by the most terrible surroundings, have no alternative but to become
beggars and thieves almost as soon as they can run alone. Thousands of
them are orphans, or perhaps worse, for they are often the children of
parents who, ignoring the laws of nature, use them for the purpose of
furthering their own vicious ends. They live principally in a
neighborhood which abounds in lodging-houses for sailors, the lowest
class of liquor stores, dancing and concert rooms, and various other
low places of amusement; a neighborhood swarming with brothels, whose
wretched inmates are permitted to flaunt their sin and finery, and ply
their hateful trade openly, by day and night; where at midnight the
quarrels, fights, and disturbances, are so noisy and so frequent that
none can hope for a night's rest until they are inured by habit; where,
night after night, they witness the most desperate encounters between
drunken men and women, kicking, biting, and tearing one another's hair
out, as they roll together in the gutter, or, as is too often the case,
using deadly weapons, and where the crowd, instead of interfering to
stop these awful scenes, stand by in a brutal enjoyment of them,
abetting and encouraging the principal actors therein. And their homes,
what are they? Their fathers, often out of work, are unable to support
their families; their clothes, their bedding, their furniture, all gone
to the pawn-shop; father, mother, and children, are often compelled to
sleep on the bare boards, huddling close together for warmth in one
ill-built, ill-ventilated room. Amid their misery, this neglect of the
common decencies of life, this unblushing effrontery of reckless vice
and crime, what chance have these poor unhappy little children of
becoming decent members of society. They are sickly from the want of
proper nourishment, vicious from example, ignorant because they do not
care to learn, and their parents take no trouble to compel them to do
so, and must inevitably grow up only to swell the already fearful sum
total of our criminal population. At ten the boys are thieves, at
fifteen the girls are all prostitutes.
A system of State reformatories and State apprenticeships on an
extensive scale is the only way of grappling with this terrible state
of things. Such institutions as the House of Refuge on Randall's Island
have done and are doing much, but a dozen such institutions might be
established with advantage in the State of New York alone. On Randall's
Island the young criminal has the opportunity of acquiring regular
habits and learning a useful trade. They are subject to a humane,
though strict discipline, and a very large per centage, especially of
the boys, do undoubtedly become reformed. This reformatory, a wise
combination of school and prison, can accommodate one thousand inmates.
There are at present about eight hundred boys, and one hundred and
fifty girls on the register. The boys' building is divided into two
compartments, the first division, in the one, is thus entirely
separated from the second division, in the other compartment. The
second division is composed of those whose characters are decidedly
bad, or whose offence was great. A boy may, by good conduct, however,
get promoted from the second into the first division. As a rule the
second division are much older than the first. Each division is divided
into four grades. Every boy on entering the Reformatory is placed in
the third grade; if he behaves well he is placed in the second in a
week, and a month after to the first grade; if he continues in a
satisfactory course for three months, he is placed in the grade of
honor, and wears a badge on his breast. Every boy in the first division
must remain six months, in the second division twelve months in the
first grade, before he can be indentured to any trade. These two
divisions are under the charge of twenty-five teachers and twenty-five
guards. At half-past six o'clock the cells are all unlocked, every one
reports himself to the overseer, and then goes to the lavatories; at
seven, after parading, they are marched to the school rooms to join in
religious exercises for half an hour; at half-past seven they have
breakfast, and at eight are told off to the work-shops, where they
remain till twelve, when they again parade, previous to going to
dinner. For dinner they have a large plate of excellent soup, a small
portion of meat, a small loaf of bread, and a mug of water. At one
o'clock they return to their work. When they have completed their
allotted task they are allowed to play till four, when they have
supper. At half-past four they go to school, where they remain till
eight o'clock, the time for going to bed. Each boy has a separate cell,
which is locked and barred at night. The cells are in long, lofty, well
ventilated corridors, each corridor containing one hundred cells. The
doors of the cells are all grated, in order that the boys may have
light and air, and also be under the direct supervision of the
officers, who, though very strict, apparently know well how to temper
strictness with kindness. Before going to bed, half an hour is again
devoted to religious exercises, singing hymns, reading the Bible, etc.
There is a large chapel, where the services are conducted on Sunday,
the girls having the gallery to themselves. There is, however, no
Catholic service. This, surely, is not right. At the Penitentiary on
Blackwell's Island they have service once a month for the Catholics. Of
the six hundred and eighty-two children committed from the Courts
during the year 1867, no less than four hundred and fourteen were
Irish, and in all probability a large proportion of these are Roman
Catholics. Institutions of this character should certainly be made as
unsectarian as possible.
One of the most interesting, and at the same time, one of the most
important features of the Refuge, is the workshop. On entering the
shop, the visitor is amused by finding a lot of little urchins occupied
in making ladies' hoopskirts of the latest fashionable design; nearly
100 are engaged in the crinoline department. In the same long room,
about 50 are weaving wire for sifting cotton, making wire sieves, rat
traps, gridirons, flower baskets, cattle noses, etc. The principal
work, however, is carried on in the boot and shoe department. The labor
of the boys is let out to contractors, who supply their own foremen to
teach the boys and superintend the work, but the society have their own
men to keep order and correct the boys when necessary, the contractors'
men not being allowed to interfere with them in any way whatever. There
are 590 boys in this department. They manage on an average to turn out
about 2,500 pairs of boots and shoes daily, which are mostly shipped to
the Southern States. Each one has a certain amount of work allotted to
him in the morning, which he is bound to complete before four o'clock
in the afternoon. Some are quicker and more industrious than others,
and will get their work done by two o'clock; this gives two hours' play
to those in the first division, the second division have to go to
school when they have finished till three o'clock, they only being
allowed one hour for recreation. The authorities are very anxious to
make arrangements to have a Government vessel stationed off the island,
to be used as a training-ship for the most adventurous spirits. If this
design is carried out it will be a very valuable adjunct to the working
of the institution, and will enable the Directors to take in many more
boys, without incurring the expense of extending the present buildings.
The girls are also employed in making hoop skirts, in making clothes
for themselves and the boys, in all sorts of repairing, in washing
linen, and in general housework. The girls are generally less tractable
than the boys; perhaps this is accounted for by their being older, some
of them being as much as five or six and twenty. The boys average about
13 or 14, the girls 17 or 18 years of age. Nearly two thirds of the
boys have been boot-blacks, the remainder mostly what are technically
known as 'wharf rats.' Some of them are now in the house for the third
time; one, a lad only 15 years of age, has passed one year in a
juvenile asylum, four years in a reformatory, and is now at Randall's
Island. Another has been three times convicted of horse stealing; he
would, late at night, ask permission to sleep in a stable; he is a
complete cripple, and by attracting sympathy his request was often
granted; when every one had left the place he would quietly open the
door and lead out the horses. On each occasion that he was convicted he
managed to get off with three horses. Another little fellow, only six
years old, with a chum, broke into a pipe store, and stole 150
meerschaum pipes; he was however detected while trying to dispose of
them. There is a colored lad, about eighteen, who is very amusing; he
is a great orator, and addresses the others on all subjects, both
general and political. On one occasion, when the Principal ventured to
ask him whom he had adopted as his model for speaking, he grandly
replied, 'I will have you to know, sir, that I am no servile imitator.'
Some of the boys cannot overcome their thieving propensities, but will,
even in the Refuge, purloin things that can be of no earthly use to
them, if they get the chance. They are very quick and expert. Only a
few days ago one of the boys fell down in a fit in the schoolroom; some
of the others assisted the teacher to carry him into the open air. The
poor fellow had a collection of nick-nacks in one pocket, and about 20
penny pieces in the other, but during the moment that passed in
carrying him out both pockets were emptied. The Directors of the house
of Refuge, while having a due regard for the well-being of its inmates,
very properly take care that they are not so comfortable or so well fed
as to lead them to remain longer in the reformatory than necessary. As
soon as the boys appear to be really reformed they are indentured out
to farmers and different trades. In the year 1867 no less than 633 boys
and 146 girls were started in life in this way. Any person wishing to
have a child indentured to him, has to make a formal application to the
Committee to that effect, at the same time giving references as to
character, etc. Inquiries are made, and if satisfactorily answered, the
child is handed over to his custody, the applicant engaging to feed,
clothe, and educate his young apprentice. The boy's new master has to
forward a written report to the officer, as to his health and general
behavior from time to time. If the boy does not do well, he is sent
back to the Refuge, and remains there till he is 21 years of age. Most
of the children, however, get on, and many of them have made for
themselves respectable positions in society. The annals of the Society
in this respect are very gratifying and interesting. Many young men
never lose sight of a Refuge which rescued them in time from a criminal
life, and to which they owe almost their very existence. Instead of
alternating between the purlieus of Water street and Sing Sing, they
are many of them in a fair way to make a fortune. One young man who was
brought up there, and is now thriving, lately called at the office to
make arrangements for placing his two younger brothers in the House,
they having got into bad company since their father's death. A very
remarkable occurrence took place at the institution not long ago. A
gentleman and his wife, apparently occupying a good position in
society, called at the Refuge and asked to be allowed to go over it.
Having inspected the various departments, just before leaving, the
gentleman said to his wife, 'Now I will tell you a great secret. I was
brought up in this place.' The lady seemed much surprised, and
astounded all by quietly observing 'And so was I.' So strange are the
coincidences of human life.
"The last financial report issued by the Managers is certainly
encouraging, and might be studied with advantage by the Directors of
other public institutions. The total expenditures for the year 1867,
for an average of nine hundred and ninety inmates, was $115,036; but
the earnings of the work-shops amounted to $55,090, making the net
expenditures $59,946. In 1864, the net cost of each child was $83; in
1865, $80; in 1866, $74, and in 1867, $61. In 1864, the net earnings of
each child were $39; in 1865, $42; in 1866, $49, and in 1867, $56,
showing every successive year a better result. At the Red Hill
Reformatory in England, the net cost of each child for the year 1867,
was $135, and the net earnings of each child $30. The total expenditure
of the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island for last year was $93,966 for
an average of five hundred and thirty three-inmates; deducting $15,175,
the value of convict labor, the net expenditure was $77,791, making the
net annual cost of each convict $146. After making all allowances for
difference of age, etc., there is a very wide margin between $146 and
$61. The Principal of the Refuge, Mr. Israel C. Jones, has been
occupied for seventeen years in Reformatory work, and no doubt the
successful results attending the operations of this society are mainly
due to his great experience. Mr. Jones takes great pleasure in
receiving visitors who are desirous of seeing the practical workings
of his system."
CHAPTER VIII.
LINES OF TRAVEL.
In a city so vast as New York, one of the greatest considerations is to
provide ample means for rapid and sure passage from one part of the
corporate limits to another. Persons who live at the upper end of the
island cannot think of walking to their places of business or labor. To
say nothing of the loss of time they would incur, the fatigue of such a
walk would unfit nine out of ten for the duties of the day. For this
reason all the lines of travel in the City are more or less crowded
every day. The means of transportation now at the command of the people
are the street railways and the omnibusses, or stages; as they are
called.
THE STREET CARS.
The majority of the street railways centre at the Astor House and City
Hall. From these points one can always find a car to almost any place
in the city. The fare is six cents to any part of the City below 62nd
Street, and seven to any point above that and below 130th Street. The
cars are all more or less crowded. With the exception of a few lines,
they are dirty. An insufficient number are provided, and one half of
the passengers are compelled to stand. The conductors and drivers are
often rude and sometimes brutal in their treatment of passengers. One
meets all sorts of people in these cars. The majority of them are rough
and dirty and contact with them keeps a person in constant dread of an
attack of the itch, or some kindred disease. Crowded cars are a great
resort for pickpockets, and many valuable articles and much money are
annually stolen by the light-fingered gentry in these vehicles.
The wages paid to employees by the various companies are not large, and
the drivers and conductors make up the deficiency by appropriating a
part of the fares to their own use. Some are very expert at this, but
many are detected, discharged from the service of the company, and
handed over to the police. The companies exert themselves vigorously to
stop such practices, but thus far they have not been successful. Spies,
or "Spotters," as the road men term them, are kept constantly
travelling over the lines to watch the conductors. These note the
number of passengers transported during the trip, and when the
conductors' reports are handed in at the receiver's office, they
examine them, and point out any inaccuracies in them. They soon become
known to the men. They are cordially hated, and sometimes fare badly at
the hands of parties whose evil doings they have exposed. As all the
money paid for fares is received by the conductor, he alone can
abstract the "plunder." He is compelled to share it with the driver,
however, in order to purchase his silence. In this way, the companies
lose large sums of money annually.
There is either a car or stage route on all the principal streets
running North and South. There are, besides these, several "cross town"
lines, or lines running across the City. East and West, from river to
river. The fare on these is five cents. They cross all the other
railways, and their termini are at certain ferries on the North and
East Rivers.
THE STAGES.
The stages of New York are a feature of the great city which must be
seen to be appreciated. They are fine, handsome coaches, with seats
running lengthways, and capable of seating from twelve to fourteen
persons. They are drawn by two horses, and have all the lightness and
comfort of a fine spring wagon. Their routes begin at the various
ferries on the East river, from which they reach Broadway by the
nearest ways. They pass up Broadway for over a mile, and turn off from
it to other sections of the city at various points between Bleecker and
Twenty-third streets. The fare in these vehicles is ten cents, and is
paid to the driver, who communicates with the passenger by means of a
hole in the upper and front end of the coach. The checkstring passes
from the door through this hole, and is fastened to the driver's foot.
By means of this, a passenger can at any moment stop the stage. In
order that the driver may distinguish between a signal to stop the
coach and one to receive the passenger's fare, a small gong, worked by
means of a spring, is fastened at the side of the hole. By striking
this the passenger at once commands the driver's attention.
The stage drivers are entirely exposed to the weather, and suffer
greatly from the extremes of heat and cold. They can not leave their
seats, and are oftentimes terribly frozen in the winter, before
reaching the ends of their routes. They are constantly on the watch for
passengers, and it is amusing to watch the means to which they resort
to fill their coaches. In the early morning, and towards the close of
the day, they have no need to solicit custom, for then both stages and
cars are crowded to their utmost capacity. During the rest of the day,
however, they exert themselves to fill their coaches. They are called
upon to exercise no little skill in driving. Broadway, and the cross
streets along their routes, are always crowded with vehicles, and it
requires more dexterity than one would at first suppose, to avoid
accidents.
Good drivers are always in demand. Their wages are fair, and they are
allowed the greater part of Saturday, or some other day in the week,
and as the stages do not run on Sunday, they are always sure of two
"off-days" out of the seven. Like the street railway men, they consider
it perfectly legitimate to fill their own pockets at the expense of the
owners of the vehicles. The writer of these pages once had a long
conversation upon this subject with the driver of a stage. Jehu
endeavored to justify the practice of robbing his employers by a number
of very ingenious arguments, and finally closed with the remark:
"Well, you see, Mr. Martin, where the boss is a sensible man, he don't
object to a driver's making a few dollars for himself, for he knows
that a man who can make a plenty of stamps for himself will always make
a plenty for the boss, to keep from being found out; and it is a fact,
sir, that them as makes most for themselves always makes the biggest
returns to the office."
The drivers are frequently in trouble with the police. They have a holy
horror of falling into the hands of these limbs of the law, and this
feeling renders them more careful in their driving, and general conduct
while on duty.
Owing to the high rate of fare demanded by the stages, the rougher and
dirtier portion of the community are seldom met in them. The passengers
are generally of the better class, and one meets with more courtesy and
good breeding here than in the street cars. Ladies, unaccompanied by
gentlemen, prefer the stages to the cars. They are cleaner, and females
are less liable to annoyance.
[Illustration: Scene on Broadway--Dangers of crossing]
Like the cars, however, they are the favorite resorts of pickpockets.
At night they are patronized to such an extent by streetwalkers seeking
custom, that the city press has styled them "perambulating assignation
houses."
THE FERRIES.
Including the Harlem and Staten Island lines, there are twenty-three
lines of ferries plying between New York and the adjacent shores. Of
these, nine are in the North or Hudson river, and fourteen in the East
river. The boats are large side-wheel vessels, capable of carrying both
foot-passengers, horses, and vehicles. Early in the morning they are
crowded with persons and teams coming into the city, and in the
afternoon the travel is equally great away from the city. On some of
the lines the boats ply every five minutes; on others the intervals are
longer. The Harlem and Staten Island boats start hourly--the fare on
these lines is ten cents. On the East river lines it is two cents, on
the North river three cents.
The boats are large and handsome. Nearly all of them are lighted with
gas, and at least a score of them are seen in the stream at the same
moment. At night, with their many colored lights, they give to the
river quite a gala appearance. The travel on them is immense. Over
fifty millions of persons are annually transported by them. Many often
carry from 800 to 1000 passengers at a single trip.
During the summer it is pleasant enough to cross either of the rivers
which encircle the island; but in the winter such travelling is very
dangerous. Storms of snow, fogs, and floating ice interfere greatly
with the running of the boats, and render accidents imminent.
Collisions are frequent during rough or thick weather, and the ice
sometimes carries the boats for miles out of their course. The East
river is always more or less crowded with vessels of all kinds, either
in motion or at anchor, and even in fair weather it is only by the
exercise of the greatest skill on the part of the pilot that collisions
can be avoided. The following incident from one of the city journals
for November 14, 1868, will show how terrible these accidents are:
"Early this morning, when the Brooklyn boats are most crowded, chiefly
with workmen and girls coming to the city just before working hours, a
frightful collision took place as one of the Fulton ferry boats was
entering the New York slip, resulting in the wounding of probably
twenty persons, many of them fatally. At that hour four boats are run
on the Fulton ferry, the Union and Columbia running on a line, as also
the Hamilton and Clinton. The Clinton being slightly detained on the
New York side, the Hamilton, waiting for her, remained longer than
usual at the Brooklyn slip, and received therefore an immense load of
passengers, probably over a thousand. At this time in the morning, it
being flood tide, a strong current sets up the East river from
Governor's Island, which is just now further strengthened by the
freshet on the Hudson. The Hamilton, therefore, after being carried up
on the Brooklyn side, and turning in the centre of the river, steamed
down some distance below the New York slip, as usual, in order not to
be carried beyond by the upward tide. Turning, she then came up to the
slip, where the Union was laying, chained up, at the southern or lower
ferry-way. Close in by the piers an eddy from the main current which
strikes New York about Beekman street, sets strongly down stream. As
the Hamilton came into the slip from below, aiming at the upper ferry-
way, her bow was caught by this eddy and swung around with great force
toward the end of the Union. The Hamilton having a full load and the
Union having just discharged hers, the former was much the lower in the
water. The projecting guard of the Union therefore entered the front
part of the ladies' cabin at about the height of the seats, and also
smashed the rails on the outer deck. This particular part of the boat
was, of course, the most densely crowded, and the consequences of the
shock were frightful. One boy, George Brewer, who was said to have been
outside the chain, was caught by the foot and instantly killed, his
head and a good part of the body being mashed to a jelly. Several had
their feet cut off below the knee, and a dozen others were seriously
injured. The following is the list of those known to be hurt. It is
probable that several cases have not yet been discovered, and one or
two may have fallen overboard and not yet been missed. People looking
anxiously for missing friends, supposed to have been on the fated boat,
have been calling in great numbers during the morning at the ferry-
house and the police station."
Efforts have been made to span the East river with a bridge, for the
purpose of affording sure and safe communication between this city and
Brooklyn, but the plan has always met with the sternest and most
uncompromising hostility from the ferry companies, who wish to retain
their present enormous business.
CHAPTER IX.
STREET MUSICIANS.
Street musicians in New York are as plentiful as the leaves in
Vallambrosa. One cannot walk two blocks in the entire City, without
hearing from one to half a dozen street instruments in full blast. A
few of the instruments are good and in perfect tune, but the majority
emit only the most horrible discord.
THE ORGAN GRINDERS.
Only a few of the organ grinders own their organs. The majority hire
them from parties who make a business of letting them. The rent varies
from two to twenty dollars per month, according to the quality of the
instrument; the French flute-organ commanding the best price. The
owners of the organs generally manage to inspire the "grinders" with a
wholesome terror of them, so that few instruments are carried off
unlawfully, and after all, the organ grinders are generally more
unfortunate than dishonest.
The men are generally Italians. Occasionally a German or Swiss is seen,
but Italy contributes the great majority. Women are not often seen on
the streets in such capacities, except in company with their relatives
or lovers, and then they accompany the organ with the tambourine.
In good weather, a man with a good flute-organ can generally make from
two to five dollars a day. Those who have the best instruments seek the
best neighborhoods in the upper part of the city. There they are always
sure of an audience of children, whose parents pay well, and some of
these seemingly poor fellows have made as much as from ten to fifteen
dollars in a day and evening. In bad weather, however, they are forced
to be idle, as a good organ cannot be exposed with impunity at such
times. The "grinders" pay from five to eight dollars per month for
their rooms, and sustain their families entirely upon maccaroni. They
use but a single room for all the purposes of the family, and, no
matter how many are to be accommodated with sleeping arrangements,
manage to get along in some way. They are very exclusive, and herd by
themselves in a section of Five Points. Baxter and Park and the
adjoining streets are taken up, to a great extent, with Italians.
The better class of Italians keep their apartments as neat as possible.
Children of a genial clime, they are fond of heat, and the temperature
of their rooms stands at a stage which would suffocate an American.
As a general rule, the organ grinders are better off in this country
than in their own. Their wants are simple, and they can live with
comfort on an amazingly small sum.
There are, however, many who are not so fortunate as those to whom we
have referred. These are the great majority of the organ grinders, the
owners, or renters of the vile, discordant instruments which are the
bane of city people. They earn comparatively little but kicks and
curses. They are ordered off by irate householders, and receive but
little or no consideration from the police. They live in wretchedness
and want. Their homes are vile and filthy, and they are the
perpetrators of a great many of the crimes that disgrace the city. They
are frequent visitors at the Tombs, and are ready to be employed for
any dirty job for which unscrupulous men may wish to engage them.
THE WANDERING MINSTRELS.
Any one who can turn a crank can manage a street organ. The arrangement
of the instrument being entirely automatic, no knowledge of music on
the part of the grinder is necessary. Another class of street minstrels
are required to possess a certain amount of musical skill in order to
perform creditably. These are the strolling harpers and violinists.
Like the organ grinders they are chiefly Italians, but they are not so
fortunate in a pecuniary sense. Their earnings are very slender, and
they live lives of want and misery. A very few are excellent
performers, but the great mass have not the faintest idea of music.
CHILD MINSTRELS.
It is said that there are several hundred child minstrels in the City
of New York, by which we mean children below the age of sixteen or
seventeen years. They are chiefly Italians, but there are a few Swiss
and some Germans amongst them. They are generally to be found in the
streets in pairs; but sometimes three "travel" together, and sometimes
only one is to be found.
Mr. Nathan D. Urner, of the _Tribune_, whose experience of city life
has made him a valuable authority in such matters, has recently
contributed an article on this subject to _Packard's Monthly_ for
November, 1868, from which we make the following interesting
quotations:
"As a general rule, the little ones have parents or relatives--mostly
engaged in the same business--to whose support they contribute; but
there are both men and women in the city--and most heartless, worthless
wretches they are--who import orphan children from Naples and Tuscany,
for the purpose of turning their childish talents, both as musicians
and beggars, to practical account. Indeed, a number of years ago, there
was a villain, living in Baxter street, who employed at one time
fourteen children, mostly girls, in this manner. His name, if my memory
serves me correctly, was Antonelli. At any rate, by a cruel system of
punishment and semi-starvation, he reaped considerable profit from the
unfortunates--compelling them to steal as well as beg, and converting
the girls into outcasts at the earliest possible age--until his arrest
and imprisonment in the penitentiary of a neighboring State released
them from their bondage, though only, it is to be feared, to fall into
hands quite as bad. But they are seldom much better off, even if they
have parents. A detective police officer told me that he knew of half-
a-dozen cases where Italian fathers of this class had made a regular
business of hiring out their children for the purposes of prostitution;
and the precocity of development and expression frequently betrayed by
the girls, still young in years, is mournful evidence of the truth of
his statement."
It is astonishing to see how little musical talent is exhibited by
these little ones, whose natures are drawn from the land of music. We
have repeatedly seen them sawing away patiently at a violin, or jerking
the strings of a harp, but could detect no semblance of melody in the
noise they made. Not a few of the little ones endeavor to make up in
dancing what they lack in musical skill. Their parents or proprietors
are harsh and stern with them, and endeavor to beat some slight
knowledge of their art into them, but it is a long time before they
succeed. Sometimes death steps in to end the troubles of the child
before success has crowned the efforts of the parent. Let us hope the
little voices will be more melodious in the unseen world.
Sometimes these children will be found in pairs on the streets,
consisting of a boy with a small harp, and a girl with a violin; or
sometimes two girls; one with an old, broken guitar, and the other with
a tambourine; or, again, of two boys, with harp and violin. Their
music, at the best, is but worthless, and their voices have a cracked,
harsh, monotonous cadence, but they also possess a sadness which rarely
fails to bring a penny or two into the outstretched hat. They are
dirty, ragged, and more like monkeys than children, but they have a
wistfulness and weariness about their gaze and manner that make one's
heart ache. It is so sad to see young children condemned to such lives.
They are very young, the average age being eight years, but they do not
seem like children. You think they are little old men and women.
At all hours of the day, and until late at night, you may hear their
music along the streets, and listen to their sad, young voices going up
to the ear that is always open to them. They are half fed and half
clothed, and their filthiness is painful to behold. They sleep in fair
weather under a door step, in some passage-way or cellar, or in a box
or hogshead on the street, and in the winter huddle together in the
cold and darkness of their sleeping places, for we cannot call them
homes, and long for the morning to come. The cold weather is very hard
upon them. They love the warm sun, and during the season of ice and
snow are in a constant state of semi-torpor. You see them on the
street, in their thin, ragged garments, so much overpowered by the cold
that they can scarcely strike or utter a note. Sometimes they are
permitted by the keeper of some saloon to approach his stove for a
moment or two. These are the bright periods of their dark lives, for as
a general rule, they are forced to remain in the streets, plying their
avocations until late in the night, for blows and curses are their
reward should they fail to carry to those who own them a fair day's
earnings. Give them a penny or two, should they ask it, reader. You
will not miss it. It is more to them than to you, and it will do you no
harm for the recording angel to write opposite the follies and sins of
your life that you cast one gleam of sunshine into the heart of one of
these little minstrels.
AN INCIDENT.
During one of the heavy snows of the last winter, one of these child
harpers was trudging wearily down Fifth Avenue, on his way to the vile
quarter in which he was to spend the night. It was intensely cold, and
the little fellows strength was so much exhausted by the bleak night
wind that he staggered under the weight of his harp. At length he sat
down on the steps of a splendid mansion to rest. The house was
brilliantly lighted, and he looked around timidly as he seated himself,
expecting the usual command to move off. No one noticed him, however,
and he leaned wearily against the balustrade, and gazed at the handsome
windows through which the rich, warm light streamed out into the wintry
air. As he sat there, strains of exquisite music, and the sounds of
dancing, floated out into the night. The little fellow clasped his
hands in ecstacy and listened. He had never heard such melody, and it
made his heart ache to think how poor and mean was his own minstrelsy
compared with that with which his ears were now ravished. The wind blew
fierce and keen down the grand street, whirling the snow about in
blinding clouds, but the boy neither saw nor heard the strife of the
elements. He heard only the exquisite melody that came floating out to
him from the warm, luxurious mansion, and which grew sweeter and richer
every moment. The cold, hard street became more and more indistinct to
him, and he sat very still with his hands clasped, and his eyes closed.
The ball ended towards the small hours of the morning, and the clatter
of carriages dashing up to the door of the mansion, gave the signal to
the guests that it was time to depart. No one had seen the odd-looking
bundle that lay on the street steps, half buried in the snow, and which
might have lain there until the morning had not some one stumbled over
it in descending to the carriages. With a half curse, one of the men
stooped down to examine the strange object, and found that the bundle
of rags and filth contained the unconscious form of a child. The harp,
which lay beside him, told his story. He was one of the little outcasts
of the streets. Scorning to handle such an object, the man touched him
with his foot to arouse him, thinking he had fallen asleep. Alas! it
was the eternal sleep.
A SAD STORY.
Mr. Nathan D. Urner, from whose interesting paper in _Packard's
Monthly_ we have already quoted, draws the following touching picture
of minstrel life:
A horrible murder had been committed. All engaged in it, including the
victim, were foreigners. There was not a redeeming feature, not even
the rather equivocal one of passion's frenzy, connected with the deed.
It was deliberate, long-concerted, mercenary, atrocious, and bloody.
The murderers--there were two--were shortly afterwards arrested; tried,
convicted, and sentenced to death, with a dispatch and inexorableness
which--probably owing to their friendlessness--was somewhat unusual
under the statutes of this State. The most affecting incident connected
with the condemned--both of them desperate villains--was the parting
scene between the Italian criminal (his comrade was a Spaniard) and his
child. This was a little girl, scarcely ten years of age; I doubt if
she numbered so many. The man was low-browed, narrow-templed, and of a
generally brutal, repulsive aspect. They were about to lead him into
the dungeon of the condemned, the studded door of which would not open
again save to admit his passage to the gallows-tree; and his poor child
was beside him. Hardened, sin-stained as he was, the father was himself
visibly affected; but the tempest of wild, passionate grief that
agitated the little girl, so soon to be left an orphan, was something
remarkable in one of her years.
She was evidently a child of the streets. Her dress was ragged and
foul, and even her face so unclean as to be barely redeemed by the
large, beautiful black eyes which would alone have betrayed the sunny
clime of her origin. While the wretched criminal stood, shame-facedly
and with drooping crest, before her, she fell upon his manacled hands,
kissing them wildly, and betraying in her childish grief all the deep,
sensitive, despairing sorrow of a woman. The villain before her might
have often beaten her, debased her immeasurably, but the mysterious
cord that linked their beating hearts was unbroken, though it sang like
a bowstring in the gusty horror that swept between, and stretched to
attenuation as the elder spirit sank, groaning, into the abyss of its
own wickedness. Hot tears gushed from her eyes, her little throat was
swollen with the choking sobs, and her narrow, rag-covered chest heaved
with tumultuous agony. But after he was taken away, when the iron door
which to her was, indeed, the door of the tomb, had closed between them
forever, she became quickly calm, and her face soon wore an air of
quiet resignation.
As she was about leaving the court-room she stooped and picked up a
weather-stained guitar. I guessed her vocation, and was resolved to
speak to her.
'What is your name, little one?'
'Angela, sir.' It was a sad voice, but very sweet.
'And do you play on this for a living?'
'I play and sing also, sir.'
The court had been dismissed, and the crowd were confusedly
dispersing.
'I say, little gal, can't you give us a song 'afore you go?' said an
inconsiderate policeman, meaning to be good-natured.
'I shall not sing to-day, sir!' said the little girl, decisively; and
then, with a dignity of grief which sat well upon her, despite her
rags, she passed out of the room with her dingy guitar, while the large
man who had accosted her so rudely shrank back, abashed, before the
glance with which the black eyes reproached him to the heart, ere they
vanished in the crowd.
Here was a chance for me. I happened to be the only reporter present at
the scene--'sensation' was my forte--a 'beat' upon all the other
dailies had come directly to my hand. It was late in the week, and I
was also afforded the chance of cooking the thing up remuneratively for
two or three weekly papers. But the whole thing stood before me like a
picture which it seemed a sacrilege to copy. So I cheated the _Tribune_
with the rest, and, for the first time in my life, let the opportunity
for a sensation slip my hand. No credit to either heart or head,
however, for a relapse into my chronic state of impecuniosity, on the
following week, caused me to curse a squeamishness whose absence might
have earned a score of dollars.
But I soon forgot the incidents in the court-room in the manifold and
hum-drum duties of my profession.
Several months afterward, however, I was passing down Park Row, when my
attention was attracted to a little girl playing a guitar and singing
an Italian song in a plaintive, monotonous air. Her dress and voice
attracted my attention on the instant, and, when I saw her face, I
recognized Angela, the girl of the trial-scene. It was her father whom,
at that very moment, I was going to see hanged. I stood stock-still
with amazement, the coincidence was so startling.
When she had finished her song, and had garnered up the few coppers
placed in her hand by the careless and uncritical crowd, I stepped up
to her and said:
'Angela, do you remember me?'
'Yes, sir,' she replied, her dark face lighting up with a gleam of
recognition.
'Do you know what day this is?'
'It is the morning of my father's death--how should I forget it?'
'You refused to sing on the day of his sentence--can you find heart,
then, to do so in this dreadful hour?'
The dirty little fingers fluttered nervously over the music-strings--as
the creative hand might do with a human heart of whose destiny there
was a doubt. For an instant a pang of agony wreathed the young face to
the depth of its expressions, but she resumed her sorrowful complacency
immediately.
'I am singing to my mother across the sea,' she said, quietly.
"Then, resuming her guitar, she swept out a yet more plaintive air, and
lifted her young, shrill voice in song. The crowd around her did not
increase, the interest was not enhanced, and the chary pennies of
approbation were as few as before. But to me there was a wild, desolate
melancholy in the melody that fell so unheedingly upon the ears of the
crowd. They did not see nor hear what I did. They merely saw a dusky
foreign girl using her voice for a scanty livelihood. I saw a patient,
suffering, religious spirit, singing out its agony to a kindred spirit
beyond the eight hundred leagues of heaving brine (I would wager my
life that the mother heard that song, were she buried in the bosom of
the Appenines); and the deep melancholy of those large, dark eyes,
uplifted so plaintively, the saintly refinement of sorrow that lingered
in the soft, olive face which spoke of far Italy, the 'divine despair'
of the mellow voice, haunted me strangely and unpleasantly as I hurried
away to the scene of death."
WHAT BECOMES OF THESE CHILDREN.
It is very sad to think of the future of these little ones. Without
education, with an early familiarity with want, misery, brutality, and
crime, the little minstrels rarely "come to any good." The girls grow
up to lives of shame, and fortunately die young. The boys become
vagrants, thieves, and often assassins. They soon find their way to the
reformatory establishments and prisons of the city. The police watch
them closely, and never overlook one of their offences. Everybody
condemns them, and no one reflects that they are irresponsible for
their sins. "As the twig is bent the tree is inclined."
CHAPTER X.
THE PRESS.
The press of New York is a subject which requires more time and space
in its treatment than can be given to it in this volume, and we must
therefore confine ourselves to a brief glance at it. It is divided into
two branches, the secular and religious, and in the former we include
all the political and literary journals of the City.
THE MORNING PAPERS.
The daily journals of New York are the ablest and best conducted in
America, and among the most brilliant in the world. Their power is
immense, and they generally shape and direct the tone of the provincial
journals. They are conducted upon a most excellent system as far as
their internal arrangements are concerned, and the persons employed
upon them are men of ability and experience. As pecuniary investments,
they pay handsomely. The stock is very valuable, and it is impossible
to purchase it at any price, the present owners being unwilling to
sell. Nearly all the principal journals have handsome printing houses
of their own. The new Herald office is one of the most magnificent
edifices in the City, and in its internal arrangement is the most
convenient in the world.
The morning papers are the _Herald, Tribune, Times, World, Sun,
Democrat, Journal of Commerce, Staats Zeitung_, and _Commercial
Advertiser_.
THE HERALD
The Herald is regarded as the model newspaper of the United States. Its
office is located at the corner of Broadway and Ann Streets, and is
built of white marble, in the modern French style. Below the sidewalk
are two immense cellars, or vaults, one below the other, in which are
two steam engines of thirty-five horse power each. Three immense Hoe
presses are kept running constantly from midnight until seven in the
morning, printing the daily edition. The rooms and machinery are kept
in the most perfect order. Nothing is allowed to be out of place, and
the slightest speck of dirt visible in any part, calls forth a sharp
rebuke from Mr. Bennett, who makes frequent visits to every department
of the paper.
On the street floor, the main room is the public office of the journal.
Its entrances are on Broadway and Ann street. It is paved with marble
tiles, and the desks, counters, racks, etc., are of solid black walnut,
ornamented with plate glass. Every thing is scrupulously clean, and the
room presents the appearance of some wealthy banking office.
On the third floor are the editorial rooms. The principal apartment is
the "Council Room," which overlooks Broadway. Every other branch of the
editorial department has its separate room, and all are furnished with
every convenience necessary for doing their work with the utmost
precision and dispatch.
Each day, at noon, the editors of the _Herald_, twelve in number,
assemble in the "Council Room." Mr. Bennett, if he is in the City,
takes his seat at the head of the table, and the others assume the
places assigned. If Mr. Bennett is not present, his son, James Gordon
Bennett, Jr., presides at the council, and, in the absence of both
father and son, the managing editor takes the head of the table.
The council is opened by Mr. Bennett, or his representative, who
presents a list of subjects. These are taken up, seriatim, and
discussed by all present. The topics to be presented, in the editorial
columns of the _Herald_ the next day, are determined upon, and each
editor is assigned the subject he is to "write up." All this is
determined in a short while. Then Mr. Bennett asks the gentlemen
present for suggestions. He listens attentively to each one, and
decides quickly whether they shall be presented in the _Herald_, and at
what time; and if he desires any subject to be written upon, he states
his wish, and "sketches," in his peculiar and decisive manner, the
various headings and the style of treatment.
There are twelve editors and thirty-five reporters employed on the
_Herald_. They are liberally paid for their services. Any one bringing
in news is well rewarded for his trouble.
The composing rooms are located on the top floor, and are spacious,
airy, and excellently lighted. A "dumb waiter," or vertical railway,
communicates with the press room; and speaking tubes, and a smaller
"railway," afford the means of conversation and transmitting small
parcels between this room and the various parts of the building. Five
hundred men are employed in the various departments of the paper.
THE OTHER JOURNALS.
The _World, Tribune, Times_, and other journals, have fine
establishments of their own, that of the _Times_ ranking next to the
one just described. The advantages of the _Herald_ system are so
manifest that the other City dailies are adopting it as rapidly as
possible.
THE EVENING PAPERS.
The evening papers are a noticeable feature of the great city. They are
the _Evening Post_, the _Evening Mail_, the _Express_, the _Telegram_,
the _News_, and the _Star_. These issue their first editions at one
o'clock in the afternoon, and their latest at five or six o'clock. On
occasions of more than usual interest, extras are issued hourly as late
into the night as eleven or twelve o'clock. The evening papers contain
the latest news, gossip, and a variety of light and entertaining
matter, and are bought chiefly by persons who wish to read them at
home, after the cares and fatigues of the day are over.
THE WEEKLIES.
The weeklies are too numerous to mention. The principal are the _Round
Table_, the _Nation_, the _Ledger_, the _Mercury_, the _New York
Weekly_, the _Sunday Mercury_, the _News_, the _Dispatch_, the
_Leader_, the _Examiner and Chronicle_, the _Courier_, the _Clipper_,
_Wilkes' Spirit_, the _Turf, Field and Farm_, _Harper's Weekly_, _Frank
Leslie's Newspaper_, the _Bazaar_, the _Albion_, the _Citizen_, the
_Irish Citizen_, _Irish American_, etc., etc. All of these journals
display more or less ability, and each one has its specialty. Some are
devoted to politics, some to literature alone, some to sporting
matters, some to police items, and some to general news.
THE RELIGIOUS PAPERS.
The principal religious papers are, the _Observer_, the _Independent_,
the _Protestant Churchman_, the _Church Journal_, the _Methodist_,
etc., etc. They are devoted principally to denominational and sectarian
matters, but too frequently dabble in politics to an extent that
renders them more partisan than laymen care to see religious sheets.
PRINTING HOUSE SQUARE.
Opposite the City Hall, at the junction of Nassau and Spruce streets
and Park Row, is a large open space, known as "Printing House Square,"
so called because the offices of the leading journals of the city are
either immediately on this square, or within a couple of blocks of it.
Standing in the Park at this point, one may count the signs of at least
thirty first-class journals of various kinds.
A PRESS CURIOSITY.
One of the curiosities of Printing-House Square is the huge engine
which runs so many presses. This is owned by a firm in Spruce street
between William and Nassau, and occupies the basement of their
building. There is a large one hundred and fifty horse-power engine
which runs during the day, and a seventy-five horse-power which
relieves it at night. From this shafting and belting distribute the
power in every direction. One shaft runs to and across Frankfort
street, supplying THE MAIL and other offices, another crosses William
street and runs the six cylinder presses which pile the three hundred
thousand copies of the _Ledger_ in its beautiful press-room. Another
shaft crosses Spruce street, runs through and across Beekman, and even
supplies presses in Ann street.
Altogether these engines supply over one hundred and twenty-five
presses--each being estimated and charged so much per horse-power
according to this estimate. It runs three quarters of a mile of main
shafting, beside a mile or more connecting shafts and as much belting.
One of these belts, an india-rubber one, one hundred and twenty feet
long, connects a fifth-story press on Nassau street with the main
shafting on Spruce, across the intervening yards, and another leather
one on Beekman street, one hundred and forty feet long, perfectly
perpendicular, connects the sub-cellar and attic.
"This engine prints all McLaughlin's toy books, runs the immense
establishments of Bradstreet and J. W. Oliver, besides many other job
printers, a hoop-skirt manufactory and several binderies, and prints
nearly fifty papers, besides magazines and books innumerable; among
them, the '_Mail_,' the '_Independent_,' '_Dispatch_,' '_Leader_,'
'_Star_,' '_Examiner and Chronicle_,' '_Observer_,' '_Courier_,'
'_Clipper_,' '_Wilkes' Spirit_,' '_Turf, Field and Farm_,' '_Police
Gazette_,' '_La Crosse Democrat_,' '_Ledger_,' '_New York Weekly_,'
'_Literary Album_,' '_Sunday Times_,' '_New Yorker Democrat_,'
'_Commonwealth_,' '_Scottish American_,' '_Freeman's Journal_,'
'_Tablet_,' '_Emerald_,' '_Irish American_,' '_Irish People_,' etc.,
etc. Truly a power in the world."
[Illustration: View of Wall Street.]
CHAPTER XI.
WALL STREET.
If you pass down Broadway to the main entrance to Trinity Church, and
then turn abruptly to your left and cross the street, you will find
yourself at the head of Wall street, the great financial centre of
America. It is a narrow street, extending from Broadway to East river,
and lined with handsome brown stone, marble, and granite buildings.
Scarcely a house has less than a score of offices within its walls, and
some have very near three times that number. Space is very valuable in
Wall street, and some of the leading firms in it have to content
themselves with a narrow, small, dark hole, which a conscientious man
would hardly call an office. The rent demanded for these "offices" is
enormous, and the buildings bring their owners princely fortunes every
year. The houses are all covered with signs, the names on which one
will immediately recognize as famous in the financial world. The
streets running into Wall street, for the distance of one or two
blocks, on the right hand and the left, are also occupied with the
offices of bankers and brokers, and are included in the general term,
"Wall street," or "the street."
ITS HISTORY.
Wall street has always been famous in the history of New York. It was
originally used as a sheep pasture. Its natural condition being partly
rolling upland and partly meadow of a swampy character. The name of the
street originated thus: In 1653, the Dutch settlers, being threatened
with an attack by their New England neighbors, resolved to fortify the
town by constructing a wall or stockade across the island just beyond
the northern limits of the settlement. The line selected was drawn
across the old sheep pasture. In the course of a few years, the
anticipated hostilities having passed over, the settlers began to build
houses along the line of the city wall, and the new street, when laid
off, received by common consent the name of "the Wall street," which it
has since borne. The wall, having fallen into decay, was demolished
about the year 1699, and the stones were used in building the first
City Hall, which stood at what is now the corner of Nassau and Wall
streets, the site of the Sub-Treasury of to-day. This building was used
for the various purposes of the city government until the close of the
Revolution. It contained, besides the council and court rooms, a fire
engine room, a jail for the detention and punishment of criminals, and
a debtors' prison, which was located in the attic, a cage, and a
pillory. A pair of stocks were set up on the opposite side of the
street, wherein criminals were exposed to the indignant gaze of a
virtuous public.
After the close of the Revolution, the building was enlarged and
improved for the use of the Federal Government. The first Congress of
the United States assembled within its walls in the year 1789, and upon
its spacious portico George Washington took the oath to support and
defend the Constitution, as President of the United States.
The street was originally taken up with private residences, but at
length monetary institutions commenced to find their way into it. The
Bank of New York was located here in 1791, at the corner of William
street. Other institutions, and private bankers, soon followed it, and
the work of improvement went on until the street of to-day is the
result. Famous lawyers have also had their offices in this street.
Alexander Hamilton's sign might once have been seen here, not far from
where his humble monument now stands in Trinity churchyard, and the
name of Caleb Cushing is now to be found just a little below Broadway.
The street fairly began its present career in the days of Jacob Little,
"the great bear of Wall street." He opened an office here in 1822, and,
in twelve years, by dint of such labor as few men are capable of
performing, placed himself at the head of American operators. His
credit was good for any amount, for his integrity was unimpeachable. He
could sway the market as he pleased, and his contracts were met with a
punctuality and fidelity which made "his word as good as his bond."
Efforts were made to ruin him, but his genius and far-sightedness
enabled him to defeat all his enemies with their own weapons. His gains
were enormous, and so were his losses. He met the latter cheerfully.
The late war, however, brought his reverses so rapidly upon him that he
had not the time to meet one before another stared him in the face.
Still, he was calm and undismayed. He gave up his last dollar without
repining, saying that he would willingly sacrifice even life itself for
the perpetuity of the Union and the Constitution. He died early in the
year 1861, honored by all, and leaving his life an example to those of
us who are left behind him. He was a devout member of the Episcopal
Church, but he extended his charities, which, though quiet, were
unusually large, to all denominations.
THE SUB-TREASURY.
The Sub-Treasury is a handsome white marble building, located at the
corner of Wall and Nassau streets. The Treasury is built in the Doric
style of architecture; and its massive flight of steps and handsome
portico present a striking appearance. It is built in the most
substantial manner, and has an entrance at the rear on Pine street. The
interior is tastefully arranged, and massive iron gratings protect the
employees from surprise and robbery. The vaults are burglar-proof. This
is the principal depository of the Government, and millions of dollars
are always in its vaults.
THE CUSTOM HOUSE.
The Custom House was built for and formerly used as the Merchants'
Exchange. It is situated at the corner of Wall and William streets, and
is a large, handsome, granite edifice. The colonade at the front
entrance and the rotunda are well worth seeing.
BANKING HOUSES.
Just below the Custom House is the handsome marble building of Brown
Brothers, bankers, one of the model houses of New York, as regards both
the firm and the edifice. The Messrs. Brown are regarded as the most
reliable and accomplished operators in the street. Across the way, in a
dingy granite building, is the office of August Belmont & Co., the
American agents of the Rothschilds, and bankers on their own account.
Jay Cooke & Co. occupy the fine marble building at the corner of Wall
and Nassau streets, opposite the Treasury, and there conduct the New
York branch of their enormous business. Fisk & Hatch, the financial
agents of the great Pacific Railway, are a few steps higher up Nassau
street. Henry Clews & Co. are in the building occupied by the United
States Assay Office. Other firms, of more or less eminence, fill the
street. Some have fine, showy offices, others operate in dark, dingy
holes.
THE STOCK EXCHANGE.
The Stock Exchange is located on Broad street, to the south of Wall
street. It is a fine white marble edifice, extending back to New
street, which is also taken up with brokers' offices. There is an
entrance on Wall street, but the main building is on Broad street. It
contains the "Long Room," the "The New York Stock Exchange," the
"Mining Board," the now obsolete "Petroleum Board," and the "Government
Board." All sorts of stocks are bought and sold in this building.
"Erie" and "Pacific Mail" are the most attractive to the initiated, and
the most disastrous as well.
The Chamber of the Board of Stock Brokers is a large, handsomely
furnished apartment, somewhat like a lecture room in appearance. Each
broker has a seat assigned to him. Outsiders are not admitted to the
sessions of the board, but any one may communicate with a member by
handing his card to the doorkeeper, who will at once call out the
gentleman. The sessions of the Board are presided over by a President,
but the work is done by a Vice-President, who from ten o'clock until
one, calls over the list of stocks, and declares the sales. Each day a
list of stocks to be put in the market is made out, and no others can
be sold during the sessions. The Board has the right to refuse to offer
any stocks for sale, and a guarantee is required of the party making
the sale. The members of the Board are men of character, and their
transactions are fair and open. They are required to fulfil all
contracts in good faith, however great the loss to themselves, on pain
of expulsion from the Board, and an expelled member cannot be
reinstated. The entrance fee is three thousand dollars. Persons wishing
to become members are required to make their applications at certain
times. This is publicly announced, and if any one can bring and sustain
an accusation affecting the integrity of the applicant, he is not
admitted.
Ordinarily the sale of the stocks offered, proceeds in a monotonous,
humdrum manner, but when "Erie," or "Pacific Mail," or any other
favorite stock is called, each man springs to his feet. Bids come fast
and furious, hands, arms, hats, and canes are waved frantically
overhead to attract the attention of the presiding officer. The most
intense excitement prevails throughout the room, and the shouts and
cries are deafening. Sales are made with the utmost rapidity, and the
excitement is kept up at the highest point as long as any thing of
interest is offered. If a sale is contested, the president names the
purchaser, and his decision is final, unless revoked by an
instantaneous vote of the Board.
THE OPEN BOARD.
The Open Board of Stock Brokers meet in the second story of a handsome
brown stone building adjoining the Stock Exchange. Their sessions are
from ten until one. The business of the Board is similar to that of the
Stock Exchange, and is dispatched with as much precision, quickness,
and clamor.
THE GOLD ROOM.
Descending from Broad street to the basement of the building used by
the "Open Board," we find ourselves in a long, dimly lighted passage-
way, which leads us into a small courtyard. As we emerge into this
yard, we hear a confused hum above our heads, which grows louder as we
ascend the steep stairway before us. Passing through a narrow, dirty
entry, we open a side door, and our ears fairly ache with the yells and
shrieks with which we are startled. For a moment we think we are about
to enter a company of lunatics, but we pass on reassured, and the next
instant stand in the Gold Room.
This is a handsome apartment, in the style of an amphitheatre, with a
fountain in the centre. A gallery runs around the upper part, and
several telegraph offices are connected with the room. There are but
few benches. The members of the Board are always too much excited to
sit, and seats are only in the way. Though the main entrance is on
Broadway, the Gold Room really fronts on New street. During the
sessions of the Board, it is filled with an excited, yelling crowd,
rushing about wildly, and, to a stranger, without any apparent aim. The
men stamp, yell, shake their arms, heads, and bodies violently, and
almost trample each other to death in the violent struggle. Men, who in
private life excite the admiration of their friends and acquaintances
by the repose and dignity of their manner, here lose their self-
possession entirely, and are more like maniacs than sensible beings.
Few members of either the Stock or Gold Boards operate for themselves.
They generally buy and sell for outside parties, from whom they require
a guarantee at the outset, and charge a fair commission on the sale for
their services. Members have confidence in each other, for they know
that no one can afford to be dishonest. Expulsion and financial ruin
and disgrace are the swift and inflexible punishments of bad faith.
There are many persons, whose transactions in the stock and gold
markets amount to millions of dollars each year, who cannot enter these
boards as members. They are regarded as unsafe, and their petitions are
invariably rejected. They usually operate through regular members.
CURBSTONE BROKERS.
Any one who can
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