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DATE OUE
Cuurtfty of tht Art Commtnion uj the City o/ \ru >'or/
GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON
This portrait was painted for the City of New York by John T ruin-
bull in 1790. Familiar New York City scenes provide the background.
THIS WAS
NEW YORK
THE NATION'S CAPITAL IN 1789
Frank Marvin
\Ss
Monaghan Lowenthal
Doubleday, Doran & Co., Inc.
GARPEN CITY, NEW YORK
'943
THIS BOOK IS
COMPLETE AND UNABRIDGED,
MANUFACTURED UNDER WARTIME
CONDITIONS IN CONFORMITY WITH
ALL GOVERNMENT REGULATIONS
CONTROLLING THE USE OF PAPER
AND OTHER MATERIALS.
CL
COPYRIGHT, 1943
BY DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & COMPANY, INC.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
FIRST EDITION
Preface
GREAT events are on the march in this year 1789. A fresh and
invigorating spirit stirs the land. A grand new idea is loosed to
shake a trammeled world. Destiny is on the loom and the spin-
ners are at work. New York City is full pregnant with the future.
Here the new government of the United States begins. Here the
first Congress sits and deliberates high matters of state and low
matters of ceremony. Here on April 30 George Washington will
be inaugurated as the first President of the united nation. Here
basic issues are determined and the new government will be
given not only form but vitality. New York is the center of ac-
tivity, of experiment, and of bope.
The city is vibrant with excitement. It is thronged with ex-
pectant crowds from far and near. It is impossible to get lodgings
in the best places. Yes, even a simple bed (no questions asked or
answered) is at a premium. But somehow we shall manage. Not
every man can take his full ease at a turning point in history.
Never have we seen such a collection of notables: statesmen,
politicians, diplomats, . . . and their gracious ladies. And we
shall see it all in spite of the fact that humble authors are not
highly esteemed and that all this talk about equality and democ-
racy are not yet quite operating realities. But we have a few
friends of republican principles who command entry into the best
places. We shall do our best to maintain both dignity and com-
posure.
But (since it is true) we must candidly admit that there are
times when we feel more at hom^yer at the Tammany Society
D8SO
Preface
talking about thfe dahef 6iis tendencies of aristocracy in a republic
or in $& Jjaical pub drinking the strong ale and the small talk
of the towri-^-br haunting the shops of the city for a little bargain
or sitting in at the mayor's court to hear the woes and tribu-
lations of the unlucky. Unless you greatly object, we shall go
with you everywhere in this city. For it is the people who intrigue
us the people in whose hands a democratic experiment is about
to be placed. And if it is to be, as has been suggested, the people
who will give voice and meaning and substance to this new gov-
ernment then we ought to know those people. Even if they were
the source of nothing of high importance they are still people
and we are infinitely curious. For it is people and not statesmen,
it is people and not diplomats, it is people and not "gentlemen
and ladies" that make a city what it is. For New York was a city
of no mean degree before it was the capital of a nation; and
New York will be a city of even greater degree after the capital
is removed to Philadelphia and then to the muddy banks of the
Potomac.
The people are the heart of a city great people and little
people. We must know them all. Yes, the bawling fishwives and
the decorous housewives, the quiet scholar with his midnight oil,
the sailor staggering over the pigs that infest the night and clog
the streets, the visitors ripe for the plucking, the virginal school
ma'am, the tippler drooling in his cups, the magistrate in the
dignity of his robes, the intriguing ladies of the night, the butchers,
the printers, the officers of the watch, those just out of jail, those
in jail, and those just about to enter. Yes, the tradesmen and the
merchants and the tavernkeepers men who yearn and covet
some solid and some lovely coin, who love the chink of money,
the good sound thumping coin. Yes, little people too with their
little cares. We must catch the rhythm, the color, the smells
the feel of it all. In short we must know the high of it and the
low of it and the middle of it.
The city pulsates with life and with the strange aberrations of
life. There is bright light an^ier^rynurky shadows and there
Preface vii
are strange and distorted figures. There is much that is tattered
and tawdry; there is much that is brave and good. But the
totality of these molded the future. It emerged from their habits,
their prejudices, their opinions, their circumstances. Democracy
is beginning to emerge. Will it survive and will it merit the
survival?
Then listen to the testimony of a high gentleman of a far older
civilization. He is the Baron Hyde de Neuville, a refugee from
the tyranny of Napoleon. After seeing New York and Americans
in many places he writes to a friend in Europe :
These rebel colonists are on the way to become one of the most
powerful of nations. Only let them be wise; let them, quietly with-
out revolution, infuse a little more strength into their administra-
tion; let them redress certain abuses, and we shall one day see
them the astonishment of Europe. An immense vitality animates
this growing state. One feels, on taking a near view of America, as
if something unknown were stirring in the future; as if the tyranny
that weighs down our unhappy country were not the last word of
this opening century; as if a fresh breeze had passed over the
world. . . . The exact consequences cannot be foreseen and are
slow to develop; but it seem$ sometimes, as if America had sur-
prised the future and forestalled the hour.
Yes, it was the people of New York and the people of America.
They molded the future. To know them is to know the shape of
the future. And the future is worth the knowing. Thus a journey
into the past may well become a voyage into the future.
Your two modest scriveners believe that we know them well.
We have found materials that have never been made public. We
have gone into the manuscript records of the courts of the city;
we have (for hundreds of hours) perused and studied the
charging-out records of the New York Society Library, in order
to report accurately, and for the first time, on what New Yorkers
really read. We have searched out unpublished letters and diaries.
We believe we know all the things that previous reporters knew
and said. We feel that it is worth the knowing and the saying.
viii Preface
But we have tarried too long with these poor, albeit honest,
words. Great events are on the march, and the echoes of their
footsteps will, some distant day, be heard around the world.
Enough of words ! Let us be "off to New- York" . . . with . . .
Your humble & obedient servants,
FRANK MONAGHAN & MARVIN LOWENTHAL*
New York City
December 14, 1942
*Who hope (perhaps against hope) that your esteemed patronage will
be such that we shall never be forced to follow the melancholy example
of our late, honored colleague, Mr. Noah Webster, and admit that "we
shall now give up writing and go into a more lucrative business."
Contents
Preface v
I Off to New-York I
II Your Room and Board 15
III The City on Show 27
IV Fourteen Miles Round 39
V Shopping Round the Town 46
VI The City at Work 68
VII Medical Arts and Wiles 85
VIII Woman's World 92
IX The Social Whirl 103
X Diversions and The Arts 123
XI News and Reviews 135
XII To School? 1 68
XIII The City at Prayer 180
XIV Preserving the Peace 195
XV Be It Enacted by the People 203
XVI Oyez! Oyez! 214
XVII Against Foreign Enemies . . . 228
XVIII Municipal and Social Services . . 238
XIX Inaugurating a Nation 251
Appendix
Acknowledgments .285
The Sources . 287
Bibliography .289
Notes 292
Index 304
Illustrations
General George Washington Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
The City from the Harbor 68
Wall and Water Streets 69
Advertisements from New York City Newspapers,
April 1789 148
Columbia College 149
St. Paul's and the New Presbyterian Meeting . 188
Old Federal Hall and Wall S % treet 189
CHAPTER I
Off to New-York
SETTING out on a journey to New York City in 1789, you
consulted first of all not a timetable but a calendar. You reckoned
on two full days to get from Philadelphia to New York by stage
wagon, at least three days from Albany, and not less than six
days from Boston. And a day's travel usually meant from three or
four o'clock in the morning until ten at night. If you planned
to go by boat, you did not reckon at all; you prayed. And when
the wind favored your prayers, you might count on cutting the
run from Boston to three days and lengthening the trip from
Philadelphia by an additional twelve hours. With a healthy
breeze blowing day and night, which you never got, you could
drop down from Albany inside two days; although with a little
bad luck in the matter of weather it might take you nine to get
back.
Your plans, however, were simplified by the fact that roads and
routes were few, for the good reason there were not many places
to come from. Big cities with five thousand or more inhabitants
were to be found only along the Atlantic coast. A hundred miles
inland population ran thin and, at the first ridges of the Ap-
palachian Mountains, ceased. The largest town west of the
Alleghenies was Pittsburgh, which boasted of perhaps a hundred
and fifty houses, mostly log cabins, and about fifteen hundred
residents and, even then, of smoke. "The Towne," a visitor
described it in 1789, "was the muddiest place that I ever was
in; and by reason of using so much Coal . . . kept in so much
smoke & dust, as to effect the skin of the inhabitants." Beyond
2 This Was New York
Pittsburgh there was nothing but keelboats and pack horses and
Conestoga wagons, laden with settlers and their frying pans and
blankets, going the wrong direction from New York.
If you decided to head for Manhattan by land, you had the
choice of driving your own chaise or taking the stages. In the
first instance you did wisely if you bought a copy of that handy
little book, Christopher Colics' Survey of the Roads of the United
States of America, which appeared in 1789. "A traveller," writes
Mr. Colles, "will here find so plain and circumstantial a de-
scription of the road, it will be impossible for him to miss his
way."
The maps, on a scale of 1 1 /2 inches to a mile, were ingeniously
schematized, much like the guides we moderns employed when
automobiling was a novel adventure. Only the main roads were
drawn in full. Bad hills, bridges, ferries, and such landmarks as
trees growing in the middle of the road were depicted in minia-
ture. A symbol which looked like a gallows, but probably repre-
sented a tavern sign, indicated an inn, and next to it was printed
the name of the host. The symbol of a horseshoe located a black-
smith's shop; and should your horse cast a shoe or your "carriage
be broke," you could decide whether it was shorter to go back-
wards or forwards for repairs. Asterisks denoted gristmills the
gasoline stations of your trip. Other symbols told you the where-
abouts of town halls, jails, and two kinds of churches, Episcopal
and Presbyterian. Important farmhouses and plantations were
duly marked, so "a traveller will have the satisfaction of know-
ing the names of many persons who reside upon the road," a
convenience too when it came to borrowing a bit of harness or
even a little pocket money.
Traveling by stage was probably cheaper; anyway, it was
more general. But before you climbed onto the bench that was
your seat, many details had to be arranged. Packing was a
problem. You could not carry more than fourteen pounds of
baggage free; and for any amount over that, up to each 150
pounds, you paid an extra full fare. "An American," remarks
Off to New-York 3
a French tourist in 1788, "travels with his comb and razor, and
a couple shirts and cravats." Some travelers did, nevertheless,
indulge in the luxury of trunks; and one such trunk, we know
from a lost-and-found advertisement in May 1789, contained "a
dark green coat with plain silver buttons, a green striped waist-
coat, one pair of nankeen and one of black satin breeches, a pair
of silver shoe and knee buckles, seven shirts, seven neck-cloths,
three pair of white silk hose, and sundry pairs of thread hose."
You had only to add some soap, a bottle of Milk of Roses, "very
fine after shaving," and a box of white powder for your hair,
and you were ready to go to the tavern and wait for the horses.
This presumes that you had already arranged for money. Good
currency, ringing coins of full weight, was scarce after the Revolu-
tion; and it was hard to find takers for bad. Therefore, a day
or two before a traveler set forth, he bought a draft or bill of
exchange from the local money broker or private banker or from
some town merchant who did business in New York, leaving
himself only enough cash for fare and living expenses on the road.
One pleasant consequence of the scarcity of passable money was
the almost complete absenc^ of highway robbers; holding up a
stage wagon seldom paid.
Even so, money provided one of the journey's minor vexations
or amusements depending on your temperament. The details
will be spared you until you reach New York and have occasion
to cash your draft. It is enough now to say that merely between
Philadelphia and New York a traveler's pennies changed value
four times. When he set out from Philadelphia, his copper pennies
were worth fifteen to a shilling. By the time he reached Trenton,
they had sunk to thirty; at Princeton they mounted again to
twenty-four; at New Brunswick they climbed to twenty; and on
Broadway it took twenty-one coppers to buy a shilling and, be-
fore the end of the year, forty or more. And he would know, of
course, without being told, that in Georgia five shillings made a
dollar; in Virginia and New England, six shillings; in Maryland,
Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, seven and one half
4 This Was New York
shillings; and in North Carolina and New York, eight shillings
and that the American dollar itself did not exist except as a
figment of bookkeeping, a fictitious standard for reckoning real
money.*
But at this pace you will never get your place bought in the
stage. Fares were usually fourpence (4^) a mile, though rivalry
between competing stage lines sometimes brought this down to
threepence. There was no need to dispute the mileage; for,
years back, Benjamin Franklin had contrived a machine which,
attached to a chaise, had measured off the distance and indicated
where to plant the milestones to be found on all the main roads.
The old roads, however, wound and twisted and shied from steep
hills or deep streams; and the distances between New York and
such towns as Philadelphia, Albany, or Boston were more than
one tenth greater than today.
Your initiation into eighteenth-century travel could, in fact,
begin at no likelier place than Boston, for its post roads were
among the most famous in the land. The advertisements of Levi
Pease, who opened the first "line of stages" to New York as soon
as the redcoats went home in 1 783, notified you to "leave name
and baggage the evening preceding the morning that the stages
set off, at the several places the stages put up, and pay one half
the passage to the place where the first exchange of passengers
is made." That done, you were free to be entertained by your
friends at a farewell dinner which, in view of your prodigious
journey to far-off New York, was elaborate and possibly tearful.
To make things easier, you no doubt suggested that the dinner
be held at Mr. Pease's own tavern, "At the Sign of the New- York
Stage, opposite the Mall," where the stages start; and there was
no need to halt the flow of Madeira or tears in order to sleep.
Why go to bed when you must rise before you have warmed
up the sheets?
Unless otherwise noted, this book will use the New York rate of eight
shillings, or about ninety-six pence, to the dollar that is, standard pence
and not fluctuating copper pieces.
Off to New-York 5
If Josiah Quincy were among the guests to speed your de-
parture, he could warn you what to expect. He went through the
mill the year after the line was opened. He relates:
The journey to New York took up a week. The carriages were
old and shackling, and much of the harness made of ropes. We
generally reached our resting place for the night, if no accident
intervened, at ten o'clock, "and after a frugal supper went to bed
with a notice that we should be called at three the next morning,
which generally proved to be half-past two. Then, whether it
snowed or rained, the traveler must rise and make ready by the
help of a horn-lantern and a farthing candle, and proceed on his
way over bad roads, sometimes with a driver showing no doubtful
symptoms of drunkenness, which goodhearted passengers never
failed to improve at every stopping place by urging upon him an-
other glass of toddy. Thus we traveled, eighteen miles a stage,
sometimes obliged to get out and help the coachman lift the coach
out of a quagmire or rut, and arrived at New York, wondering at
the ease as well as the expedition of our journey.
But that was five years ago, you might protest to Mr. Quincy
hopefully. And if you were up on the latest news from the Ohio
country, you would scorn a New England quagmire. . . . Why,
'way out West, somewhere beyond Harrisburg, there's a whip-
lash sticking up out of the road and, tied to it, a sign: "No
bottom here." A family has been camping near by for three
months; and when the mud dries, they expect to dig up the
whiplash and, under it, their Conestoga wagon and two pair
of horses.
It would have been cheering, though, to have that foreigner,
M. Brissot de Warville, at your farewell dinner. He would have
painted the journey in red-white-and-blue lights. Jacques Pierre
Brissot de Warville was a Frenchman whose republican ideas
impelled him to visit the United States in 1788 with much the
same curiosity, hope, and lenient eye that American radicals once
employed in touring Soviet Russia. "My main object," he said,
'was to examine the effects of liberty upon men, society, and
6 This Was New York
government . . . among a people who had just won their free-
dom." And he found the effects beneficent even in the humble
backyard privies, where "a somewhat lower seat for children
proves how everyone here is concerned with the smallest detail
of education." Making allowances for his enthusiasm, you could
do no better than follow in the tracks of M. Brissot. He too set
out for New York on Levi Pease's line.
Before dawn you mounted the stage a gaily painted wagon
suspended on stout leather straps which served for springs. Its
three benches held six persons; and if you were spry you seized
a place in the rear seat, the only one with a back to it. The four
horses pulled off smartly; and within three hours you had covered
the fifteen miles to Weston, where you breakfasted (for two
shillings) on meats, fish, eggs, pie, and cider. Here, as about
every fifteen miles, two of the horses were changed to little ad-
vantage, as M. Brissot observed, for the new pair were held
down to the jaded pace of the old. Two in the afternoon brought
you another thirty-three miles to Worcester and dinner; and if
you didn't get that back seat, you limped sore and stiff to your
meal.
M. Brissot claims you dined well a Vamericcdne at the United
States Arms, "which was a wooden building with charming
ornamentation." Washington likewise ate there during his East-
ern tour in 1789, after "he politely passed through the town on
horseback" in order "to gratify the inhabitants." By special
arrangement for stage passengers your dinner cost you two shil-
lings ninepence (35^), with an extra beefsteak at one shilling
sixpence (19^), and a bottle of "Champaigne" eased your ach-
ing joints for ten shillings ($1.25).
Travelers differed as sharply about the quality of a meal in a
road tavern as they do now in a dining car. M. Constantin
Volney, the Frenchman who wrote that scandalous anti-Christian
Ruins of Empire, growled that "the whole day passes in heaping
one indigestive mass upon another" and thought the American
diet devastating for anyone but a Tartar. On the other hand,
Off to New-York ^
M. Brissot's favorable verdict deserves respect, for his father
owned a cookshop in Chartres. But no doubt the attitude most
beneficial to digestion was shown by young Thomas Fairfax,
who journeyed from Virginia to Massachusetts in 1799. "I have
often been astonished," he jotted in his travel diary, "to find
such stress laid upon a good or bad dinner, as if that was the first,
which should only be a secondary, object. When we have a
journey on hand, the object in view is the accomplishment of it;
and if we meet with food by the way as often as needful, though
of an ordinary kind, it should be sufficient.'*
With sixty miles for the day's run, you supped and slept in
the new tavern at Spencer. It was only half built, but its cleanli-
ness delighted M. Brissot because "that means a degree of well-
being and of moral and delicate habits" never seen in the villages
of monarchical France. "The rooms were neat, the beds good, the
sheets clean, the supper decent: cider, tea, punch, and all for two
shillings a head." Sleep, the little there was of it, cost one shilling
in a single bed and sixpence more in a double; and if travel was
light or the tavern commodious, you had a bedroom all to your-
self.
A new stage owner greeted you at four o'clock of the second
morning, for Mr. Pease's "line" was an interlocking service con-
ducted by several hands. The new wagon had neither straps
thoroughbraces they were called nor springs; and, like M.
Brissot, you soon learned why. The rough and steep roads fifty
miles of them beyond Spencer would have broken the best
springs a smith could forge. Even Washington in his de-luxe
coach called "the part crossing the hills very bad." To M. Brissot's
terror, as the wagon plunged down the first hill he discovered it
had no brakes, either, nor chain or drag to lock the wheels. But
that too was Yankee thrift : huge stones and boulders in the road
made progress down hill as slow and safe as up.
Following a ride of an hour and a half in the dark to whet
your appetite, you breakfasted in Brookfield at "one Hitchcock's,"
as Washington called it. Here you read the gazettes, as M. Brissot
8 This Was New York
did, "while waiting for the broiled and roast meats, the tea and
coffee, which all told cost ten pence in Massachusetts money
Then came the twenty-mile stretch down the rocky valley of
the Quaboag, where if the horses showed speed you bounced
like corn in a popper. At North Wilbraham, while the spent team
was changed, you could recompose yourself by "baiting" at the
Bliss Tavern, another stopping place of Washington's. "Baiting"
meant anything less than serious eating and drinking, so call it a
dish of bacon and beef, a turkey leg, and three rum flips.
Beyond North Wilbraham the road, dropping into the Con-
necticut valley, was excellent. "We started off like lightning,"
said M. Brissot, "and arrived at Springfield, ten miles, in an hour
and a quarter." The lightning effect may perhaps be credited
to rum flips.
In Springfield you dined, around two o'clock as usual, at
Zeno Parson's place. Then you were ferried across the river,
wagon and all, on a flat-bottomed scow; and you discovered you
had to pay your own toll extra. If dinner and the ferry did not
consume more than a couple of hours, you reached the Adams
Tavern in Hartford by nine-thirty, ready for supper and bed,
with sixty-three miles to the day's credit. And your brief sleep
was sweetened by dreams of the beauties of Connecticut, which
M. Brissot called "the paradise of the United States."
Thus day followed day; and if you had M. Brissot' s luck, the
fourth midnight after leaving Boston you rolled up to the feebly
lighted door of Sam Fraunces 3 tavern in Cortlandt Street, New
Yori, the terminal of the Boston and the Albany stages. But M.
Brissot traveled in midsummer, when roads and weather were
at their best. If you intended to be in New York for Washington's
inauguration on April 30, as you should, for it was quite an
event, the ice and mud and rain of the season would add a
good two days to the journey. Coming up to New York by stage
from Alexandria the following spring, Thomas Jefferson found
Off to New-York 9
"the roads so bad that we could not go more than three miles an
hour, sometimes not more than two, and in the night but one."
For stage passengers, however, time never hung heavy. The
boredom born of Pullman comfort was unknown. Every turn of
the road invited speculation as to its rocks, mire, sand, grade, and
hazards. Every new passenger brought a store of local news;
indeed, M. Brissot sat entranced at the democratic freedom with
which a shoemaker talked with so exalted a personage as a con-
gressman. Every new driver meant the negotiation of fresh
diplomatic relations, concluded over toddy. Every new team of
horses evoked lengthy technical appraisals. Every steep hill gave
you the occasion to be kind to dumb animals, and likewise to
yourself, by stretching your legs as you walked on ahead and
then waited for the stage to catch up with you at the top. Every
breakdown enabled you to air your cleverness or display your
muscular tone.
The blacksmiths and stableboys, the millers and ferrymen, the
postmasters and innkeepers, the villagers who crowded around
the incoming stage, were to be depended upon for diversion. The
folks you passed on the highway always provided a subject for
gossip; and sometimes among them you encountered history,
as M. Brissot did when he met, near Hartford, a caravan of
wagons filled with household goods, and children playing on the
mattresses, and men and women walking alongside. " 'Where are
you going?' I asked them. 'Down on the Ohio/ they answered
gaily. I wished them a safe journey with all my heart. Before
they would reach their destination they had eleven hundred miles
to walk." When rain or snow or night shut up the world, the
leather curtains were dropped snug and tight, and you drowsed
on your bench, aware of nothing but the bite and crunch of the
wheels, the thud of hoofs, the snap of a spark struck from a stone;
and if you slept, with your chin on your breast, you slept like the
dead, for without back or head rest, sleep came only with ex-
haustion.
io This Was New York
Landmarks were long anticipated and, when they hove in
sight, greeted with delight: the great East Rock cliff, which
heralded the approach to New Haven; the church spire of Strat-
ford, which led you to prepare for the dangerous crossing of the
Housatonic River on a round-bottomed boat so narrow that the
wheels of the stage hung over its sides; the rocky "staircase"
plunge of the road at Horseneck (now Greenwich), scene of
General Putnam's leap into fame; the sawmill and bridge on the
Byram River, which meant that it was not far to Mrs. Haviland's
tavern in Rye, and Haviland's meant, says Washington, "a very
neat and decent inn," and M. Brissot adds that it meant "an
infinitely gracious hostess" and her "well-built and well-bred
daughter who fingers the piano forte very nicely." As you bowled
up and down dale through the farm lands of Manhattan, the
first glimpse of the cupola of the new Federal Hall lifting above
the Bowery hills was the final thrill. Unless, of course, your best
girl drove out to greet you at the Kissing Bridge over Saw Mill
Creek (where Third Avenue now crosses Seventy-seventh Street),
five miles from town.
The gateways of Manhattan were various. Travelers from
Boston and Albany way crossed Spuyten Duyvil Creek over a
makeshift pontoon structure on the site of the old Kings-bridge,
which had been destroyed by the British; and they refreshed
themselves at either Halsey's tavern on the north bank or at
Hyatt's on the south or at both. Washington preferred Hyatt's.*
Two ferry lines plied between New York and the village of
Brooklyn: the more popular one from the Fly Market Stairs
at the foot of Maiden Lane, and the other from Peck Slip at
the end of filthy Ferry Street. The fares ran from twopence a
person up to one shilling sixpence for an ox and two shillings for
a coach; and you were liable to get a wild ride for your money
the oared barges and tiny two-masted piraguas used in the service
*After eating or sleeping in a score of inns on a single trip merely between
Boston and New York, you were not surprised that there was hardly an
American tavern which had not fed or bedded the father of his country and
the most energetic traveler of his day.
Off to New-York n
were playthings in a heavy sea. Six hours were sometimes spent
in crossing. Commuters to New Jersey, however, drowned more
frequently. A stage from Brooklyn to Jamaica summed up the
public transportation system of Long Island.
Up the Hudson rowboats furnished casual service to Fort
Lee, to Bull's Ferry Road in North Bergen, and from Greenwich
village to the neighborhood of Weehawken. Down in New York
proper, open boats and piraguas signaling their departure with
the shriek of a conch shell and the ferryman's cry "O-v-e-r!"
plowed from the foot of Vesey Street to "Hobuck" and from
Cortlandt Street to Paulus Hook, now Jersey City. The passage
on the latter and more patronized line was sixpence. Something
of the terrors aroused by the Hudson in stormy weather may be
read in a letter written by Mrs. Aaron Burr after her husband
set off for Jersey City: "Every breath of wind whistled terror,
every noise at the door was mingled with fear of thy perserverance,
when Brown arrived with the word embarked, the wind high, the
water rough. ... A tedious hour elapsed when our son was the
joyful messenger of thy safe landing at Paulus Hook." Yet these
perils had to be faced, for all traffic west and south lay across
the river or the bay.
Westward there was but a single line. From the little stone
ferryhouse up the path above the wharf at Paulus Hook you
boarded a stage at six in the morning for Morristown, N. J., and
arrived there around three in the afternoon fare, one dollar.
Travel between New York and Philadelphia was heaviest of all.
Whereas stages ran only thrice a week to Boston, they left for
Philadelphia twice every weekday and once on Sunday; and there
were, in addition, a number of land-and-water routes. The main
daily stage lines took you from Paulus Hook either through
Newark and Trenton, with tedious ferries over six rivers, or
through Staten Island, Woodbridge, and Camden, with five
ferries but greater mileage; and they deposited you at Market
and Second streets, Philadelphia, on the second evening or third
morning.
12 This Was New York
By Boston-line standards these stages were imposing: four-
seated wagons holding twelve persons. But taverns were dearer
than in New England. M. Brissot paid fifty cents, "Philadelphia
money," for a dinner in Trenton and thought it exorbitant, "con-
sidering that little wine is served and the food comes from local
markets." A friend of Samuel B. Webb made the journey in May
of 1789 and, not being a touring French liberal, was freer still
in his criticism: "Where I had been taught to expect a bowling-
green road and most excellent inns, judge my surprise to find
roads so deep and cut to pieces that the wheels sunk to the hubs
. . . and nothing to eat but what would poison the Devil. All the
way to Princeton, to say nothing of the Ferrys (which are in-
famous and extravagant) the roads are intolerable." But two
days brought the torment to a happy end. "I've ordered chickens
and asparagus for Supper," he wrote from his Philadelphia inn,
"for upon my first entrance in this City Tavern I saw fifty
chickens, big enough, and crying 'Come toast me! 5 " As you may
have guessed and as young John Davis, an Englishman, dem-
onstrated and recorded a few years later, it was cheaper, pleas-
anter, and almost as quick to walk.
Where Mr. Webb's friend was eating chicken, strange things
had recently happened, of which he and his generation were
nearly as unaware as were the chickens they ate. Every genera-
tion is blessed with a similar blindness; our own played ragtime
and bragged about the new Twentieth Century Limited while
curious doings took place in a desert spot on the Atlantic coast
called Kitty Hawk. Just so, on the Delaware between Phila-
delphia and Burlington in 1788 a scow had run back and forth
time and again by steam. No one cared, those who saw and
knew laughed; and John Fitch took his own life by poison out
in the wilderness of Kentucky and died, thankfully, long years
before his momentous invention was appropriated and exploited
by that ballyhoo artist, Robert Fulton.
But even before steam some of the discomforts of stage travel
could be avoided by taking a boat part way if you were willing
Off to New-York 13
to cast your schedule literally to the winds. Every Saturday morn-
ing a skiff left Coenties Slip (near the present Pearl and Broad
streets) for New Brunswick and might reach port the same eve-
ning; and something like a ferry line undertook to land you daily
in Elizabethtown; and from either place you could proceed south
by stage.
For the main land-and-water route you may consult the an-
nouncement of John Rattoone in your morning's copy of the
Daily Advertiser:
NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA
STAGES THROUGH SOUTH -AM BOY, BORDEN-TOWN & BURLINGTON
The proprietors of the stages respectfully inform the public, that
a commodious stage-boat will set off from the bason of the Albany
Pier in New- York, four days each week, to-wit, on Mondays,
Wednesdays, Thursdays, & Fridays, for South- Amboy; at which
place convenient waggons with careful drivers will set out on
Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, & Saturday mornings at 3 o'clock for
Borden-Town & Burlington (each place to be taken alternately) .
At which place a commodious boat will, on their arrival, proceed
the same day to Philadelphia; by which means they are but little
longer in performing the route, than the land stages, and at less
than half the expencc the fare of each passenger, in specie, from
New- York to Philadelphia, is 135 Goods at gs.6d. per cwt.
JOHN RATTOONE
In addition you needed merely to know that the Albany Pier
was at the tip of the island between Whitehall and Broad, that
thirteen shillings meant $1.63, and that "a little longer in per-
forming the route" meant any number of hours or days. Young
Thomas Fairfax voyaged from Norfolk to within sight of New
York Harbor in four days, and then spent ten more in being
blown backwards off the Jersey coast.
However, packet boats were often, as Mr. Rattoone advertises,
"commodious." Consequently they were the favorite means of
travel between New York and New Haven, Newport, Providence,
14 This Was New York
and thence Boston. On the Providence run, M. Brissot found
the boat clean and well-managed.
The cabin contained fourteen berths in two tiers, one row above
the other. Each berth had its own little window. The cabin was
well-ventilated and nicely varnished, so you had nothing of those
vile smells which haunt the packets of the English channel. Two
small spaces were cleverly enclosed in the poop to serve as privies.
The crew consisted of the captain, two sailors, and a negro cook.
The food was good. All I could complain of was the lethargy
habitual to seamen.
The fare was about seven dollars, including berth and meals.
Before paying your money, though, it were well to weigh the
risks. After having to wait over a day in Providence because
"the captain hadn't finished loading his boat," M. Brissot en
route from Boston to New York spent eight hours sailing the
thirty miles to Newport. There contrary winds condemned him
to wait six days; "I would have died of boredom without my
books, pen, and ink. 55 * Samuel B. Webb "boarded Capt. Clark"
in New Haven at eight o'clock of a Monday evening, struck a
head wind Tuesday about twenty miles from Hell Gate, and did
not land in New York until one o'clock in the afternoon on
Wednesday forty-one hours to cover some seventy miles. Shoe
leather would have fetched him quicker. On one return trip to
Boston in the winter of '89 he encountered head winds, gale, and
fog, and after an all-night's drive from Providence arrived on the
fifth day, "without having had four hours quiet sleep" from the
time he left New York.
Taking it all in all, if you were off to New York for the in-
auguration, walking was probably best.
*M. Brissot died in a different manner. A victim of his devotion to liberty,
he was guillotined in Robespierre's purge of October 31, 1793.
CHAPTER II
Your Room and Board
ANY street urchin could guide you to the few large hostelries
of the city and lug your bag as you strolled from the stage office or
dock to look them over. Perhaps, scanning the newspaper while
coming in, your eye had caught the notice in the Daily Advertiser:
"John Francis informs the public that he has removed from No.
3 to No. 49 Great Dock street, the corner house formerly kept
by Samuel Fraunces, where gentlemen may be accommodated
with genteel board and lodging." Samuel Fraunces "Black"
Sam, the best cook in town was now steward in President
Washington's household, and his wife ran the tavern on Cort-
landt Street where the stage lines terminated; but John did well
by you at that "corner house" (still standing) on Broad and
Pearl. Toasting before one of its fourteen fireplaces, you were
served good fare from its "most excellent large kitchen" and
good cheer from its "fine dry cellars." Then as now you were
invited to gaze with caught breath at the "long room" where
Washington bade farewell to his officers when the Revolutionary
War was won.
Tops, however, was the City Tavern. This was a two-story
building, once James De Lancey's mansion, on Broadway just
north of Trinity Church. Its many names Province Arms,
Burns's, Bolton's, Hull's, Cape's, State Arms, City Arms were
still remembered. Memories, too, of the patriotic rallies in its
"long room" and of famous duels, routs, concerts, dancing as-
semblies, theatricals, and state dinners endeared it to the city's
heart. Also, the stables were spacious stalls for fifty horses.
15
16 This Was New York
"My name is Benjamin Franklin. I was bora in Boston. I am
a printer by profession, am traveling to Philadelphia, shall have
to return at such a time, and have no news. Now, what can you
give me for dinner?" Such was the way Franklin used to intro-
duce himself, "as the first step for his tranquility," when he
entered an inn. It forestalled an endless inquisition and brought
"immediate attention."
If you followed these tactics at the City Tavern, and if you
didn't have an eighteenth-century appetite, the landlord, Mr.
Edward Bardin, would likely stagger you with his bill of fare. A
first-class house provided the usual butcher-shop round of fowl
and meats and, in addition, game that was no less plentiful and
cheap venison, bear steaks, wild turkey, wild ducks, wild pi-
geons besides oysters, lobsters, terrapin, soups, plain and meat
puddings, vegetables, and desserts.
While dinner was preparing, you looked over the appoint-
ments for the guests, mentally comparing them with the best you
knew elsewhere. The City Tavern had, of course, its parlor for
ladies, its taproom for gentlemen, with an almanac, the city
directory, and the newspapers on file, its dining rooms and card-
rooms. It boasted two "long rooms" the name was borrowed
from the Indian term for a council lodge for public functions
and monumental banquets. Perhaps Mr. Bardin, in competition
with Mr. Francis, tried to catch your breath with an account
of the last monumental dinner in his tavern, when, in celebration
of the American victory and in honor of General Washington,
his officers and the French minister, 120 guests consumed
135 bottles of Madeira, thirty-six bottles of port, sixty bottles of
English beer, and thirty-six bowls of punch and broke eight de-
canters and sixty wineglasses.
For your personal needs you expected and enjoyed com-
fort without gadgets. Aside from the pump and its handle prob-
ably the only piece of machinery in the City Tavern was the spit
driven by the draft of the kitchen chimney. The pump, moreover,
did not supply drinking water, which was delivered daily in
Your Room and Board 17
hogsheads from the Tea- Water well, up on Chatham Street.
However, according to season, you were warmed or cooled by the
two most effective systems ever devised by man. In winter the
rooms were warmed by an open fire or a Franklin stove, and the
air was circulated and humidified by a goodly number of chinks
and cracks around the doors and windows. In summer the guests
themselves were cooled and air-conditioned by the application
of corn-leaf fans and iced rum punch.
When you retired for the night you called for a candle and, in
winter, a warming pan. If you were delicate or suffered from cold
feet, a hot brick wrapped in flannel or a lank jug of hot water
was at your command. During the night you controlled the tem-
perature as we do today, by piling the blankets on or off; and in
the morning you got a pitcher of hot water by shouting for it
loud enough. Bathing was simple. When the occasion arose you
ordered, a few hours in advance, a hot tub in your room. Or you
walked to Henry Ludlam's bathhouse at the foot of Liberty Street
and enjoyed fresh, salt, hot, or cold water for four shillings (50^)
admission.
In all likelihood, though, your stay at the City Tavern or any
other large hostelry was brief. The rates were high seven dollars
a week for room and board; and the influx of strangers during
the inaugural year taxed the capacity of the leading inns. M.
Pecquet, a French innkeeper at Philadelphia, bragged that his
tavern was "not like an American-run house"; that he did not
put twelve beds in one room, but that every lodger had a room
to himself. And he added: "At my place you don't have to get
out of bed, comme chez les americdns, to go to the window, for
Jeanette never forgets the chamber pot." The chambermaids of
New York were undoubtedly no less attentive; Philadelphia
taverns, in fact, had a reputation for untidiness and for the
multiplicity of bedfellows, not all of the human variety. Still,
most visitors who intended to remain any length of time con-
gressmen and other government dignitaries put up at boarding-
houses.
i8 This Was New York
Close at hand on Broadway, a moment's walk with your lug-
gage, were the boardinghouses of Mrs. Sebring, Mrs. McCullen,
the widow Culley, and the widow Bailey. But perhaps politics
determined your choice. If you wanted to hear good sound
conservative views at your breakfast table you put up at Mrs.
Dunscomb's, No. 15 Great Dock (now Pearl) Street. There you
enjoyed the company of Theodore Sedgwick, Fisher Ames, and
other Massachusetts members of the new Congress. Besides hear-
ing Mr. Ames decry pure democracy, with oratorical allusions
to "Shays' mob, 33 and expose the "extravagant hypothesis 33 of
those who "considered the war with Britain as involving the fate
of liberty/ 3 you might gather lucrative hints on. how to speculate
in paper money. The same advantages could be had at Mrs. Mary
Daubigny's boardinghouse, No. 15 Wall Street, one of the best
in the town, for gentlemen only, and patronized by a party of
Southern congressmen. If, however, you were radical-minded and
eager to know what farmers and backwoodsmen thought of Mr.
Hamilton and his money schemes, you sought the company of
Senator William Maclay, a gouty and rock-ribbed democrat
from the Pennsylvania frontier above Harrisburg, who lodged
at Vandalsen's, near Bear Market at the foot of Vesey Street,
and, later in the year, with the Rev. Dr. Kunze, 24 Chatham
Row.
If Mrs. Daubigny had no room, you could try Mrs. Cuyler's,
Mrs. Sheldon's or Johannah Van Brugh Ursin's places, all on
Wall Street in the heart of good society and right thinking and
all within a stone's throw of Joseph Corre, the town's leading
confectioner. Board and room cost four or five dollars a week
(wood was extra at four dollars a cord and almost double for
slow-burning hickory) . The better-class houses set a table laden
with seven to nine dishes and four sorts of liquor. And, as usual,
people complained in the newspapers that the prices were too
high, that unfair advantage was taken of congressmen, Federal
jobhunters and tourists, and that the boardinghouse keepers
were injuring themselves and the city.
Your Room and Board 19
Lodgings without board were naturally available, as a glance
at newspapers told you. Peter Byvanck advertised "a front room
and a bed room" at No. 75 King (Pine) Street, where "dieting
may be had in the family" in the event the house were not rented.
But you may sample these offers yourself:
TWO ROOMS, to be Let, a front parlour, and bedroom,
furnished or unfurnished, situated a few doors below the
Federal building. Enquire of the Printer. March 5.
There might be something to write home about in rooming a
few doors from that balcony on Wall Street where, the following
month, the first President of the United States took his oath
of office.
TO BE LET,
And entered the ist May next,
A Genteel House,
WITHIN five minutes walk of the Federal Building, fit
for three or four gentlemen of Congress, with or without
stabling for four horses, furnished or unfurnished For
further particulars, enquire of Mr. Huck, corner of Wall
and Smith streets, or of the printer hereof. March 5.
Mr. Michael Huck kept a first-rate tavern and was already board-
ing a number of congressmen.
To be Let,
TWO elegant Front ROOMS, one on the first and the
other on the second floor, and a BED ROOM, in a genteel
new house. Enquire at No. 32, Beekman-street. April 20.
Beekman Street sounds dubious. This was getting close to the
tan vats of Jacobus Roosevelt and the district known as Beek-
man's Swamp.
TO BE LET, two handsome furnished Rooms, pleasantly
situated, near the Coffee House. Enquire of the Printer.
May 5.
20 This Was New York
To be near the Coffee House had, as you will shortly learn, many
advantages.
And now, in conclusion, something ambitious :
TO BE LET, a House in Cherry Street, No. 6, three stories
high, seven fire places, a pump & cistern in the yard, a
handsome garden, with a large yard. April 20.
But you are not prepared to lease and furnish an entire house?
Too bad. Three days later George Washington moved into No. 3.
Possibly you came to New York on business. In that case you
lodged as near as you could to the tavern that catered to men
in your line. Cattle dealers and their allies in the leather, glue,
tallow, wool, and meat trades gathered at the Bull's Head, 'way
up Bowery Lane on the edge of town (near the present Canal
Street). It was the last stop of the stages bound for Albany or
Boston. The cattle market was close by, and it would pay you
to ask the landlord, Richard Varian, to introduce you in the
taproom to Butcher Henry Ashdor. Mr. Ashdor was an in-
genious German immigrant who invented the "pernicious prac-
tice" of riding far out on the post road to meet the incoming
drovers and bought the best of the stock ahead of his competitors
and thus obliged them to purchase from him at an extra profit.
Mr. Henry Ashdor was soon to own the Bull's Head. "And how
is your brother Jacob doing?" "Jacob, he sells piano fortes and
beaver pelts. The pianos are slow, but I think he'll do well
with the furs." Jacob Astor will.
Mercantile and big business centered in the Merchants' Coffee
House, kept by the Widow Bradford, at the corner of Wall and
Water. Within its doors real estate, ships, cargoes, wholesale
merchandise, and Negro slaves exchanged owners at "public
vendue." Shares in Western land grants, insurance ventures, and
factory mills or a flier in "Jersey money" were to be snapped up
any noon hour. Where there are businessmen, lawyers will be
found; and Alexander Hamilton, whose office was up the street
at No. 58 Wall, or Aaron Burr, whose shingle hung at Nassau
Your Room and Board 21
and Little Queen (Cedar), could always be consulted over a
cup of Widow Bradford's coffee if it were properly sweetened.
Besides the public prints, including London and Paris news-
papers, a specialty of the Coffee House was its marine register.
In it were entered the names of ships and captains on their ar-
rival, the ports they hailed from, the vessels they "spoke" to
on their voyage, and any other important item from the log
a valuable service to merchants and voyagers or whoever awaited
news from the sea when Europe lay six to twelve weeks away.
The mere business of writing or receiving letters made it con-
venient for you to adopt a well-known tavern and live close to
its door. A taproom, with its whale-oil lamps or fat candles, its
blazing fire, and its other stimulants, was always a more cheerful
place to write in than a boardinghouse bedroom; and something
of its warmth would suffuse your letters home. In all history,
though, there has never been a public pen a man could write
with; and you will buy your own supply of quills from Francis
Turner, quillmaker, at 93 Queen (Pearl) Street: cheap ones,
four shillings (50^) a hundred, and the finest, fifteen shillings.
Any reputable tavern would seal and post the results.
Receiving mail in the days before there were letter carriers was
an art. Here, again, a prominent tavern provided an address
that usually worked, and the porter spared you from haunting
the post office. Should you insist, however, upon attending to
your mail personally, be advised that up till October 5 of '89
the post office was at No. 8 Wall Street, William Bedlow, post-
master; after this date it was moved to the house of the new
postmaster, Sebastian Bauman, at Broadway and Crown (Lib-
erty) Street; and a howl was raised against its remote location.
For the greater part of the year Philadelphia and Southern mail
arrived three days a week at 3:00 P.M. and departed on another
three days at 10:00 P.M. Boston and other Eastern mail arrived
the same number of days at 7 : oo P.M. and closed at 8 : oo P.M.
Postage was enormous ten cents a single letter sheet from
New York to Philadelphia, and thirty-three cents to Savannah.
22 This Was New York
Fortunately there were only seventy-five post offices in the whole
country on which to spend your money six in all New Jersey.
Fortunately, too, you could run a charge account with Postmaster
Bedlow, and you had months to pay. This may help explain why
in the last quarter of 1 789 the total receipts of the New York City
Post Office were $1,067.08. And with the best part of tavern
life still to be tasted, you would waste, more precious than money,
your hours and they could seem endless waiting at Mr. Bed-
low's for the Boston post rider who was himself undergoing re-
pairs in some taproom beyond Kingsbridge.
After all, a tavern was chiefly a place to eat and drink in. You
have already learned something of the substantial meals served
at the City Tavern. M. Brissot is more explicit. A good American
table provided "hot and cold punch before dinner, excellent beef
or mutton, fish, vegetables of all kinds, Madeira or Spanish
wines, and, in summer, claret." Spruce beer and cider, though,
took the lead over wine. A porter brewed near Philadelphia was
"as good as England's best," and there were "delicious cheeses
which rivalled Chester and Roquefort." Desserts included ice
creams, fool's trifles, floating islands, whipped syllabubs, and
"twenty sorts of tarts." Still there were drawbacks. The milk
which M. Brissot was amazed to see "drunk in large quantities"
tasted of garlic, owing to the prevalence of this weed on Long
Island. Senator Lee of Virginia complained of the loaf sugar:
it was mixed with lime and other vile adulterants; he had "broken
a spoon trying to dissolve it."
The local cuisine was famous for its turtle soup and its oysters.
In summer turtle feasts were held at the country houses up the
East River; and, as every participant knew, while water may be
the native, Madeira was the divine predestined element of a
turtle. Oysters and clams abounded in the waters surrounding
the city. They had been the source of wampum, the currency
of the original inhabitants, whose chief mint was Oyster Bay.
And in the eighteenth century they were a staple food, to be had
for the mere digging, of the common people or such as could
Your Room and Board 23
not afford six cents a pound for beef. In name, at least, one of
America's most characteristic dishes originated on Manhattan;
sickquatash the Indians called their mixture of corn and beans,
which Sir Henry Hudson said they stored in quantities "sufficient
to fill three ships."
A serious dinner, carefully ordered in advance, meant a cargo
with deep draught and took a lot of liquid to keep afloat. Brillat-
Savarin, who lived in New York during the 17908, describes the
course of such a meal with two Englishmen at Little's Porter
House. The solids consisted of an enormous roast beef, a turkey
cuit dans son jus, vegetables, salad, tarts, buttered toast, cheese,
and nuts. The liquids began with claret. After the claret came
port. After port, Madeira "at which we stuck a long time." After
the wines came rum, brandy, and whisky with song. After the
straight spirits, Michael Little, the landlord himself, brought in
a bowl of punch "sufficient for forty persons." Finally the English-
men, singing "Rule, Britannia" to the last, foundered beneath
the table; and M. Brillat-Savarin attributed his victory to "eating
a quantity of bitter almonds, recommended for such occasions."
It would be hopeless for you to undertake a comprehensive
tavern-crawl of the city. In the directory of 1789, 169 taverns and
public houses appeared; but the directory must have ignored
the common run of grogshops and ginmills, for there were 330
licensed drinking places more than one to every hundred in-
habitants. It should suffice you to know where to find the best
resorts and the "hot spots." Little's Porter House, at No. 56 Pine
Street, was one. This was the "Friary" or rendezvous of the
Black Friars, the only society in town which did not hide its
intention of having a good time under a charitable or political
cloak. If you were of the right sort, an introduction by the
"Father" or by the secretary, John Fisher, would no doubt en-
able you to procure a ticket to one of its biweekly "festivals."
Captain Aaron Aorson's tavern at Nassau and George (now
Spruce) was another. That is, if you didn't tire of hearing the
captain talk about the war and tell how, fighting at his side,
24 This Was New York
Montgomery dropped dead, pierced with three bullets, and the
storming of Quebec failed and Canada was still lost to the States.
John Simmons' huge bulk loomed Falstaffian behind the service
bar of his. tavern at Nassau and Wall. You would be sure to
find him there, because when he did finally leave they had to
tear down the wall between the door and window to allow room
for the passage of the coffin. At Nassau and Ann streets was
Jonathan Pearsee's taproom, and at Nassau and John streets
was John Battin's; in fact, you did very well on Nassau. Then
there was Rawson's, at No. 82 Water Street, good for a quick
glass between watching the auction sales which centered in that
neighborhood. And there was no need for slighting the City
Tavern, the Merchants' Coffee House, Sam Fraunces, John
Francis, late of "The True American," or Michael Huck, al-
ready mentioned. After a bracing walk past the open lots out
Broadway to Murray Street across from the Bridewell, Poor-
house (or Almshouse) and Prison you arrived at the sign of
the Two Friendly Brothers, better known as Montagnie's Gar-
dens, where it would be time for you to quit or begin ordering
bitter almonds.
On this pilgrimage you oiled your way with potions as varied,
outlandish, and prevalent as modern cocktails. Rum was the
preferred base. Mimbo generally called Mim was rum and
loaf sugar and occasionally water. Calibogus Bogus for short
was rum and beer. Black-strap Josiah Quincy said he wished
the recipe for it reposed among the lost arts was made prin-
cipally of rum, molasses, and herbs. Casks of this "most out-
rageous of all detestable American drinks" had salt fish hanging
alongside, at once to kill the flavor and to provoke an encore.
Punch was the most popular of elegant drinks, the kind Mr.
Quincy could not scorn. Varying with its contents, it brandished
as many names personal, geographic, nonsensical, and romantic
as our cocktails. Five ingredients were fundamental: spirits,
fruit juice, sugar, spice, and water hot or cold. The spirits
were commonly rum or brandy or both. The lemon, orange, and
Your Room and Board 25
lime juice tourings as well as pineapple juice were imported
in casks and demijohns. Shrub, the sweetened juices sometimes
already mixed with rum, landed in hogsheads. The sugar was
brown muscovado for light purses and double-refined loaf for
discriminating palates. In New York it was healthier and quite
as orthodox to use boiled tea instead of water. New Yorkers
also liked to substitute arrack for rum; and if you liked it too,
you called for a Rack punch. A good-natured landlord might
give you his recipe, but you may as well be forewarned with the
following standard: "Sugar, twelve tolerable lumps; hot water,,
one pint; lemons, two, juice and peel; old Jamaica rum, two
gills [half a pint]; brandy, one gill; porter, half a gill; arrack,
a dash." Add the ingredients in the order named.* Stir con-
tinuously and, if you pleased, hard enough to make the drink
foam. One last essential, which holds true for all cookery: "A
man can never make good punch unless he is convinced that no
man breathing can make better."
Flip shared the popularity of punch, and if you came from
New England you certainly demanded it. Whereupon a quart-
size pewter mug or earthen pitcher was two-thirds filled with
strong beer sweetened with sugar or dried pumpkin. To this
was added a quarter-pint of rum. Then a red-hot poker, called
a loggerhead, was plunged and stirred into the brew which, if
possible, you drank while it foamed and mantled. A few spoon-
fuls of a batter made of cream, eggs, and sugar gave the flip,
under the name "Bellows-top," something of the character of
a Tom-and- Jerry.
Other congenial drams which have survived this last century
and a half toddy, grog, sling, eggnog need no gloss. Whisky
was used in the South, which had already elaborated the julep;
but it had hardly as yet come over the Alleghenies to New York.
Cherry bounce cherry brandy with sugar held the field.
*This should be obvious. As an Irish scientist long ago observed, if you
put in the spirits first, every added drop of water worsens the drink ; whereas,
if you begin with the water, every drop of liquor you pour makes it better
and better.
26 This Was New York
Of wines the true rival to punch Madeira was king. But
all the heavy or fortified wines of Spain, Portugal, and the
Azores were to be found on any decent wine list. Sherry, vidonia,
red and white port, Lisbon, Malaga, Teneriffe, Fayal, London
Particular (Madeira), Old Mountain, and Old Malvosio filled
the tavern cellars with pipes, butts, hogsheads, and quarter-casks;
and- what pleasanter task than to order the potboy to fetch
you a pitcher and pour it before the beads melted into the smoky
air! If you may believe the advertisement of Jos6 Roiz Silva, a
pillar of the newly opened Catholic church, his white port of '77
was "of a superior quality to any ever imported to this country."
Light wine claret, red Catalonia, tent, tentillia lacked de-
mand except in summer when, diluted with lemon water, spiced,
and cooled, it was sipped by ladies and young sprouts under the
name of sangaree. Still Aaron Burr set great store by tent, a
Spanish claret, and "despaired" of getting the genuine article.
But when spring comes, Jefferson will bring some from abroad.
London porter, three and a half dozen bottles to the hamper,
stood between the butts and pipes of a good tavern cellar, and
imported draught porter in barrels. Appleby & Matlack, whose
brewery lay "nearly opposite the Tea- Water pump," satisfied
cheaper tastes in local ale and in "Spruce, Table, and Ship. . . ."
But we are not chronicling small beer.
CHAPTER III
The City on Show
TOR a session of six months," said grouchy Senator Maclay of
Pennsylvania, "I have passed the threshold of no citizen of New
York. I was never in so inhospitable a place." Yet not a month
later, when he had finished packing his baggage, ready, together
with Congress, to leave for good, he wrote in his diary: "The
allurements of New York are more than ten to two compared
with Philadelphia." It is idle to try to discover why the senator
changed his mind. Certainly neither the size nor the looks of
the town, smaller and drabber than the Quaker capital, were
responsible. Nor had the doors of society opened to him. He
left as he came and as millions of its residents have felt since
a stranger. It could hardly have been "the fragrant odours
from the apple orchards and buckwheat fields" which, for a
week or two, blew in from the Jersey shore, about the only
pleasant smell that ever greeted the nostrils of a native. All we
can be sure of is that even in the crudities of its awkward age,
untidy and gangling, the city possessed what no words can convey
and what we still call the lure of New York.
In truth the New York of 1789 had little tangible to brag
about. Its 30,000 inhabitants ranked it second for size in the
country. Philadelphia, the largest city, numbered perhaps 40,000,
while Boston trailed third with about 16,000. But New York
was already cosmopolitan. Many of the peoples that were to
make it great were, in rubbing shoulders, rubbing away the
provincialism and smugness that survived, for example, in New
England.
a;
28 This Was New York
The Dutch were still going strong, even if they had long ceased
to rule. Shop signs were frequently in Dutch; in Bear Market,
the resort of the farmers from Jersey, a knowledge of the language
was almost indispensable; and it was to resound for years to
come in the pulpits of the Collegiate Church. One half the
aldermen elected in the fall of '89 had Dutch names. Jews,
English, French, Germans, Scotch, and Irish had moved in on
the Dutch roughly in the order cited, beginning with the Jews
in 1654; and there was a sprinkling of Welsh, Poles, Portuguese,
and West Indians. Trade, persecution, poverty, and, lately, the
Revolutionary War had brought them, as all subsequent im-
migrants, through the Narrows into a new and wider life. Hardly
to be classed as an immigrant, one out of every fourteen New
Yorkers was a Negro slave. Bond and free, the Negroes comprised
about one tenth of the population. Among these multiple breeds
the English predominated; but down almost any business street
the names of the tradesmen or artisans James Roosevelt, Isaac
Levy, Baptiste Gilliaux, Christopher Baehr, Collin M'Gregor,
William Mooney, John Jones, Richard Cusack, David Cation,
Francis Panton, Jose Roiz Silva read like an all-American foot-
ball team.
Sight-seeing did not need to take long. There wasn't far to go
or much for a sophisticated eye to see. A mile above the Battery,
Broadway ran into open fields, which were bounded by swamps
and the oozing outlets of the Collect Pond. On the East Side a
stroll of little more than a mile along the present Pearl and
Cherry streets ended in Mr. Rutger's farm and more swamp.
Up the center of Manhattan, less than a mile from Wall Street,
the Bull's Head tavern and the neighboring slaughterhouse
marked the beginning of rural life. Even allowing for the miser-
able condition of the streets and reckoning in the hills, a half-
hour was the limit of a walk in any one direction.
The scars of recent disasters were visible at every turn. Two
major fires one in 1776, four days after the British seizure,
another in 1778 had swept the lower end of the town and
The City on Show 29
destroyed a quarter of the city's habitations. When the redcoats
marched in, the rebel half of the populace fled; and there was no
need to repair or rebuild. During the seven years of British
occupation trade was nearly at a standstill, the wharves crumbled
with disuse, the abandoned homes of the patriots rotted with
neglect, and on the outskirts weed and bramble invaded gardens,
yards, and lanes. The monuments of the city succumbed to fire
or decay: Fort George, which lorded over the Battery, was
dilapidated; of all the leading churches, only St. Paul's was un-
scathed. Finally, when the exiles flocked home upon the return
of peace and began to clear the wreckage, they fell victim to that
usual aftermath of war, a business depression.
However, by 1788 things took a sharp turn for the better.
The release of energy was terrific. Building boomed. New streets
pushed into the fields, old streets had their faces lifted, bulkheads
and fills wrested fresh land from the rivers and the sea. "What
changes within a few weeks!" exclaimed M. Brissot during that
summer. "The North River is thrust back 200 feet by a sort of
dike made of piles, logs, and stones. Everywhere houses are
going up and new streets opened. Everywhere you see workmen
cutting or filling the ground, paving the streets, and erecting
houses and public buildings." The noise of hammer and saw,
pickaxe and shovel, sledge and derrick, cart and barrow echoed
the hubbub of commerce. Touring the town in '89 was therefore
far from dull. Quaint antiquity a gabled fagade of old Holland
brick peeped out between gutted ruins and the very latest thing
in English stoops.
But the tour, however short, would not be hurried; for,
wherever you went, there was much to engage the eyes and feet.
For the purposes of transit the streets could be divided into paved,
being paved, and never paved. It was hard to judge which were
worst. In the few that were paved, the two-foot sidewalks were
interrupted by trees, pumps, hitching posts, stairs, stoops, open
gates, refuse piles, and low projecting bay windows; the roadway
slanted from the curbs to a central sunken gutter clogged with
30 This Was New York
sewage and filth, and its ancient cobblestones sprawled in any-
thing but a sweet disorder. Benjamin Franklin claimed that over
in Philadelphia, with its smooth streets, you could always spot
a New Yorker by the way he shuffled. When Congress decided
to abandon New York, rhymester Freneau immediately thought
of the paving program :
Our streets that were just in a way to look clever
Will now be neglected and nasty as ever,
Again we must fret at the Dutchified gutters
And pebble-stone pavements that wear out our trotters.
Indeed, the number of streets undergoing improvement was
enough to daunt a pedestrian.* After visiting the President down
on Cherry Street, Senator Maclay complained: "The day was
hot, I was lame, and the streets were ripped up a great part of
the way" making, all together, "a journey of consequence.' 5
The remainder of the streets, the unpaved and the virgin, which
meant the majority, were in due season a succession of mudholes,
ice floes, and dust bowls. For "foot passengers" and their clothing
there was some mitigation in an ordinance which forbade carters,
draymen, and water carriers to drive faster than a walk if it
was obeyed. The inhabitants of Mulberry and Catherine streets
caught between a hill, the Collect Pond, and a swamp begged
for relief from the floods that came "whenever it rains" and
suggested that matters be regulated "so as to Carry the Water
through Cross Street." Touchy New Yorkers might protest that
these streets were in the heart of the slums, so what could one
expect? But the Murray Street folks were admittedly a cut
higher in class; and yet, disregarding grammar and spelling in
*Commissioner Robert Moses might be interested to know that in 1789 a
list of the streets ordered paved or being paved would include, wholly or
partly, Greenwich, Vesey, Partition (Fulton), Church, Barclay, Gortlandt,
Lumber (New Church) streets and Oyster Pasty Lane (Exchange St.) on
the west side, and Queen (Pearl), Water, Little Dock (also Water), Front,
William, Chatham streets and Hanover Square on the east; and that his
ancestor, Isaac Moses of 21 Wall St., had nothing to do with the matter
except to pay his taxes.
The City on Show 31
their indignation, they too spluttered to the authorities: "This
Street is hills and Vallies, in rainy weather parts of it are over
the shoes in mud, the lower part is washed into such Hollows
that it is not passable with Carts and dangerous for foot Pas-
sengers after dusk, other parts of the Street is higher than there
lower floors by which means there property is Injured." Nor
were passengers in sedan chairs spared these dangers, as witness
the nasty throw Senator Pierce Butler received, along with Con-
gressman Huger; two weeks later, Maclay reports, the senator
was still lame.
"A Number of Citizens" told the newspapers what they
thought of "two such gentell, delicate, and sweet smelling ave-
nues" as Stone Street and Petticoat Lane, just off the Battery.
The delicacy and perfume in question were prevalent. They arose
from circumstances which demanded mention and then con-
signment to the background where, ignored by the average
citizen, they pervaded the entire scene. In Edinburgh, Boswell
tells us, the householders used to throw it out of the windows.
New Yorkers spared the passers-by this hazard: the well-to-do
had Negro slaves, tubs on their heads, bear it away nights; but
the commonalty dumped it in the gutters, together with the
garbage, and trusted to sun, rain, wind, and the hogs. "Corpora-
tion Pudding" the cynical called it. The hogs thrived. There were
twenty thousand of them on the streets as late as 1817, and
they were still rooting at large in 1825. Though occasionally
an irate citizen, with no appreciation of the sanitary service
rendered, wrote a satire in the press, and from time to time
the Common Council passed stringent bans, there was nothing
the porkers needed to fear except the strong competition of the
dogs and goats.*
*The roving livestock presented an insoluble problem in higher sanitation.
The New York Journal of March 26, 1789, published, for example, an ac-
cusation that in Cortlandt Street "the key to the city" the pigs were a
nuisance. Some persons defended them by saying that "they kept the streets
clean." Others, however, claimed "they only served to scatter the dirt and
rubbish already collected in heaps.' * Hogs or heaps seemed to be the al-
ternatives.
32 This Was New York
Barking dogs chasing squealing pigs dodging between bleating
goats were only part of the choral accompaniment to street life.
At the crack of dawn the cry of "Milk, ho!" and "Milk, come!"
rang through the town. The milk man it was often a maid
carried two buckets suspended from a yoke and made the
rounds after a night's walk and row from Long Island or Jersey.
Next came the chimney sweeps, wiry Negro boys crying "Sweep,
ho ! Sweep, ho ! from the bottom to the top without a ladder or
a rope, sweep ho!" Then the knife grinders, lamp menders,
orange girls, Yankee notion hawkers, ragmen, and wood vendors
swelled the chorus. The latter added instrumental notes of their
own by sawing and chopping the wood at the customer's door.
When the day's business got into swing, a traffic blockage
common enough in the narrow streets evoked a caroling of
profanity worth increasing the jam to hear.
The general racket was so great that chains were stretched
before the Merchants' Exchange on Broad Street, where the
courts met, in order that the judges might hear themselves. More
chains ringed off Front Street from the Fly Market. Chains were
hung before Washington's house during the President's illness.
On Wall Street the rumble of traffic drowned the oratory of
Congress. "Such a noise," said Senator Maclay, "I was not
master of one sentence of it." The windows were ordered closed,
and Senator Robert Morris had to have the matter repeated.
Even funerals added to the din. The tolling of church bells dur-
ing burial processions and services frequent in that summer of
'89, when twenty persons succumbed to the heat in one week
exasperated one sufferer to printed protest. "When a usurer
whose whole life has been a scene of extortion; when an old
maid whose life has been devoured with spleen; when an old
bachelor whose putrid carcase has long offended the senses, dies,"
he demanded, "must their souls be rung to eternity with peals
of bell-metal thunder?" Apparently his ill-tempered outburst
was due to more than the heat, for the Common Council soon
put a muffler on the clappers. The nights at least were quiet; the
The City on Show 33
watchmen dozed in their boxes, and Negroes and tubs made their
silent rounds.
Wall Street was the show street of the town; and it was there
you would go first, to see and be seen. There, as elsewhere, church,
tavern, shop, and residence elbowed one another in a way to
make a modern realtor stare. Street numbers were likewise
haphazard. They began, skipped, ended, and duplicated them-
selves anyhow : so, if you were looking for Samuel Otis, secretary
of the Senate, who lived at No. 5, it wouldn't help to know that
John Stephen's livery stable was No. 4. Alexander Hamilton
at No. 58 might and might not be a neighbor of Joe Mitchell
the shoemaker at No. 62. But whomever you wished to locate
among the five boardinghouses, five auctioneers, five taverns, five
grocers, two confectioners, two tailors, seven attorneys (including
the Attorney General), or the sundry cobblers, farriers, tobac-
conists, wigmakers, hatters, haberdashers, upholsterers, and fash-
ionable residents, the man to ask was Dan McCormick.
Daniel McCormick was well known as a merchant, a director
of the Bank of New York, an alderman, and a bachelor. Any
fair day he could be found sunning on his front stoop, at No.
39, surrounded by "his cronies and his toadies, the latter of
whom generally stayed for dinner." Without stirring from his
seat he knew every big deal transacted in the Merchants' Coffee
House at the Water end of the street, and every time with a
guess why Mr. John Jay called on Mynheer Van Berckel, the
minister from Holland, at the Broadway end. He noted every
beau "There's young Remsen again, Jay's secretary. . . . That
one? Don't you know Sir John Temple?" who knocked at No.
50, to pay court to the young misses White, "so gay and fashion-
able, so charming in conversation, with such elegant figures."
Had he wished, when he talked to Francis Childs who published
the Daily Advertiser a couple of blocks down half the social
ears in town would have burned.
Little went on in Federal Hall without his comment, if not
his knowledge. And when Congress dismissed for the day, and
34 This Was New York
statesmen and socialites took their Wall Street airing, Mr.
McCormick and his cronies had a word about each. Let the
Secretary of War lumber past that observatory stoop, and the
latest quip would be whispered concerning General Knox's un-
fortunate bulk "Mrs. John Adams' daughter says 'he is not
half so fat as he was'; she means before he wore stays." And
when chubby John Adams himself strutted by "like a monkey
just put into breeches," the stoop recalled how Senator Izard
proposed that the Vice-President be titled "His Rotundity."
It was gay, this parade of "the rich, the well-born, and the
able" to use Mr. Adams' words. Amid the swish of hooped
skirts, the flash of powdered hair, and the clatter of a coach,
perhaps Mr. Adams felt it was historic.
The "court end" of town had moved up from Queen to
Wall, and it was edging into Broadway. But as yet this avenue
was too broad for its own good. With much pains the expanse
of pavement was pushed from the Battery to Vesey Street; but
the low houses, some of them jerry-built and frame, many of
them retired behind trees and yards, gave it an empty and
suburban look. The illusion was enhanced by the ridge on which
it ran; it was the highest street in town and "commanded," said
Noah Webster, "a delightful prospect of the Hudson" and the
Jersey hills. The Kennedy mansion, at the corner of Bowling
Green, which escaped the fire of '76 and now housed the Spanish
minister, Don Diego de Gardoqui; the McComb mansion, which
next year was to house the President; the City Tavern, the ruins
of Trinity, and the staid beauty of St. Paul's exhausted its
architectural sights. For animated show pieces, however, there
were the French envoy, Count de Moustier, and his relative with
her pet pickaninny and pet monkey; living opposite him, Senator
"Rafe" Izard of South Carolina and his wife, the handsome
and witty De Lancey girl; General Knox, at No. 4, and his wife
who matched him in bulk her waist "at least as large as three"
of Mrs. Adams'; the John Jays, at No. 133, Mr. Jay "plain in
Yu& dress and manners," and Mrs. Jay who dressed "gaily and
The City on Show 35
showily"; Van Berckel, the Dutch minister, at the corner of
Wall, "gaudy as a peacock" all indubitably rich, well born,
or able.
Another animated show was the "Old Swago" or Oswego
Market, at the corner of Maiden Lane, where ladies in taffeta
bought vegetables from Dutch farm wives in linsey-woolsey. A
familiar figure, probably better known to the townspeople than
Mrs. Izard or Mrs. Jay, was an old vrow from Bergen, who rivaled
Mrs. Henry Knox for amplitude and who specialized in coffee
and crullers; the butcher boys welcomed her morning arrival
with the cry, "Here comes the big doughnut!" Earlier yet in the
morning pampered cows from the stables of the rich on Wall
and Queen streets sauntered up Broadway to the succulent
Lispenard meadows "Lepner's meadows" which lay to the
west of the Stone Bridge (at the present Canal Street). And
sunset glowed upon these same cows ambling homeward down
Broadway, their bells sounding a gentle vespers.
Despite its hills and dust and desolate width Broadway had
its throngs, for it led from one popular resort of the townsfolk
to another. At its lower end Bowling Green and the Battery
were, to be sure, rather a mss. Fort George, never completed,
was disintegrating. The pedestal which once flaunted the statue
of George III was bare. The lawns were unkempt. The hulk of
the good ship Hamilton, left over from the Federalists' celebra-
tion of the preceding year, looked ready for the junkman.
Excavators, masons, engineers, and carts overran the waterfront
in works of improvement. Nevertheless the sound and smell of
the sea were there, the sails danced in the harbor breezes, and
Washington made it his favorite promenade.
Northward, Broadway led to the Fields (now City Hall Park),
enclosed with a wooden fence. Quite aside from the Liberty
Boys and their patriotic antics, this civic center was much ad-
mired for its Almshouse, Bridewell, Debtors' Jail, and its Gallows.
The latter was built to look like a gaudily painted Chinese
pagoda. During 1 789 it provided the spectacle of ten executions;
36 This Was New York
none, incidentally, for any crime more serious than burglary.
October 23 was the gala performance five hangings at a go.
Close to the main pagoda side shows were offered by the whipping
post and the stocks.
Across the street, or rather the dirt road, from these diversions
stood the city hospital and a number of mead houses and tea
gardens, including Montagnie's Two Friendly Brothers and
culminating in Ranelagh. British visitors no doubt sniffed at New
York's efforts to reproduce the giddy and elegant Ranelagh of
London "What a contrast," sighed M. Brissot, "to English
gardens!" but, for that matter, what was Wall compared to
Fleet Street?
A bit farther north, after its dip to the Stone Bridge, the road
that has since become Broadway mounted Buncker Hill, a choice
spot for picnics and duels. To the south, a hundred feet below,
Collect or Fresh Water Pond sparkled in the sun. Its reeds and
ripples covered the seventy acres roughly centering around the
present Tombs prison; and a great fuss was nuide over its fish,
wild fowl, and unfathomable depths. The name Collect may have
been derived from Kalch Hoek, meaning "Shell Point" in Dutch
and indicating that the Manhattan Indians ran a kitchen midden
and wampum mint on its shores. But Kolk is a common term
in Holland for the enclosed portion of a canal; and it is notorious
that the first Dutch settlers, who tried to dig a canal in Broad
Street, were pathetically homesick for the sedative smells of
old Amsterdam.
In winter the town used the Collect for a skating rink and
hockey field. Hundreds of spectators so one of them relates
covered the hillside which "rose like an amphitheatre, tier on
tier" to Broadway, watching the skaters drive a ball with a
"hurly." By '89 fish and wild duck had grown scarce, and in
summer the pond served principally as a free public laundry.
"It's like fair day with whites and blacks washing their clothes,
blankets, and things too numerous to mention; all their sudds and
filth are emptied into this pond, besides dead dogs, cats, etc.
The City on Show 37
thrown in daily" and, most odious of all, "many buckets" which
should, of course, have been decently dumped in the streets.
On the east and south shores, behind the washerwomen,
stretched industrial New York; a few tanneries and iron furnaces,
a pottery, a brewery, and a "rope walk," the latter a length of
ground devoted to weaving cable and ship's rigging. The com-
bined assault of the washerwomen and the industrial revolution
upon the one natural beauty spot of the city had the inevitable
result. In a short while the citizens changed the name of the
pond to Collick. Decades were to pass before the "stinking mud
hole" was filled in and the Tombs reared as its no less unsavory
monument.
Unsavory, too, was the district beginning east of the pond,
across Chatham Square, and extending to the river. Here, in
the swamps surrounding and percolating through Roosevelt,
Bancker, Oliver, Catherine, and Rutgers streets (named after
their well-born landlords), lived a portion of the population
that was neither well born nor rich, and probably not able. The
postwar building boom had failed to touch these slums, which
made up a good part of Montgomerie Ward. It was sometimes
called the Out Ward, though Down-and-Out would have been
more appropriate. Another portion of the low-born and unable
lived in Canvass Town Topsail Town the burnt region be-
tween Broad and the East River. Public-health committees talked
about its "deep damp cellars" used as sailors' boardinghouses
and grogshops. Grand juries talked about its "innumerable re-
ceptacles for the vicious and the abandoned," and the sheriff
busied himself closing some of the more disreputable resorts.
The press talked about "the abode of dissolute characters and
scene of frequent disorders." What all of them meant was that
at least one New Yorker out of every four was damnably poor
and lived in unseemly squalor.
Except for the factories around the Collect and the shipping
along the East River, business had no special district of its own.
Retail stores, to be sure, dotted Nassau and William streets and
38 This Was New York
were numerous on Pearl, Water, and Hanover Square. The
great auctioneers commission merchants we would call them
today congregated around the Coffee House at Wall and Water;
and the block was known as Merchants' Promenade and Auc-
tioneers' Row. The tallest secular building in town was the
sugarhouse on Liberty Street, six stories high. Its rival was Wil-
liam Rhinelander's sugar refinery on King George (William)
Street, four stories and a loft; and Mr. Rhinelander, the sugar
boiler himself, lived next door at No. 21. Many men of affairs,
in fact, lived above or close by their office, factory, or shop. But
the pleasure of shopping should not be spoiled by this business
of sight-seeing, and it will be deferred to another day.
Besides, it is growing late. The cows must be coming home
down Broadway; it is time for the watchmen to don their var-
nished hats and march to their posts, for the lamplighters to
fumble with their tinderboxes, and for a weary tourist to go to
supper and bed. It is safer, too. The rare street lamps are lit only
on moonless nights that is, unless it rains, when of course
nobody will be abroad and a pump handle or a pig is some-
thing to remember if you hit it in the dark.
CHAPTER IV
Fourteen Miles Round
THE fairest sight New York had to offer was the island on which
it stood. "The rides in the neighborhood of the city," Governor
Drayton of South Carolina wrote home, "are for miles beautiful
every elevation of ground presenting some handsome country
seat with what pleasure have I often viewed them." If you
wished to partake of the governor's pleasure, you would some
bright morning hire a saddle horse or, if there were friends
to share the expense, a carriage and set out to see the rural
delights of Manhattan.
Livery stables centered arqund Wall Street, below the Coffee
House and near the horse market. A saddle horse was liable to
cost a stranger two shillings (25^) an hour; and, if you were
as Scotch as Senator Maclay, you might refuse to pay this "ex-
travagant" price and vainly shop away the day for something
cheaper. The canny thing to do, as Maclay discovered, was to
let your landlord hire one for you at a dollar a day, even though
it proved to be a plug "not worth more than seven pounds
[$17.50]." A good horse, if you had a mind to buy one, cost thirty
guineas, or about $140.
James Hearn's hackney stand, the first in town, was in front
of the Coffee House; but if you preferred to patronize an ad-
vertised concern, you hired a carriage from the Warner brothers,
whose stable was at No. 9 Great George. They provided a choice
of coaches, phaetons, and sulkies. To go to the two-mile stone
and around west by Cummings' Florida Gardens cost six shil-
39
40 This Was New York
lings (75^) for the party and two shillings an hour waiting time
(while you sampled the tea and punch). The top prices were
thirty-eight shillings to Harlem and forty shillings ($5.00) to
Kingsbridge for the day. But this would be tiring.
For the most enjoyable excursion you had merely to tell the
coachman you wanted to do "the fourteen miles round." He
would understand that you wished to take the customary drive
of the President. On a pleasant day you might indeed have the
luck to pass General Washington en route, together with Mrs.
Washington and the children. He would be easy to recognize,
though it is doubtful if you would catch him riding along country
roads in his imported canary-colored state coach, shaped like a
half-pumpkin, ornamented with cupids, festoons, and flowers,
emblazoned with the family coat of arms, and drawn by four
white horses. After all, even if postage stamps were not yet in-
vented, Americans in 1789 knew what he looked like.
In any case you will begin following the presidential dust by
taking the only highway that leaves town and goes anywhere
the Post Road. (The one other road leaving town is a con-
tinuation of Greenwich Street which ends at Greenwich Village
with some detouring we'll get you back that way.)
The first delay will be met on Chatham Street (Park Row).
The water carts laden with hogsheads and lined up before the
Tea- Water pump are a nuisance to traffic. Swinging into Bowery
Lane you may note, or the driver will point out with an ap-
preciative wink, the site of the first kissing bridge over Old
Wreck Brook. Not a block beyond, at Oliver Street (off Chatham
Square), you will pass the "Jews' Burial Ground," its stones
already overshadowed by the growing city. The last traffic hazard
is encountered at the end of the first mile, where you may chance
upon an unruly herd of cattle or a jam of butcher wagons by
the Bull's Head tavern.
A mile farther Peter Stuyvesant's farm stretches away to the
right. His old Bouwerie house, which was burnt during the Rev-
olution, is a ruin; but two other Stuyvesant houses and the
Fourteen Miles Round 41
famous pear orchard, planted a century and a half before, invite
a halt for contemplation and refreshment. Luckily the Dog and
Duck tavern is close by, "at the two mile stone" so runs its
advertisement and with "the best bed of asparagus on the
island."
No lover of gardens, vegetable or flower, failed to stop at
Baron Poelnitz' farm. Its twenty-two and a half acres, compris-
ing the old "Minto" place, lay just south of what is today Union
Square. Senator Maclay often "took a long walk to the gardens
of a Dutchman who lives beyond the Bowery" in order to view
"the harmless and silent beauties of his garden." Baron Frederick
Charles Hans Bruno Poelnitz was not a Dutchman and probably
not a baron. But Maclay found him "sensible and well-informed"
and possessed of more agricultural machinery than he had ever
before seen. It was annoying to the democratic senator that the
baron was "disrespectfully spoken of," but this was probably due
to "the force of our old habits, derived from the English, who
seldom speak well of a foreigner."
Washington was likewise favorably impressed by the baron
and his machinery. He admired the cultivation of madder, woad,
and "several kinds of artificial grass." He admired the Winlaw
threshing machine. He liked the way Baron Poelnitz himself
held and guided several of the experimental plows. He was
especially taken with a gadget of the baron's invention, which
measured the force a plow required for use in any given soil.
And he ordered a "Horse-Hoe," made on the baron's specifica-
tions, to be sent to Mount Vernon. However, Poelnitz apparently
could not live on the admiration of the discerning or he grew
tired of the disrespectful speech of the local gentry, for this year
of '89 he offered his farm for sale.*
Where Madison Square stands today, the road forked. To
the left Bloomingdale Road followed something like the course
*Next year he found a purchaser, Robert R. Randall, who bought it for
$12,500 and, a decade later, bequeathed it to a sailors' home. More lucrative
than woad or artificial grasses, the rent which the ground produces still sup-
ports Sailors' Snug Harbor.
42 This Was New York
of modern Broadway. To the right the Post Road meandered
northward between undreamed-of Fourth and Second avenues;
and since the best taverns lay that way, the driver would need
no nod to follow it. You skirted the east slope of Murray Hill
and admired, on its summit, the country seat of Robert Murray,
where in '76 Mrs. Murray's wit and Mr. Murray's wine saved
General Putnam's army from destruction. A bit farther (Second
Avenue and Thirty-fifth Street) you passed the Kip house, built
in 1655 and one of the oldest on the island. In less than another
mile you caught sight of the Beekman house dominating Beek-
man Hill (First Avenue and Fiftieth Street). If you relished
the pathos of history, you drove over to see the greenhouse where
Nathan Hale was tried as a spy and Major Andr6 set forth on
a trip that brought him a similar trial in far-off Tappan. For
General Washington this detour as he would explain to his
children meant, not history, but personal grief. The five-mile
stone (Third Avenue and Seventy-seventh Street) heralded the
one kissing bridge that was in active service; and if you had
no use or occasion for it in your party, it was your loss. You
could console yourself at either Adamson's or the Dove tavern.
For the next two miles your course shifted toward the site
of Central Park. Just inside the park, which naturally you
could not distinguish from outside, you left the Post Road re-
gretting that there was no time to see the rugged splendor of
McGown's Pass or the spires of Harlem beyond and struck
west up and down a cross lane that led to the Bloomingdale
Road (near present Broadway and Ninety-fourth Street).
Turning south and homeward, you passed almost immediately
the Apthorp mansion, headquarters of every redcoat general from
Howe to Cornwallis. Washington dined there in '76 on his way
out as the British were coming in.
The return drive down Broadway-to-be was enlivened by a
succession of those "handsome country seats" that delighted the
South Carolina governor Colonel Livingston's Oak Villa, the
Somerindyke house, General Striker's mansion; but the coach-
Fourteen Miles Round 43
man will give you their names and pedigrees. No drive, however,
was complete without a glimpse of Richmond Hill, in 1789 the
home of Vice-President Adams. It will mean an extra mile or
two; but, taking Senator Maclay's hint, you are presumably
paying by the day.
Immediately south of the junction of the Bloomingdale and
Post roads you will therefore turn west and enter Love Lane
(Twenty-first Street at Broadway). This pleasant-sounding lane
led to Captain Clarke's country house, which he called Chelsea
and which his widow, an ardent Tory who once won an apology
from Washington, still graced. But you will turn off south again
on Fitzroy Road (between Seventh and Eighth avenues) and
then, driving down Great Kiln Road (at Fourteenth Street), will
soon find yourself in the village of Greenwich. Anyone hanging
about the Old Grapevine tavern will direct you to Richmond
Hill.*
After walking through the estate and, like Senator Maclay,
"sitting in the shade," you will probably agree with the opinion
of its tenant. Mrs. John Adams thought about her place much
as all city folk do the first year they occupy a country seat. She
wrote :
The house in which we reside is situated on a hill, the avenue
to which is interspersed with forest trees, under which a shrubbery
rather too luxuriant and wild has taken shelter [the familiar com-
plaint of a tenant]. ... In front of the house, the noble Hudson
rolls his majestic waves, bearing upon his bosom innumerable
small vessels. On the right hand, an extensive plain presents us
with a view of fields covered with verdure, and pastures full of
cattle. On the left, the city opens upon us, intercepted only by
clumps of trees and some rising ground which serves to heighten
the beauty of the scene by appearing to conceal a part. In the
background is a large flower garden, enclosed with a hedge and
some very handsome trees. On one side of it, a grove of pines and
*It would be futile to follow these directions today. The Adams home
and later the home of Aaron Burr stood on the top of a hundred-foot hill,
a spur of the low range called the Zandtberg, and it overlooked a brook and
a pond. From its site, bounded by the present King, Varick, Charlton, and
MacDougal streets, not a trace can be seen of pond, brook, hill, or house.
44 This Was New York
oaks fit for contemplation. ... A lovely variety of birds serenade
me morning and evening, rejoicing in their liberty and security,
for I have as much as possible prohibited the grounds from in-
vasion. The partridge, the woodcock, and the pigeon are too great
temptations to the sportsmen to withstand. ... In natural beauty
it might vie with the most delicious spot I ever saw.
Such were MacDougal and Charlton streets in 1789.
But country houses and especially city tenants who dwell
on their beauties can be wearing. You have not, moreover, been
taken out of your way merely to look at flowers or listen to
pigeons. Between Greenwich Village and the city, dotting the
Greenwich Road, were the best and most fashionable of those
gardens that furnished their birds cooked and their vegetation
distilled into tea, mead, spirits, and wine. There was Brannan's
in Lower Greenwich (now Spring and Hudson streets). "Here,"
reports an English tourist, "was a good greenhouse, with orange
and lemon trees, a great quantity of geraniums, aloes, and other
curious shrubs and plants," and "iced liquors are much drunk
here by parties coming from New York." Maclay dined here
one day, praised the "elegant improvements," and entertained
his dinner party with an imitation of the Vice-President pom-
pously addressing the Senate.
There was Williamson's, on the east side of Greenwich Street,
its gardens extending three blocks above Harrison; Washington
liked to drive over on horseback. There was Cummings 9 Florida
Garden, likewise "pleasantly situated on the Greenwich road";
in May the Florida was sold to George Leaycraft, and Mr. Cum-
mings opened a porter house at the Fly Market. There was
Vauxhall at Warren and Greenwich streets, too far in town, run
down and for sale. Of them all M. Brissot preferred Cummings' :
"It is tea that you go to drink in the beautiful garden of M. Cum-
mings, the Florida Garden of New York."
You sip your tea or Rack punch. You nibble at comfits, pas-
tries, cakes, and jellies. With an eye on the sinking sun and an
extra tip to the coachman, you decide to linger on for Madeira
Fourteen Miles Round 45
and dinner. Perhaps there will be fireworks, Chinese lanterns, and
tightrope dancing. Leaning back in anticipation, and satisfied
that you have seen Manhattan, you light a segar. Always inform-
ative and in case you don't know it, M. Brissot explains that
segars "are leaves of tobacco rolled in the form of a tube, which
are smoked without the aid of any instrument." M. Brissot, like
many of his contemporaries, detested smoking. "Yet it has one
advantage ... it prevents loquacity. If a smoker is asked a ques-
tion, it will take him two minutes to answer, but the answer is
to the point." Which is a virtue but the Madeira is on the table !
no cigarette advertisement has yet exploited.
CHAPTER V
Shopping Round the Town
NEW YORK CITY in 1789 is a paradise for shoppers. Mer-
chants have almost forgotten the recent depression. Money is again
circulating more freely, and everyone says that the inauguration
of the new national government is a happy omen for business.
Tradesmen are busy again, and merchants have stocked their
shelves with the best European importations. New shops are
being opened. The city bustles with activity and with new people:
the members of Congress, sundry dignitaries, speculators, and
visitors. New York is both the capital of the state and of the na-
tion. Its shops should be worthy of this exalted situation.
Certainly they are filled with a glittering array of things that
have never been in the best establishments of Hartford or Al-
bany or Trenton; at least they have never been seen in such rich
profusion some not at all. Here are tailors and stylists who know
the latest from Paris and London, wine dealers, tobacconists,
booksellers, and dealers in wallpaper, musical instruments, and
birds indeed, here is everything or anything we might want,
either for ourselves or as presents for family and friends.
We are not now interested in fish or fowl and meats and
vegetables, for we shall later tour the markets of the city in the
company of a New York housewife. Nor are we primarily inter-
ested in the wholesale stores of the metropolis. We should be
rather at a loss to take care of "a bale of Flannels" or "a Pipe of
Geneva" (126 gallons of fine gin) . We might be intrigued by the
purchase of a pipe of good Madeira, if we wished to lay some-
thing by for posterity and had the necessary $200 to invest. But
we cannot summarily dismiss the wholesalers from our attention,
46
Shopping Round the Town 47
for they are often more than willing to sell at retail. Some of their
bargains we cannot neglect.
The public auctions, or "vendues," merit a visit. They are con-
ducted by some of the best-known citizens : James Barclay, A. L.
Bleecker, James Smith, Thomas Franklin, Robert Hunter,
Frederick Jay, Isaac Moses, John Ramsay, and Nicholas Low.
Sale by auction is a favorite method of disposing of real estate,
either a simple house and lot or thousands of acres of upstate land,
and especially of the possessions of the lately deceased. But at
the Coffee House or in the various auction rooms you may find
anything : an elegant bay saddle horse, ten barrels of "mackerel,"
a feather bed, an eight-day clock, or 42^ dozen ramrods. Nicholas
Low and Frederick Jay largely confine their activities to real
estate, but James Barclay at No. 14 Hanover Square sells house-
hold and kitchen furniture every Tuesday and Friday. If we fol-
low the newspapers we can keep informed of the offerings of the
various auctioneers.
And, unless we know our New York or are informed by our
host or tavernkeeper, we must consult the newspapers to learn of
the shops and their wares. The newspaper was the only advertis-
ing medium available to the merchant of 1789. What of the
weekly and monthly periodicals? New York had none in that year,
and those published elsewhere did not carry advertising, which
may help to explain their brief periods of publication. Here and
there among the thousands of newspaper notices we can catch the
faint glimmerings of the spirit of modern advertising, but there is
none of its insidious technique, no illustrations (excepting an oc-
casional crude woodcut which never changed) and consequently
none of the lovely and irrelevant sex appeal which seems indis-
pensable to the sale of modern products. A candid tailor, Edward
Moran, stated in the Daily Advertiser of May 6 that, "as self-
applause is commonly the unerring mark of ignorance and con-
sequently disgusting," he declines it and only offers "the following
most reasonable terms" which indeed were reasonable. An-
other "Merchant Taylor," John Bands of 13 Water Street, dis-
48 This Was New York
daining even the primitive advertising of his day, simply declared
that his establishment contained "many other articles in his line
too lengthy for an advertisement." The "ads" of 1789, like those
of today, give us but the roughest of clues. To know, we must
visit the shops themselves.
Before beginning our tour it would be wise to check up on our
resources, or what was referred to among contemporaries as "the
needful." Money is the most convenient medium of exchange,
but it is possible to do some of our shopping without either coin
or paper notes. Since many of the merchants are both importers
and exporters, they are perfectly willing to accept, in payment for
the wares they have imported, goods that can be either resold in
the local market or exported in settlement of their accounts
abroad. Besty & Goodwin, druggists at 228 Queen Street, are
eager to trade their merchandise for "gensang" (ginseng). J.
Jacob Astor, at 81 Queen Street, will exert himself to sell you a
"Piano Forte," but failing that he "will give Cash for all kinds of
Furs." Hugh Smith, at 22 Wall Street, will exchange some of his
Madeira and linens just imported from London for "Pot Ashes,"
which he will receive at the highest market price. Several doors
away, at No. 46, Thomas Buchanan & Company will take our
"Pot and Pearl Ashes, Rice, Flour, Corn or Staves" and gladly
send us off with some of the Jamaica spirits or Teneriffe wines
which are just being landed from the brig Polly over at Ballet's
Wharf. Or Abraham Wilson will furnish us with a parcel of Caro-
lina reeds or an American-made felt hat for either cash or "otters,
Red Fox, or Minks." But this is becoming somewhat complicated;
perhaps we should look at either our cash or credit.
If our purse is filled with coins, we can open it and view a truly
international and chaotic scene. There is no national American
coinage, and any well-stocked purse may contain a motley collec-
tion of British, Spanish, French, German, and even Irish pieces
purporting to be gold, silver, and copper. Mingled with them
are coins of various American states and, among the smaller
pieces, coins of a most dubious origin and of uncertain value. No
N F
Shopping Round the Town 49
prudent person will accept the bald statement of value impressed
upon the coin, for almost all of them have been generously
clipped. So common was the practice that during the Revolution
the American government officially ordered Timothy Pickering
of the Quartermaster's Department to clip the new coins received
as a loan from France and suggested that he do it himself with a
pair of common shears. This was literal and direct action to re-
duce the gold content of the coinage. The gold and silver coinage
has been so closely clipped that a pair of scales is necessary for
every cash transaction. In New York a committee of the legis-
lature declared, in 1787, that virtually all the copper coinage in
circulation was counterfeit; the pieces were commonly known as
"Birmingham coppers," and these spurious items were among the
most lucrative of English exports to the United States.
But if we have come a long distance we have brought only
gold coins. If we wish to simplify our transactions it would be well
to reduce our holdings to a common coinage. The units of value
generally accepted in exchange transactions are the Spanish-
milled dollar and the English pound. These will remain so for
some years after the new government has established a national
currency for the United StatdS. The Bank of New York will re-
ceive our various gold coins at the following rates :
Spanish Johannes (a joe) $16.00
Half- Joe 8.00
Spanish Doubloon 15-00
Double Spanish Pistole 7.48
Spanish Pistole 3.72
British Guinea 4.64
Half-guinea 2.32
French Guinea 4-5 2
A Moidore 6.00
A Caroline 4-72
A Chequin 1.78
and for the numerous other coins there was a detailed and intri-
cate rate of exchange. If we wish to offer any of the paper cur-
50 This Was New York
rency of the various states we plunge into a situation that might
baffle an international financier. The daily fluctuations of this
paper currency caused William Livingston to write from his New
Jersey retirement to John Jay, his son-in-law :
Considering how much your Speculators, & the rotten part of
our own Legislature play the Devil with our paper currency,
it is exceedingly prejudicial for an honest Man to purchase any
thing from you with what we call money, & you call a merchant-
able commodity which is daily fluctuating in value; & the amount
of that fluctuation at your own arbitrary disposal.
In view of this situation it might really be simpler to bring
some ginseng, flax, and a few beaver skins into the city and barter
for what you wish. There is, however, a third method by which
we can make our purchases. If our credit seems good we can buy
on what is basically a primitive installment plan, for there are
many merchants who are happy to accept "good notes at short
dates." If we divide the total sum and stagger the notes we shall
have what posterity will one day think is a great innovation in-
stallment buying.
By this time we have some form of "the needful" and shall
visit the shops. It is impossible to do much "window shopping,"
for only a few of the stores have windows in which to expose their
wares to persons who are merely strolling by. Some of the mer-
chants stock a wide variety of goods ; others are specialists in some
particular line. The shops of the former may resemble the "gen-
eral store" of a crossroads hamlet of the twentieth century, but
they are also the venerable ancestors of the modern department
store.
Let us visit the shop of William Griggs. He is located at the
corner of Maiden Lane and William Street, in the house for-
merly occupied by Joseph Henry. He has opened his business only
in late April, and his merchandise ought to be fresh. He has
bought considerable space in the newspapers, especially the New
York Gazette of May i, to announce his wares. He is indeed proud
Shopping Round the Town 51
of his "Plate and Plated Ware," and these are popular because
they are not only useful and ornamental but represent a sound
method of investing excess capital unless, of course, we wish to
plunge into the newfangled speculation in stocks and securities.
Griggs presents us with a large assortment of "Coffee Pots, Sauce
Pans, Sugar Dishes, Punch Ladles and Strainers" and continues
through wedding rings, penknives, smallswords, curling irons,
shoemakers' hammers, carpenters' rules, combs, "Bread and
Fruit baskets, Plate Warmers, Knife Trays, Tumblers, Snuffler
Trays, Letter Trays and Ink Stands." But that is only the begin-
ning, because Mr. Griggs also has for sale "a handsome assort-
ment of PICTURES, framed and unframed." Also patent medicines,
shaving soap, perfumery, "Milk of Roses, Cephalic Snuff,
British Herb-Tobacco, Stoughton's Bitters, a variety of ladies' and
gentlemen's gloves lined with Fur, Flannel and Lambs wool." In
the same category, so it seemed to Mr. Griggs and to the printer,
were ostrich feathers, songbooks, spelling books, and "small
bibles." But in a separate and lengthy paragraph he describes his
numerous songbooks and "Violin Music." The concluding sec-
tion is the most inclusive and intriguing of all, for there he pre-
sents violins, flutes, guitars, fifes and clarinets, dog collars, "camel
hair pencils," spoons, buttons, shoes and slippers, trunks, coat but-
tons, snuffboxes, artificial flowers, and "Checker Boards, Back-
gammon Tables, Dice, Money Scales and Weights, Spice Powder
and Shaving Boxes, and many other articles." Mr. Griggs also
adds that he is carrying on the business of buying gold and silver.
He probably maintains the most extensive of the general depart-
ment stores, but he will soon discover that he has lively competi-
tion from many of the long-established firms.
His competitors seldom offer such a wide variety of articles, but
many of them advertise more frequently and with an equally
curious assortment of items. George Barnwell & Company, at 205
Water Street, have just imported some sugar, molasses, cocoa, and
a few "Cow-hides and Goat-Skins" on the schooner Juno. They
have received by the Ann and Susan from Dublin some choice
52 This Was New York
linen, "high and low priced DOWLAS ; black Lastings, and a few
bales of FLANNELS." They also have on hand some fine Teneriffe
wine, tobacco from the James River as well as from North and
South Carolina, and "a few Tierces of new RICE" all of which
they wish to sell for cash "or good notes at a short date."
Gouverneur, Kemble & Co., at 26 Front Street, are in the same
general importing business and advertise their wares as exten-
sively. Here we can buy some "very excellent St. Ubes salt" and
teas of almost any variety: souchong, sequin, tonkay, single, or
bohea. Also available are London Madeira wine, sherry wine from
four to ten years old, Teneriffe and Malaga wine and "Holland
Geneva, in pipes and cases, of high proof." This company im-
ports as well Brazil sugar and Muscovado sugar, Spanish salted
hides, Irish linen and sheetings, and "Ticklenburgs, Holland and
Russia Duck, of the very best sort."
Streetfield and Levinus Clarkson tend to restrict their imports
to Holland, whence the brig Eliza has just arrived with a cargo of
hyson and souchong teas, nutmegs, and Geneva in pipes. They
deal regularly in "Holland lintseed oil, gunpowder, Holland flax
hatchels, a large assortment of writing-paper and quills, ink-
powder, bar-iron, shot of different sizes," and many cloths. Le
Roy & Bayard, at 202 Water Street, offer rum, cotton, wines,
gunpowder, writing paper, skates, and cinnamon. If we wish to go
over to 1 8 Hanover Square, to the store of M. & H. Oudenaarde,
we can find many of the above-mentioned articles as well as Rus-
sia sheeting, Dutch linens, Marseilles quilting, Turk satin, diapers
and St. Croix rum, horn combs and frying pans, knives and forks
and fiddlestrings. John Ramsay, at 221 Queen Street, adds but
little to the usual offering of linens, wines, tea, and gunpowder,
but we should note that he does have some "Large Barcelona
Handkerchiefs, Men's white silk stockings and beaver hats" and
that he also buys and sells public securities. It is recently rumored
that the establishment of the new Federal government will have
a beneficial effect toward re-establishing the value of those bonds
for which there is already a lively market. James Saidler is doing
Shopping Round the Town 53
a flourishing business in Continental certificates in addition to ex-
posing for sale, at 31 Water Street, cloths, buckles and buttons,
and window glass. He is perfectly willing to do business on a bar-
ter basis exchanging for his imports "country produce" which
he will, in turn, export. We must not confuse James Saidler with
the firm of Sadler & Bailie, up at 215 Water Street, dealers in
cloths, wines, indigo, and tobacco. While we are here we might
well visit the shop of Shedden, Patrick & Co., a few doors away at
No. 206. We now have some new items: clean Petersburgh hemp,
white Manchester goods, and striped waistcoat patterns, as well as
some wines not previously known or encountered red Catalonia,
Old Mountain, and Old Malvosio and some French brandy in
hogsheads as well as "Old Jamaica spirits, crop 1783."
A general store is a convenient but also a bewildering institu-
tion. It is a place in which to browse as well as to buy and
probably to buy more than we actually need. If we have specific
purchases in mind we had better repair to those shops which
specialize in various commodities.
Certainly clothes stand high on our list of ordinary needs.
Even if we are not in immediate want of a new habit, waistcoat,
or breeches, the shops of New York offer us an excellent oppor-
tunity of obtaining the most modern materials, patterns, and
colors all, if we so elect, cut to the latest styles from Paris and
London. Perhaps we shall not be wearing them for some months,
but even then they will still be in advance of the current vogue in
Hartford or Albany or Trenton. And, indeed, styles do not change
greatly from year to year. Neither men nor women are yet so
regimented that they must acquire new clothes and styles from
season to season. Certainly the styles vary a little each year, but
failure to keep up with the changes is not yet a subject for se-
rious criticism. Dressmakers and tailors have hardly begun to sus-
pect what rich profits the future might confer upon their im-
perious and subtle successors.
We can, if we wish, obtain a few ready-made garments. But if
we are members of those small circles where dress counts for
54 This Was New York
something, we had better act in a far more prudent fashion. Few
care what the bulk of the citizenry use to cover themselves; their
dress is almost an unfailing sign of the level to which they belong.
Democracy has not yet invaded the realm of clothing. It is still
possible to distinguish the tavernkeeper from the diplomat and the
great merchant by their dress. It is still simple to differentiate the
waiter from the diners. If we are (or imagine we are) one of the
"right people," it is necessary to have the proper clothes. We can
buy the materials and take them to a tailor or we can go to a tailor
who offers the goods, his services, and his knowledge of the best
fashions.
If we simply wish to buy materials let us first turn to the offer-
ings of John Turner, Junior, at 79 William Street. Other shops
may have more varied offerings, but Mr. Turner has advertised
his goods in the New York Gazette of May i , 1 789. In spite of our
social position we may profitably respond to his statement that
all the following goods "will be sold low for cash" :
Plain, striped, corded, checked, tamboured, needle-worked, loom-
spotted, and figured Book and Jackinet-Mullins : Ditto Aprons
and Handkerchiefs; a great variety of Lawns; light and dark
grounded Chintzes, Calicos, and Cottons; Printed Mullins; Chintz
trimming; Chintz Furniture Cottons; red, blue, purple-gold; and
olive coloured ditto; 4-5 and 6-4 Shawls; Mullinets; corded and
India dimities; Fustians and Jeans; Marseilles Quil tings; Draw-
boys; Cotton Counterpanes and Palampoors; 7-8 and 4-4 Irish
Linens; very fine yard-wide Ticking; Cambrics and Lawns;
Wandtops and Long Lawns; Russia Diapers; Table-Cloths and
Napkins; Striped Tickings; Flanders Bell-Ticks; Cotton and Linen
Handkerchiefs, Checks and Stripes; Brown Hollands; Armozeens,
Mantuas, Lutestrings, Tobines; Brocades; Silver Tissue, Sattins,
Florentines, Modes, Sarsnets, Taffities, Persians; and Serge Desoy;
rich black Genoa silk Velvet; Coloured ditto; rich thread Lacings
and Edgings; Black and White Blond ditto; black patent ditto;
black and white Mock Point ditto; Gauzes, Italian Crapes, rib-
bons, collar Velvets, Umbrellas, Fans, Feathers and Flowers;
Ladies Stays; Chip and Leghorn Hats; Bombazeens and Crapes;
Shopping Round the Town 55
Ruff ells and Calmancoes; Durants; Tammies, Moreens and Tab-
berets; Welbore and common Camblets; Broad-Cloths, Cashmers,
Coatings; Baizes and Flannels; Shaloons and Rattinets; Nan-
keens, Velt Patterns; gold and silver Laces; Buttons and Knee
Garters; Cotton Velvets; Imperial ditto; Corduroys and Thick-
sets; Royal Ribbs, Sattinets, Denims, and Worsted Florentines;
ribbed and plain; white and coloured silk hose; patent ditto;
ribbed and plain white and random Cotton and Thread ditto;
Womens Silk, Cotton and Thread ditto; Mens and womens
Worsted ditto; mens and womens white Kid and Linen Gloves;
womens coloured ditto; Wafli-leather, Beaver and Buckskin ditto;
black, white and coloured Silk ditto; black, coloured, Barcelona,
Bandanoes, printed Linen, Cotton and Check Handkerchiefs;
Cotton and Thread Fringes; Silk ditto, various colours; Scarf
twist, sewing Silks, white and coloured; Threads, Pins, Shoe and
quality Bindings; Tapes, Dutch Laces, Ferrets, silk stay Laces;
black and white Beaver Hats; Tambouring Cotton and Threads
Slacks; Japanned Waiters, Paper Hangings, green Black and
figured Oil Cloth, &c. &c.
Important among Mr. Turner's many business competitors
are three. DeLuze de Montmollin & Co., at 191 Queen Street, do
a thriving importing trade from Holland and from France. They
have many of the materials advertised by Turner; they also offer
Silesia linen handkerchiefs and "Horsehair for Mattresses from
Amsterdam" and a nice assortment of taffeties and French rib-
bons. Joshua Waddington & Company, importing principally
from London, offer the usual broadcloths, calicoes, chintzes, as
well as "plain and striped wildbores of different colors, shalloons
and rattinets, and black calmanicoes." James Saidler, whom we
have already encountered, advertises "Black Barcelona, Bandano,
cotton and Pulicat handkerchiefs; Ganzes and millinets; Cal-
manicoes, durants, tamies & camblets; Burdeyd and cross-bar'd
stuffs."
There are more than a dozen others in the field. Isaac Moses,
at 2 1 Wall Street, has public sales of articles of clothing "suitable
to the season." A. L. Bleecker drew his imported materials from
56 This Was New York
London; John Delafield, from Canton which had first been
visited by an American ship only several years earlier. David
Galbreath, at 224 Queen Street, and James Haydock, Junior, at
155 Water Street, conduct respectable shops, but their offerings
add little to the general profusion. Perhaps we might visit Robin-
son & Harvey at 81 William Street, because they announce that
they "are determined to sell at a reduced price" their goods which
are "warranted real London dressed, and of the very first quality."
We need not revisit our old friends Sadler and Bailie, but if we
are on Water Street again a visit to John M'Vickar at No. 210
would show us the "printed waistcoats, toilanets and corded
dimities" which have just come from Liverpool on the brig
Friendship. George Pollock, 28 Water Street, is eager to exchange
Irish linens for flaxseed. Queen Street houses many of the dealers
in dry goods. George Douglas holds forth at No. 236, and a few
doors below is the "New Federal Store," conducted by Thomas
Nixon for the sale of "the best English, French and Spanish
Superfine Cloths" But if we are imbued with the rising national-
ism of the day, perhaps we shall choose to patronize Pope &
Candle, who have just moved their "manufactory" to 12 William
Street and who are more than willing to provide a "general assort-
ment of goods suitable for the season." There are more than
enough merchants in cloths; there are too many. So says John
Ireland, of 68 Water Street, who has just announced his inten-
tion "to decline business" and retire.
We may take our materials home and entrust the cutting, the
sewing, and the tailoring to the women of the family. Or we can
take our cloths to any of the several good tailors and habitmakers
who enjoy a thriving trade. They also have the necessary ma-
terials for sale, but they will not object too strenuously if we bring
our own. Certainly Edward Moran, "Taylor and Ladies Habit-
Maker from London and Dublin" (recently moved to 24 William
Street), would not, because he is both honest and modest. It
was he who declared, in the New York Daily Advertiser of May 6,
that "as self-applause is commonly the unerring mark of ignorance
Shopping Round the Town 57
and consequently disgusting," he declines it and only offers "the
following most reasonable terms" very reasonable with eight
shillings to the dollar :
FOR MAKING
Plain coat, 155.
Fashionable do. i6s.
Lappelled do. 175.
Waistcoats made fashionable, 6s.
Silk and velvet breeches, 8s.
Jean, nankeen, corduroy, &c. do. 75.
Double breasted surtout, i6s.
Great coat, 145.
Ladie's Habit, fashionable, i6s.
Opposite the Coffee House on Wall Street (No. 22, to be
exact) is the establishment of Daniel Campion. He appeals only
indirectly to our esthetic sensibilities more directly to our purse,
for he stresses not only "very moderate terms," but also "a very
cheap rate." Atchinson Thomson has just "declined the Taylor-
ing Business in town" and moved to the country, where he hopes
to enjoy the continued patronage of New Yorkers. William Hen-
son "from London" has bought Thomson's shop at 52 William
Street and is actively soliciting clients.
Posterity owes John Shepherd of 23 Hanover Square a debt
of gratitude for the details of the many charming colors and
shades that were available to the esteemed gentlemen (and ladies,
too) of the early Federal period. Men's formal attire, unlike the
drab formal clothes of later generations, was as gay and re-
splendent as that of the ladies. In the Daily Advertiser of May 5,
Mr. Shepherd sets forth his intriguing multicolored offerings, and
with some indication of prices :
Best superfine Cloths of the following colors, viz. Black, bottle
green, batswing, drab, new brown, new drab, do. olive, fashion-
able mixture, pearl, navy blue, ravens grey, London smoke, olive
mixture, Devonshire brown, changeable pearl, light mixture, dark
58 This Was New York
mixture, Queens drab, scarlet, light blue, light green, Parsons
grey, silver grey, purple, mulberry, garnet, sea green, mouse's ear,
pea green, and a number of other colors, amounting to nearly a
hundred different colors, all of which will be sold for 385. per
yard, particular high colors excepted, which will be regulated in
proportion to the above.
CASSIMIRS.
Dark drab, dark olive, light drab, light olive, pearl green, sage
colored, white, buff. Striped Cassenets, excellent for summer
coats.
VELT PATTERNS.
Jennets, muslinets, dimoty, cotton, silk velvet, cotton velvet,
silk and cotton, gold tambour muslin, silver do. very rich, twilled
satin Florentine, plain do. silk do. fine sattinet lasting undressed,
Princess stuff, worsted florentine, cotton denims, jeans and
fustians, gilt and plated buttons, imperial do.
N.B. The above assortment perhaps excells any that has been
imported in this city (in one person's hands) these many years,
and as the most of the above articles are fresh imported, conse-
quently they are of the newest taste.
If the reader of today is somewhat troubled in visualizing bottle
green, London smoke, Queens drab, batswing, mouse's ear, or
Princess stuff, it may humbly be suggested that the present nomen-
clature (especially in materials for women) is equally fancy and
perplexing.
Both men and women display a lively interest in the latest
styles. However, the ladies have more time, more curiosity, and in-
cur far more expense. Brissot de Warville, shocked by the display
of the follies of English luxury in New York, further laments that
"luxury forms already, in this town, a class of men very dangerous
in society I mean bachelors. The expensive upkeep of women
makes men dread matrimony." Other French travelers note that
English fashions seem to predominate in New York circles. But
the styles from Paris are not neglected. The newspapers publish
Shopping Round the Town 59
occasional fashion notes. On May 15 the New York Gazette re-
ports:
NEW FASHIONS FROM PARIS FOR THE LADIES
The only variety since our last appears in the three following
dresses.
First. A plain celestial blue satin gown, with a white satin petti-
coat. On the neck a very large Italian gauze handkerchief, with
satin border stripes. The head dress is a pouf of gauze, in the form
of a globe, the crenaure or headpiece of which is made of white
satin, having a double wing in large plaits, and trimmed with a
large wreath of artificial roses, which falls from the left at top to
the right at bottom in front and behind contrary.
The hair is dressed all over in detached curls, four of which in
two ranks, fall on each side the neck, and behind it is relieved in a
floating chignon.
The second dress is a Pierrot made of grey Indian taffaty, with
dark stripes of the same colour, having two collars, one yellow
and the other white, both trimmed with a blue silk fringe, and a
reverse trimmed in the same manner. Under this Pierrot they
wear a yellow corset or shapes with large blue cross stripes. With
this dress they have a hat a PEspagnole, made of white satin, hav-
ing a large white satin bancf, put on in the manner the wreath of
roses is on the hat of the first dress; but this hat is relieved on the
left side, and has two very large handsome cockades, one at the
top, the other at the bottom, where it is relieved.
On the neck they wear a very large plain gauze handkerchief,
the ends of which are hid under the shape. Round the bottom of
the Pierrot is pinned a sort of frill a la Henry IV, made of gauze,
cut in points round the edge.
The third and newest dress is a Pierrot and petticoat, both
made of the same sort of grey striped silk, and trimmed all around
with gauze, cut in points at the edges in the manner of the
Herrisons.
These Herrisons are now nearly the sole trimmings used for the
Pierrots, Caracos and petticoats of the Parisian ladies, either made
of ribbons or Italian gauze, but chiefly the latter.
With this dress the ladies wear a large gauze neck handkerchief,
60 This Was New York
with four satin stripes round its borders; two of which are very
broad, and the other less. These handkerchiefs are an ell and a
half square.
The head dress is a plain gauze cap, made in the form of those
worn by the elders, or ancients in the nunneries.
Shoes are celestial blue satin, with rose colour rosettes.
Muffs are not yet left off, those worn most are Siberian wolf-
skin, with a large knot of scarlet ribbon.
For the ladies it is a day of gorgeous brocades and rich taf-
fetas, luxuriantly displayed over "jaunty, flowing bellhoops"
which were flattened before and behind and stood out two feet on
either side. Hats are either very small or very large, utterly simple
or highly ornate. There is no middle ground. Mary McCrea wears
a gauze cap close-fitting as a nun's; to the rose-pink color scheme
her Paris milliner has added a little "note of celestial blue." A
few ladies prefer "a sweet airy cap with a white sprig," but the
majority favor more imposing combinations of coiffure and hat.
One style provides a mass at least a foot high and gives the effect
of a churn turned upside down and decorated with lace and
flowers. At the Inaugural Ball one headdress was a pouf of gauze
in the form of a globe with a crown of white satin hung with ar-
tificial roses. There were also hats a Pespagnole, each with a great
plume and two cockades. Other styles are designed to resemble
towers bedecked with ribbons, artificial flowers, and plumes.
While the flowing gowns sweep the floor, the hats seem to reach
upward to sweep the ceiling. From time to time the headdress does
sweep the lighted candles of a chandelier and there is a fire, but
this is not a common disaster. Hats are growing to such huge di-
mensions that a recent letter in the newspapers advises the impor-
tation of larger umbrellas to cover them from the rain. Mrs. Mc-
Crea is content with the fetching charm of a simple cap; Mrs.
Knox, buxom and resplendent, beams forth from beneath a vast
pyramid. Perhaps because her husband was the Secretary of War
she affected a military style in dressing her hair. In front it is
"craped up at least a foot high, much in the form of a churn bot-
Shopping Round the Town 61
torn upward, and topped off with a wire skeleton in the same form
covered with black gauze, which hangs in streamers down to her
back. The hair behind is in a large braid, turned up, and confined
with a monstrous large crooked comb." When Mrs. Knox steps
forth in dress regalia, she resembles a frigate under full sail.
The dressing of one's hair is both tedious and expensive. A lady
of fashion complains in The Contrast that she "sat tortured two
hours under the hands of my friseur." The rates quoted by
Charles McCann of 40 Pearl Street are those that generally pre-
vail. Ladies' "dress cushions" cost sixteen shillings, braids from
ten to twenty-four shillings, and ringlets seven shillings a pair. If
you wish to have the hair dressed daily the rate is 15 (almost
$38) a year. A single dressing is five shillings. For the gentlemen
the same daily service is available at 8 ($20) a year; three dress-
ings a week cost 4 i os. For those who wish to do their own, they
will find the shop of Nathaniel Smith, at 187 Queen Street, in-
dispensable. Mr. Smith, at the Sign of the Rose, is a manufactur-
ing chemist and perfumer. He is well known for his "superfine
English white hair powder" and his "clarified hard and soft
pomatums, on a new construction that was never introduced into
this country before; they are rendered exceeding nutritive to hair,
feels cool and pleasing to the head, and never causes the least
heat or agitation, but on the contrary, strengthens and nourishes
the hair, keeping it from turning grey, or combing off." Mr.
Smith also offers tooth paste, toupees, powders, razors, likewise
his "liniment for destroying nits in the hair, with printed direc-
tions" and a hundred aids to beauty for both ladies and gentle-
men.
Fashions for gentlemen are not so complicated, but a person
who pretended to any importance was an elegant creature. The
miniature painter, John Ramage, was a handsome, conspicuous
figure. He was certainly not alone. A beau of '89 has penned his
reminiscences of one of his own sartorial victories :
You must remember the Misses White, so gay and fashionable,
so charming in conversation, with such elegant figures. ... I can
62 This Was New York
remember going one night with Sir John Temple and Henry
Remsen to a party at their house. I was dressed in a light French-
blue coat, with a high collar, broad lapels, and large gilt buttons,
a double-breasted Marseilles vest, Nankeen-colored cassimere
breeches, with white silk stockings, shining pumps, full ruffles on
my breast and at my wrists, together with a ponderous white
cravat with a pudding in it, as we then called it; and I was con-
sidered the best-dressed gentleman in the room.
I remember to have walked a minuet with much grace, with
my friend Mrs. Verplanck, who was dressed in hoop and petti-
coats; and, singularly enough, I caught cold that night from drink-
ing hot Port wine negus, and riding home in a Sedan chair, with
one of the glasses broken.
The New York Gazette includes the gentlemen in its fashion
notes from Paris:
In undress [they] wear a very long blue riding coat, with plain
steel buttons, made full like a bomb or globe.
A scarlet waistcoat and yellow Kersemere breeches, quite plain
without embroidery at the knees or buttonholes.
With this dress they wear gaiters made of black polished
leather, which reach half-way up the thigh, and the shoes are tied
with strings.
Jocky hats of a middling height in their crown, and the round
very narrow. The hair is dressed on the sides in two long curls, and
behind tied in a queue.
Round the neck a very full muslin cravat, the ends of which are
tied in a large knot before.
The muff is black bear skin, with a large knot of scarlet ribbon
attached to it.
All the concern about male beauty exasperates one old-
fashioned gentleman, who thunders forth in a letter to the news-
papers in November 1789:
The young ladies have totally laid aside all manner of decep-
tion [!]; cork and wool are no more necessary in the dress of a fine
woman, and, to the immortal honour of the ladies of New York,
Shopping Round the Town 63
let it here be recorded that they have adopted the most natural
and becoming fashions, this winter, that we have ever seen; whilst
the young bucks and petit-maitres are metamorphosing them-
selves into lusus naturae and their tailors into upholsterers.
If our purse permits we can safely visit several of the leading
jewelers of the city. There is Francis Patton at 38 Wall Street
who also deals in shell goods; Peter Ritter at 50 Broadway who
mixes jewelry with ironmongery. Bessonet & Menkler conduct a
shop known as At the Sign of the Dial at 32 Maiden Lane. Wil-
liam and John Mott (at 240 Water Street) have just issued a cop-
per business token with an advertisement on each side.
Jewelry may not interest us, but we can hardly escape our need
for gloves and boots and shoes. James Hays, "Leather Breeches
Maker and Glover, at the sign of the Buck and Breeches, No. 18
Water Street, nearly opposite the Coffee House/' promises punc-
tuality and dispatch and feels certain that his "long Experience
in Business in different Parts of Europe, as well as in the capital
cities of America," enables him to offer the utmost satisfaction
at the most reasonable rates. Thomas Garnis, at 72 Queen Street,
between Peck's Slip and Cherry Street, describes himself as a
"Boot and Shoe-Maker from London" and as one who "has been
used to work for the first nobility in England for a number of
years." At his shop he "makes and sells all sorts of Ladies silk,
sattin, stuff and leather shoes, likewise all sorts of gentlemens
boots, shoes and galloshes in the neatest manner, and most ap-
proved fashion on reasonable terms, and at the shortest notice."
Charles Gilmore of 161 Queen Street presents, at the Sign of the
Boot and Shoe, "a genteel assortment of gentlemen's boots and
shoes at moderate prices; likewise, ladies silk and stuff shoes of
the best kind childrens shoes of all sorts." Footwear is moderate
in price; a pair of gentlemen's boots cost about six dollars, and
ladies' shoes a dollar and a half.
Certainly few visitors will come to New York and fail to pur-
chase items needed for the home. Perhaps it is a mirror, some
pottery, or a bit of china. Samuel Dunlap, at 13 Queen Street,
64 This Was New York
has just imported an elegant assortment of looking glasses. From
Newcastle the firm of Shedden, Patrick & Company has just re-
ceived "a quantity of Flint Glass Ware, Crown Window Glass,
and cream colored and brown Earthenware," to be seen at 206
Water Street. The leading dealer in the field is James Chrystie of
Maiden Lane, who thus advertises his goods with great frequency :
CHINA
Tea-sets; nankeen, painted, &c. a great variety of cups and
saucers; half -pint bowls of all sizes; enamelled, painted, penciled;
and blue and white pudding dishes; plates; tureens; cake-plates;
tea-pots; sugar-dishes; milk pots, &c.
GLASS-WARE
Complete table-sets, elegantly cut; best double refined flint; a
large assortment of common tumblers, wines, &c. also of plain
double-flint; bird fountains; globe lamps; small lamps for candle-
sticks; proof bottles, &c.
EARTHEN-WARE
A very general assortment of blue and white; French gray;
variegated; queens, &c. a large assortment of flower pots, of
different colors and sizes; likewise of home manufacture.
There is one plaintive appeal for the support of domestic glass
manufacture. DeNeufville, Heefke & Walfahrt addressed the
public from Dowesburgh on the subject of "Window and Green
Hollow Glass, Being the first that has been brought to that per-
fection within this State, and not without great expense. The
Proprietors therefore, would solicit the public for a generous en-
couragement of their infant manufactory, wherein not so much
themselves as the community is interested." Their products are
currently on view at the house of John Heefke in Cortlandt Street.
If it is furniture we seek there are numerous public auctions. At
the moment Lewis Nicholas is selling his mahogany furniture at
bargain prices. He is moving to the country and offers clearance
sales both at his house at 90 William Street and at his shop on
Shopping Round the Town 65
Queen Street. Or we can visit Thomas Burling, next to the
Chapel in Beekman Street. He is a cabinet and chair maker of
established reputation. Another chair maker, James Hallet of 43
Broadway, also builds coaches and chariots. If our tastes run to
music we shall find ourselves in the shop of J. Jacob Astor at
8 1 Queen Street, near the Quaker Meeting House. He has for
sale "an assortment of Piano Fortes, of the newest construction,
made by the best makers in London, which he will sell on reason-
able terms." If we are interested in hardware, cutlery, guns, wall-
paper, garden seeds, or birdseed we shall readily find a plentiful
variety. We can even find one birdseller: Elizabeth Anderson, at
the corner of Greenwich and Chambers streets.
Many of the great merchants of the city sell imported wines,
gin (known simply as "Geneva") , brandy, and Jamaica rum. The
traffic is large in volume and rich in profit. The eighteenth cen-
tury was a period of excessive drinking. Even small children were
given wine and hot and cold punches. The United States had, in
1 789, a population well under four millions. There are no accurate
figures on the consumption of alcoholic beverages, but an estimate
of imports for 1787 is revealing: four million gallons of brandy,
rum, and strong spirits, a million gallons of wine, and three million
gallons of molasses (to be converted into rum by American dis-
tillers). These represent only the imports; there is no estimate
of the beer, wines, hard cider, applejack, and whisky produced
within the United States and at a time when there was no
internal-revenue tax to discourage either distillers or drinkers. It
is interesting to note that in 1787 we imported a total of only
125,000 pounds of tea.
William Backhouse & Company, at 15 Duke Street, offer a
choice variety of imported wine: Madeira, sherry, vidonia, red
port, Lisbon, Malaga, Teneriffe, and Fayal, "by the Pipe or Butt,
Hogshead or small cask." Madeira is the favorite wine. A pipe of
it (126 American gallons) costs from 66 to 90, so that when
purchased in quantity a gallon of excellent old Madeira is from
$1.30 to $1.80. Port, when purchased in bulk, is only 90 cents
66 This Was New York
a gallon, while Fayal can be had for 40 cents. Jamaica rum is
listed at less than 60 cents a gallon, domestic rum at 32 cents.
Tipplers who do not favor rum as their strong drink have avail-
able many variations of domestic whisky at about 50 cents a
gallon. Beyond the mountains, in Pittsburgh, whisky is taken in
trade at one shilling [124 cents] a gallon. But this intriguing price
would hardly justify the arduous expedition to the west.
Shedden, Patrick & Company, over at 206 Water Street, sell
Spanish and French brandies, Granada rum, and red Catalonia,
Old Mountain, and Old Malvosio wines. When Frederick Jay,
brother of the chief justice, is not occupied with his many auction
sales, he imports and sells London-bottled porter at about three
dollars a dozen. Charles Tillinghast operates a distillery in Cherry
Street and advertises "New- York RUM of excellent flavor and
good proof." There are many other dealers in strong spirits, but
they add nothing to the general variety.
We shall have little difficulty in purchasing tea or tobacco.
There are many importers of tea and numerous "tobacco manu-
factories."
New York has more than a dozen publishers and booksellers.
Each of them combines activities in several related fields. Robert
Hodge, at the corner of King and Queen streets, publishes a few
books, imports varied stocks from Paris and London, and offers
for sale "an excellent assortment of stationery" which includes
knives, message cards, and shoe buckles. The publishers of news-
papers are often book publishers as well as general printers and
stationers. In truth there is not yet enough profit in any single
field to justify specialization.
We ought to pay a visit to old Hugh Gaine at the Sign of the
Bible in Hanover Square. Some forty years ago this Belfast Irish-
man set up a printing press and launched the New York Mercury.
For more than thirty years he was a newspaper publisher; during
the late war he was a notorious Tory. He remained after the peace
and now dispenses Bibles and religious tracts with the zeal of a
fanatic in both business and religion. Before ending our shop-
Shopping Round the Town 67
ping tour we must visit James Rivington, that other arch-Tory
and ex-publisher who is now a stationer and tobacconist at No. i
Queen Street. There, snugly ensconced behind his counter, is an
elderly gentleman in a rich purple velvet coat, full wig and cane,
and ample frills. We purchase a bit of Rivington's special to-
bacco. As he wraps it for us he assures us, with a smile, that
"the Gentleman's Twist is a constant Vade Mecum and hilarious
Associate of the Cognoscenti and other Amateurs of our All-
cheering, delicious Morceau." If so, we have finally made a real
purchase.
CHAPTER VI
The City at Work
IN THE year that the United States embarked upon its "more
perfect union," how did New Yorkers make a living and how
much of a living was it? The answer is simple and was evident at
almost every street end. As for well over a century before and
almost a half century to come, they lived directly or indirectly
from their waterfront and its ships.
When the brig Polly, Captain Green, tied up at Hallet's
Wharf, fifty-four days out of Copenhagen, she brought more than
bales of merchandise in her hold and gains for her owners on
Cherry Street. She brought, as well, interest to the Bank of New
York. She brought commissions to the auctioneers of her cargo
on Wall Street. She brought profits to the wholesale houses on
William Street and then to the retailers on Nassau. She brought
an order of 200 feet of cable to the ropewalk out by the Collect.
She brought wharfage fees seven shillings sixpence a day to
the owners of the Slip. She brought repair jobs to the caulkers,
sailmakers, sawyers, riggers, brass founders, shipwrights, car-
penters, and joiners on Water Street, and, for her crew, other
repair jobs to the brewers and distillers and to sundry "dissolute
characters" in Topsail Town. She brought work to longshoremen,
carters, blacksmiths, and wheelwrights. Before she was loaded
again and had sailed, she distributed pounds or pence by devious
channels not only to the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker,
but to Aaron Burr, attorney at law, and to the Dutch doughnut
woman in Old Swago Market. Hudson Valley farmers and Jer-
sey millers used the Polly to turn their wheat and flour into
68
The City at Work 69
plows, knives, or cash. Old Hayman Levy and young Jacob Astor,
fur merchants, and through them traders among the Iroquois and
trappers beyond Detroit, managed to earn a living because the
Polly docked at New York.
In 1789, 1,107 Pollys, seagoing vessels, entered the port; 770
of them were American, 308 British, 1 1 Spanish, 8 Portuguese, 5
French, 3 Dutch, and 2 Swedish. A few years before, China and
Madras had been opened to American trade by vessels sailing out
through the Narrows; and in May of '89 a ship returned to New
York that was the first to fly the American flag on the Ganges.
But the sea accounted for only part of New York's shipping.
Rivers and creeks which are regarded today as mere details of
the landscape, and often not even decorative details, were chan-
nels of traffic. Scows, barges, rowboats nearly anything that
floated and could be poked along by poles or oars carried freight
to and from the upper reaches of the Raritan, Hackensack, Bronx,
and Housatonic rivers. Creeks now almost buried in mud, the
Sparkill at Piermont for a humble example, boasted of their yearly
tonnage.
Then as now the Hudson \>jas of course navigable to Albany.
Indeed, in 1 785 Captain Stewart Dean of that city had wearied
of sailing his 8o-ton sloop, the Experiment, up and down the river
and set off for China. He got there too, the second American
ship to reach a Chinese port; and when he returned to Albany,
proud and well heeled, the town named a street after him.
The maritime correspondent in the port of Poughkeepsie re-
ports, December 30, 1788:
In our last, we mentioned the sailing of the sloop Lydia for the
West Indies, and Capt. North for New- York; and we are sorry
to add that they were both froze up in the Highlands, without
any prospect of getting out this season. We are told that upwards
of twenty vessels have been catched in the ice between this place
and Spiten Devil ... we lament the unfortunate owners.
It was not so hard on the crews, who could skate to the nearest
tavern.
70 This Was New York
In his introduction to the city directory of 1786 Noah Webster
describes this inland commerce with lexicographical precision.
New York, he observed, "imports most of the goods consumed
between a line 30 miles east of the Connecticut River and 20
miles west of the Hudson, which is 120 miles. . . . The whole
territory contains at least a half a million people or one-sixth of
the population of the United States . . . besides some other
states are supplied by goods from New York." Owing to the tra-
dition of colonial independence and to the leisurely pace of trans-
portation, the consumers of New York still thought of the other
states as foreign parts. "Imported from Rhode Island," one mer-
chant advertised his goods. A. L. Bleecker, of 208 Water Street,
^informed the public that he had "just imported an assortment of
Broad Cloths, also a few chests of Hyson and Souchong Tea"
from Philadelphia !
The leading exports tell something of the livelihoods gained in
the city and its hinterland: wheat, flour, flaxseed, potash, bread,
furs, barrel heads and staves, and raw hides to the tune, includ-
ing minor items, of about two million dollars in 1788 and a half-
million more in 1 790. Most of these goods went to London the
West Indies trade was still hamstrung by English and French
restrictions. M. Brissot says that "the English have a great pred-
ilection for [New York] and its productions; its port is always
filled with English ships. They prefer even its wheat, so that the
American merchants bring wheat from Virginia and sell it for
that of New York."* Some member of the Chamber of Commerce
must have given M. Brissot an earful, for he likewise asserts that
in point of trade New York ranked first in the country. Although
the city led in coastal trade, it was outstripped by Philadelphia as
a whole until the middle of the 17905. From then on to the
satisfaction of Messers John V. Glover, Peter Schermerhorn,
*This chapter makes no pretense at rivaling a Chamber of Commerce
report; but the scale of trade may be judged by noting that New York in
1788 exported 322,000 bushels of wheat (at $1.00 per bu.), 183,000 bushels
of corn (at 43* per bu.), and 10,000 bushels of rye (at 31^ per bu.).
The City at Work 71
Thomas C. Pearsall, and their fellow shippers New York kept
increasing its lead.
After leaving the ship's hold, a cargo passed through the hands
of auctioneers, commission agents, and wholesale dealers. These
gentlemen conducted their business after the fashion of a trading
post or country store. They handled anything and everything
that could be bought or sold. Smith & Bradford, of 22 Wall Street,
proposed to auction at the Coffee House Bridge barrels of wine,
casks of rum, boxes of table and tea sets, tubs of Chinese bowls,
hogsheads of tobacco, and "two bags of feathers/' In a single
advertisement Anthony L. Bleecker offered to the highest bidder
Madeira wine "fit for immediate use," Carolina indigo and rice,
China tea, a house and lot on Queen Street, thirteen acres up
near Harlem, and "a neat post chaise, with harness for a pair of
horses." Frederick Jay, opposite the Coffee House, relieved some-
one of a dozen city lots and someone else of "three hogsheads
damaged tobacco." James Barclay sold at his auction room, No.
14 Hanover Square, lots and tenements, household and kitchen
furniture from andirons to bed curtains barrels of mackerel
and 42 dozen ramrods. In (act the only limitation upon the
auctioneers was their number; the state licensed but twelve of
them to deal in imported wares.
Wholesale merchants did their business largely on commission,
and except for the quieter manner of fixing prices differed little
from the auctioneers. Certainly they were as versatile. A buyer
from Hackensack, Albany, or even the West Indies could easily
meet the demands of his local trade by walking into Robert
Bowne & Co. at 39 Queen (Pearl) Street. There he could pur-
chase as advertised raw hides, wine, lignum vitae, boxwood,
eighty sets of mahogany bedsteads, turpentine, varnish, lamp-
black, wax, sheet copper, anchors, beef, pork, butter, lard, hams,
flour, rice, furs, and a variety of dry goods. Peter Goelet, iron-
monger, carried a line of saddles, hardware, pewter spoons, hair
trunks, and playing cards.
The few specialized concerns dealt chiefly in furs or sugar.
72 This Was New York
Hayman Levy is remembered for his prominence in the fur trade,
his sixteen children, and his having trained in the fur business
young Jacob Astor. Dying in 1789, with glowing obituaries, he
was succeeded by his nephew, Isaac Moses. The big sugar men,
refinere and merchandisers, included Isaac Roosevelt, who set up
the first refinery in the land, and members of the Livingston,
Bayard, Cuyler, and Van Cortlandt families.
Indeed, many names now woven into the fabric of the city's
political and cultural history or enshrined in its social register were
painted over store fronts. Archibald Grade, Robert Lenox,
John Delafield, Nicholas Low, James Depeyster, etc., etc. a list
of the leading merchants is something for their blue-blooded de-
scendants to be proud of. For most blue blood, in America or
Europe, is extracted from the skill of a shopkeeping ancestor to
keep out of the red.
In 1789, when modern industrialism and the stock market were
not available, the favorite method for keeping and increasing the
profits of trade was to invest them in real estate. This involved
more than putting money in the ground and speculating on a rise
in population; though speculation in the soil of lower Manhattan
could hardly be counted a risk. But the boom in building, to-
gether with the grading and filling of suburban acres and the ex-
tending of the shore line, amounted to a major industry. It helped
provide tradesmen and laborers with a livelihood on a consider-
able scale.
A hint of the scale may be seen in a few typical transactions.
Prices are not recalled in an attempt at humor. They may serve
as a rough index to the size of the profits to the worth of the
storekeepers and their commerce. A lot on the corner of Broadway
and Liberty Street 25 feet by 90 feet together with a small
parcel in the rear, brought $1,750. Down further, below Wall
Street, a lot with iO5-foot front on the west side of Broadway and
extending clear to the Hudson River was purchased for $8,000.
'Way uptown, on the west side of Broadway, between Murray and
Warren streets, it took $600 to buy a plot 25 feet by 108 feet. In
The City at Work 73
the heart of the city, on Wall Street near Pearl, two lots, each
possessing 57-foot frontage and over 100 feet in depth, together
cost $4,500. The city authorities did not feel they were getting a
bargain no city administration ever got one when they bought
the corner house at Wall and Broad, with its 16 by 30 feet of
ground, for $1,125; sa ^ P^ ot w ^h a somewhat different house
is now the offices of J. P. Morgan & Co.
The year before, Earl and Lady Abingdon sold the Warren
estate, fifty-five acres and a country house deemed to be the finest
near Greenwich Village. It netted them $2,200. The city sold two
hundred acres of common land in 1789 between the Post and
Bloomingdale roads for an average price of $72.50 an acre. Baron
Poelnitz must have cultivated his soil marvelously or sown it with
gold to get $12,500 for the Minto estate.
Rentals may be judged, perhaps unfairly, from two examples.
A city house, No. 27 Queen (Pearl) Street, three stories high,
three rooms to a floor, was rented for $362 a year. As for the
suburbs, Edmund Randolph of Virginia, the first United States
Attorney General, wrote to his wife: "I have a house a mile and
a half from Federal Hall, that ]s, from the most public part of the
city. It is, in fact, in the country, is airy, has seven rooms, is well
furnished, and gentlemanlike. The rent is 75, our money.*'
Translated from Virginia pounds, this meant about $240 a year
and a year when the presence of Randolph and Congress had
kited rents and prices.
Altogether the investment of New Yorkers in real estate was as-
sessed, in 1790, at approximately $5,845,000. The average rate of
taxation was 133. 6d. on 100 or about 67^ on $100. Within
the next decade the assessed valuation increased fourfold, at
which Isaac Roosevelt, George Janeway, Alexander Macomb,
and other large purchasers of real estate, and the heirs of Moses
Gomez, realtor and broker, shed no tears. It was gains such as
these that led Jacob Astor to prick up his ears and started him on
his way to become "the landlord of New York." Similar gains
made an alchemist's dreams come true. About 1791 Jan Max
74 This Was New York
Liechtenstein bought a modest house on Wall Street for $825, and
for thirty years he sweated there over a triple-chimneyed furnace
trying to turn base metals into gold. Then, one day while he was
absorbed in his usual researches into the "imbibition, solution,
ablution, cohabation, ceration, and fixation" of metals, a stranger
walked up to him and paid him $33,000 for his house. Later
alchemists, though they did not call themselves such, who have
come to Wall Street in an effort to turn paper into gold have not
always been so lucky.
By and large a New Yorker in 1789 called himself affluent and
fit for admiration if he possessed $50,000. Undoubtedly the
wealthiest man in the city was a transient the President of the
United States.
The immediate beneficiaries of business were the lawyers. M,
Brissot was repeating a complaint as old as the legal profession
when he remarked that their fees "were excessive, as in England."
New Yorkers claimed to have additional reasons for wishing to
throw their 122 lawyers into the river. Opponents of the Federal
Constitution pointed out that "of the men who framed that
monarchical, aristocratical, oligarchical, tyrannical, diabolical
system of slavery, the New Constitution, one half were lawyers."
Furthermore, of the men who "misrepresented" the city at the
convention that led to its adoption, "seven out of the nine were
lawyers." The accusations if not the adjectives were correct.
Among the attorneys eligible to practice at the New York bar,
John Jay, Alexander Hamilton, Robert Morris, Gouverneur
Morris, and Aaron Burr had a hand in making the nation; but
it is hardly debatable whether the bill they sent to American his-
tory is excessive.
A young man, William Alexander Duer, who was studying law
at the time liked to recall in later years his memories of the New
York bar. He recollects:
I have listened in blind admiration to the black letter learning
of the elder Samuel Jones and with breathless emotion to the
lucid and impassioned eloquence of Hamilton. I have sometimes
The City at Work 75
felt in danger of fascination by the imposing self-possession and
sententious brevity of Burr and [was] captivated by the graceful
rhetorick of the classic but sarcastic [Richard N.] Harrison, the
candid ingenuity of Brockholst Livingston, and the legal acumen
and Nisi Prius tact of the elder Ogden Hoffman. Nor did I less
appreciate the more homely but not less forcible logic of [John]
Gozine and [Robert] Troup.
All these gentlemen and their colleagues were especially busy not
only in attending to the normal run of law work, but in arguing
the numerous claims and suits arising from the British occupa-
tion of the city, the changed fortune of the Tories, and the ad-
vent of American independence.
The business of making a living by the law changes less, from
century to century, than most professions or trades. Among the
recognized trades of 1 789 many of the commonest have now fairly
vanished. Today a man would have to tramp the streets long
hours to find a successor to John Amory the whipmaker, John
Fawpel the peruke maker, James Hawlett the coachmaker,
Thomas Gridell the pewterer, or John Smith the farrier. In a city
as fantastic as modern New York it would be brazen to claim
that there exist absolutely no tallow chandlers, chimney sweeps,
spermaceti refiners, town criers, tinderbox repairers, sleigh-bell
founders, tavern-sign painters, or makers of knee buckles, hair
powder, snuffboxes, bootjacks, bustles, quills, candle snuffers, bed
warmers, wine castors, and dinner-and-dance swords. The White
Rock company would protest that even water carriers are not ex-
tinct. But in 1789 these were prevalent occupations.
A subtle change, however, was working within the ranks of
all trades. Master, journeyman, and apprentice were terms still
widely in use; but they had lost or were losing their old guild
significance. In most trades a master had become merely an em-
ployer, free to hire or fire at will. A journeyman was merely an
employee, and the apprentice a beginner, likewise free to take or
leave a job. And as wages and working conditions grew flexible
a matter of tug and bargain between the hirers and the hired
76 This Was New York
both groups tended toward a separate organization and defense
of their own interests.
As befitted their superior economic position, the masters or-
ganized first. By 1786 a General Society of Mechanics and
Tradesmen represented the employers' interests in the leading
crafts and trades. But the "class struggle" lay so far in the future
free labor was cheap and plentiful that the society and its
affiliated bodies devoted themselves largely to mutual benevolence
and social festivity.
Their annual dinners were an event. In '89 the General So-
ciety's banquet was held January 6 at "the House of Mr. Samuel
Fraunces, Corner of John and Nassau Streets." The newspapers
described it as "an elegant entertainment" ; and among the cus-
tomary thirteen toasts, one for each state of the Union, the loudest
applause must have greeted the following: "A cobweb pair of
breeches, a porcupine saddle, and a hard-trotting horse to all the
enemies of freedom!" The Peruke Makers' Society held their an-
niversary dinner on January 2 at the house of William Ketchum
and drank deep in response to the sentiment: "May contempt
be the fate of such among us as struts in foreign foppery to the
destruction of American trade and manufactures." The Society of
Master Bakers met at their annual dinner in September at the
house of Lawrence Heyer; and if their toasts omitted mention
of the "staff of life" or "our daily bread," it set a record.
Often the beneficiaries of these events included men who had
no seat at the table the inmates of the Debtors' Jail who, next
day, received the remnants of the feast. After the General Society's
banquet, the debtors published in the newspapers a note of
acknowledgment: "The prisoners confined in gaol for small debts
return their most grateful thanks to the Society of Mechanics
for their donations of bread, beef and cheese. Their benevolence
gave a temporary relief to many persons now in want and pov-
erty who formerly were in easy and comfortable circumstances."
At a time when one out of every seven men in the city was jailed
for debt the figure for 1788 most tradesmen and mechanics
The City at Work 77
must have wondered, as they met at their annual feast, whether
they would eat it next year at a dining-room table or on the prison-
cell floor.
The size of the livelihoods earned by these small businessmen
was limited by a familiar squeeze play. An upswing in general
commerce brought an increase of competitors; and if profits rose,
rents increased. Whereas a downward turn might mean the
Debtors' Jail for the tradesman, and a common laborer's job
if one could be found for the bankrupt artisan.
The majority of New Yorkers were of course laborers. A skilled
worker carpenter, mason, or smith earned four shillings (50^)
a day. An unskilled worker ditch digger, hod carrier, or carter
earned two shillings (25^) a day. A day's work lasted from
dawn to dark fortunately for the workers, the high price of
candles prevented it from lasting longer. Strikes, moreover, were
almost unknown.* The supply of labor was so plentiful that or-
ganized resistance to low wages and long hours was unthinkable.
Yet some of the well-born and rich were not satisfied. John Jay
complained that the "wages of mechanics and labourers . . .
are very extravagant." How extravagant they were may perhaps
be judged from a claim in the Daily Advertiser (of January 31,
1791 ) that "many of our industrious small tradesmen, cartmen,
day labourers, and others dwell upon the border of poverty and
live from hand to mouth."
A large part of the laboring population earned no wages at all,
in the modern sense of the term. These were the indentured serv-
ants and the slaves. Indentured servants were white serfs who had
sold themselves, or had been sold, into from three to seven years
of bondage for a fixed sum which they often failed to get. Most
of them were "redemptioners" from Europe, immigrants sold at
the wharves into years of labor for about fifty dollars, a sum which
just covered the price of their ocean passage. When they had
*In 1785 journeymen shoemakers went on strike, and in 1788 the journey-
men printers won an increase in wages. Such are the brief annals of labor
conflicts in the decade; but this hardly proves that if labor had no history,
it was happy.
78 This Was New York
served their "times" they were as penniless as the day they landed.
But foreign labor, even at bargain prices and with a whole con-
tinent to exploit, was opposed by shortsighted men on, as usual,
the noblest grounds. Immigration, the New York State Council
of Revision declared in 1785, would be "productive of the most
fatal evils" for the reason that it would be impossible to assimilate
the immigrants "ignorant of our Constitution and totally unac-
quainted with the principles of civil liberty." This was an atti-
tude that infuriated Senator Maclay. "We Pennsylvanians," he
declared, "act as if we believed that God made of one blood all
the families of the earth; but Eastern people seem to think that
He made none but New England folk. It is strange that men born
and educated under republican forms of government should be
so contracted on the subject of general philanthropy."
The remaining indentured servants were native-born unfor-
tunates men jailed for debt, dependent women, orphans, public
charges, presumed vagrants. The authorities sold them into serv-
ice to pay off their upkeep or debts, and when their years of servi-
tude were over they had little or no cash to show for it. Bond
servants were forbidden to buy or sell anything, to go more than
ten miles from their masters' homes, to gamble, or to marry. A
bondwoman who bore a child was required to serve an extra year.
Captured runaways had five days added to their term for each
day's absence.
Finally, as we have noticed in touring the city, one out of four-
teen inhabitants was a Negro slave. As few of them were skilled,
they served largely as domestic help, roustabouts, and scavengers.
They were bought and sold privately the old slave market, part
of the Meal Market in the middle of Wall Street near Water,
had vanished; and almost any morning's newspaper carried ad-
vertisements offering likely human flesh. By "enquiring of the
printer" you could buy "A STOUT active NEGRO LAD, 17 years of
age Also, a NEGRO GIRL, aged 14." Or "A NEGRO WENCH,
about 25 years of age, sold for no fault Also, an excellent house
Negro, and a very good Spinnet." If you maintained bachelor's
The City at Work 79
quarters, you might have been interested in "A stout healthy
NEGRO MAN, about 22 years of age He is sober and honest,
a good coachman, understands attending at table, and will
answer very well for a single gentleman." If you lived on the land,
what about "A YOUNG NEGRO GIRL, twelve years of age, strong
and healthy, bred in the country, used to the business of a farm"?
Even without money you could purchase "An active, well-set,
strong NEGRO LAD, of 19 years old. He is handy bred to farm
and house- Work, can plough, cook, and washes well perfectly
sober and honest. . . . West-India or New- York Rum, Sugar, or
Molasses (if more convenient than Cash) will be taken in
payment."
In 1775 it took about $150 to buy an adult male and about
$100 for a woman. But after the Revolution prices varied ex-
cessively. In the face of cheap free labor the value of slaves must
have declined sadly, if the rewards offered for the capture and
return of runaways can serve as a gauge. David J. Johnston
promised ten dollars to anyone who would take up a "Negro
Man named GEORGE, about five feet eight inches high, remark-
ably black, his teeth very white, with ill looking red eyes" and
"deliver him in Bridewell in the city of New-York." Five to seven
dollars was the usual reward, often less than the value of the
clothes the runaways had the foresight to borrow when they lit
out. Joe, the property of Ebenezer Legget of Westchester, walked
off clad in "a short blue coatee, with metal buttons; a red
flowered velvet jacket, linen trousers, a new felt hat." A Negro
woman named Annie, "though she sometimes calls herself
Molly," took, along with her freedom, "one new striped calico
long gown, one red short ditto, and petticoat, one black calimanco
petticoat, three homespun ditto; black hat, and sundry other
things." Yet all a man would receive for "taking up" Annie and
delivering her to Isaac Vanderbeck, Jr., of Hoboken was four
dollars. Presumably Mr. Vanderbeck Jr. felt that the chances
of seeing Annie again were slim, and as for getting back Mrs.
Vanderbeck's wardrobe the chances were nil.
8o This Was New York
In fact the initial outlay required for purchasing an indentured
servant or a slave, plus the subsequent maintenance charges, was
so large that free labor free to be hired, fired, or starved
won the day. By the end of the eighteenth century slave and
indentured labor was doomed in New York as throughout the
North. Modern factory production and the great waves of im-
migration that came later merely gave the death blow to already
dying institutions.
What kind of living did the wages of freemen buy? At almost
any price level twenty-five and fifty cents a day seems meager;
and, if life is thought of in the light of modern needs, it means
no living at all. A workingman could not travel for pleasure
when it cost him a week's labor to buy a ticket to Philadelphia.
He didn't go to the theater if he had to work two days to earn
the privilege of hissing from the gallery. Even cheap entertain-
ments, Bowen's Wax Works or a lecture on "The Divinity of
Jesus Christ," at two shillings sixpence and one shilling respec-
tively, were beyond his means. He had a hard enough time buy-
ing bread at three cents and beef at three and one half cents a
pound. At that it must have been wretched beef; for it took
ten cents almost a half-day's work to pay for a pound of
salt pork.
A worker's standard of living cannot, in fact, be reckoned or
described in modern concepts. The simplest food, drink, and
clothing and the meanest hovel were the terms of his existence.
In 1 795 it cost ten cents a day to maintain a pauper in the Alms-
house; and this sum was naturally based on the wholesale pur-
chase of provisions, clothing, and fuel, and it excluded rent. Yet
in that year, as in 1 789, a common laborer blessed with a wife and
child had less per head with which to provide for the three of
them than an inmate of the poorhouse.
Still, hard as it may be to conceive, he did live. The 330
taverns and grogshops could not have catered only to the well-
to-do. Fishing was free, plentiful, and occasionally fun. Cock-
fights, dice, and cards were good sport, however low the stakes.
The City at Work 81
Swimming, sledding, and skating were healthy and gratis a
handy man made the family sled and skates. In the days before
refrigeration quantities of food farm produce and fish were to
be had a little overripe but edible and monstrously cheap. Chil-
dren meant, through the seasons, a free supply of mushrooms,
salads, berries, and nuts. A wife could be counted on for dress-
making, tailoring, and, after a Sunday's excursion in the country,
lugging home a sack of corn or potatoes bought for a penny,
M. Brissot, coming from the squalor of Paris, its hungry mobs
on the eve of revolution, was probably right from a contemporary
standpoint when he said of the New Yorkers: "There are no
poor, meat and fish being so cheap." European emigrants were
amazed to discover that in the New World a plain worker ate
three meals a day.
But the omens of a revolution, peaceful though it was, were
many. Wherever a man turned, if he had eyes to see, he could
find evidences, as yet mere wisps and scraps, of the coming
machine age which has so altered the conditions of life, for good
and evil, that no worker today could by any stretch or shrinkage
put himself into the skin of a journeyman one hundred and
fifty years ago.
Turn first to the newspapers. In January of 1789 appeared the
following advertisement: "Coal Tar and Black Varnish Ex-
tracted from Coal to be sold for ready money by Charles Wilkes,
No. 12, Hanover-Square, the sole agent in America for the British
Tar Company." Industrial chemistry was under way. Another
advertisement announced "the New Invented Friction Cogg for
Blocks cast and sold by John Youle at Beekman-Slip; being
a new and easy method for hoisting a heavy weight." So too
was industrial engineering.
Inventions were popping up everywhere. Leonard Harbah, a
Baltimore mechanic, came to New York and exhibited to Con-
gress models for a grain cutter, a dock cleaner, and a threshing
machine. With his reaper, he claimed, one man could cut five
acres of wheat in a day, and his thresher could do the work of
82 This Was New York
\
forty farmhands. Up in Hudson, N. Y., Benjamin Folgcr was
devising a water mill for roping and spinning combed wool and
flax. Mr. Torrey of Lebanon was preparing to amaze the fisher-
men of New London by donning a strange apparatus and walk-
ing on the bottom of the sea four fathoms deep. President Wash-
ington, who loved to examine the new gadgets at the Poelnitz
farm, took time off to design a castor for serving four bottles of
different wines at once a valuable invention, he thought, for
when bottles are passed separately "it often happens that one
bottle is moving, another stops, and all are in confusion."
Someone set up a linseed-oil factory on the hill north of the
Collect Pond and ran it with "wind sails." The state legislature
passed an act "securing to James Rumsey the sole right of mak-
ing and employing for a limited time the several mechanical
improvements by him invented." One of these improvements was
"an Engine far superior to any other for supplying Towns with
Water"; and throughout the year the New York Common
Council had his engine under consideration, but in the end they
clung to the Tea-Water pump. Peter T. Curtenius & Company,
who operated the New York Air Furnace, must have been
alarmed to hear Congressman Clymer of Pennsylvania boast that
down in Philadelphia a single furnace was making 230 tons of
steel a year and, with a little encouragement from the govern-
ment, could "produce enough for the whole country."
Turn again to the newspapers. On May 12 the New York
Packet related that a "company of forty-three ladies" in East
Greenwich, Rhode Island, "spent the day in spinning." Of "no
party and no creed," they spun "173^ knotted skeins of good linen
yarn." And "sundry gentlemen waited on them with wine, cakes,
etc." This was no romantic revival of a New England spinning
bee. It was part of a patriotic country-wide effort to make Amer-
ica independent of English manufactured textiles.
In New York the effort was a bit more practical. A Society
for the Encouragement of American Manufactures was organized
in January, with "wine, cakes, etc." at Rawson's tavern. In
The City at Work 83
February a fund, labeled "The Test of Patriotism," was raised
for the establishment of a textile factory. By the end of December
fourteen weavers and 130 spinners were at work in a linen mill
on Vesey Street.
But the New York manufacturing society was not quite prac-
tical enough. To compete successfully with England, a factory
needed to use the Arkwright spinning jennies; and England not
only forbade their export but guarded the secrets of the invention
as though it were more valuable than a crown jewel, which in-
deed it was. Rude or imperfect imitations of the Arkwright and
allied machines were set up in a number of American cities
and failed to work.
Then, in the last week of November 1 789, an immigrant landed
at New York who carried in his head more than the wealth of the
Indies. Samuel Slater, a mechanic from Derbyshire, had mem-
orized, to the last cog and cam, how to make a jenny, a billy, a
carding machine, a stocking frame, an entire English textile mill.
The day he docked he went to the plant on Vesey Street and,
after one look, urged the manufacturing society to throw their
machinery into the Hudson. They refused. By January Slater
was in Pawtucket. In less than a year after, Almy & Brown of
that city had the first Arkwright plant going full blast. And
New England not New York became the textile center of
America.
Manufacturing the new machine age took more than far-
seeing promoters, skilled mechanics, cheap labor, and patriotic
stockholders. It took practical men of science, and they were as
yet a rarity. In New York the best-known was Christopher Colles.
Born in Ireland of English stock, he had emigrated to America
in 1765. He tried his hand at designing almost everything from
a mouse trap to a steam engine. He proposed a canal to connect
Lake Ontario with the Hudson. He developed a plan for the
water supply of New York City. He projected a telegraphic
system by semaphores for the whole Atlantic coast. During the
84 This Was New York
Revolution he gave the American artillery forces lessons in gun-
nery. Then he turned to chemistry.
In January of 1789 he was trying to make a living by exhibit-
ing scientific curiosities and electrical experiments at Halsey's
tavern, near Kingsbridge, "so long as the sleighing lasts." When
the snow melted he exhibited a "solar microscope" at his home in
No. 3 on the Lower Battery. His instrument magnified a com-
mon louse "to the length of twelve feet" and thereby, so he
calculated, increased its bulk 644,972,544 times. (Admission,
three shillings, with the privilege of a second visit free, provided
you brought another customer.) In August he petitioned Con-
gress for the patent rights to a meter that could measure the
revolutions or movements of any machine or its parts. After his
road book appeared, he proposed to Congress a survey of the
entire three thousand miles of main roads in the United States
and offered to do the job for $375.
But the life of a practical scientist was as unremunerative and
hard as that of any other pioneer. Colles was ever rich in ideas and
often distressingly poor in purse. His closing years he died in
1816 were somewhat cushioned against adversity when his
friends secured for him the appointment of superintendent to the
American Academy of Fine Arts. Science, like the machine age,
fine arts, and belles lettres, was still a thing of the future.
CHAPTER VII
Medical Arts and Wiles
THE doctors of New York, if we accept the cursory judgment of
M. Brissot, charged moderate fees. But their patients, he further
explains, were few and their pickings were consequently meager.
He observed that the only widespread and popular malady was
"bilious fevers," which he attributed to excessive colds and to
simple carelessness. These fevers may have been the influenza
which Maclay said "rages all over the city" and which Trumbull,
the author, called "a Federal disorder bred out of the new Con-
stitution and communicated by infection from Congress."
Senator Maclay's experience with New York doctors has a
familiar ring. He was urged so "incessantly" to see a doctor for
his gouty knee that he "unfortunately said yes." Drs. Malachi
Treat and J. R. B. Rodgers, well-known practitioners, with
offices at No. 19 Cedar Street, called on him both "very well
dressed." Continued the senator in his diary:
The sole point I wished them to attend to was my left knee. I
could hardly get them to look at it. They said it was immaterial.
Aren't you a good hand at taking medicine? No (faintly). You
are all over indisposed; you must undergo a course of physic; you
must take a course of antimonials to alter your blood. A vomit,
said the other, to clean your stomach.
I begged leave to observe that I was well circumstanced in my
body, both as to urine and blood; had not a high fever. My knee,
gentlemen, my knee. And I showed it to them, flayed as it was with
blistering. Here is my great pain.
Poultice it with Indian mush, and we will send you some stuff
85
86 This Was New York
to put on the poultice, and the antimonial wine; the drops and
the laudanum, etc. They seemed to me like storekeepers with
their country customers: won't you take this, and this? You must
take this, and this.
Three days later: "The doctors did not call today, and it seems
like delivering me from half my misery.' 5
Such calls cost, for an ordinary visit, $1.00; for a visit with a
single dose of medicine, $1.25; verbal advice, $5.00; dressing the
blister, 50^ to $1.00.
Other charges, according to the table of fees agreed upon by
the Medical Society in 1790 (and again in 1798), included
$1.00 to $2.00 for dressing wounds; $4.00 for cupping; $1.00 to
$5.00 for bleedings; $5.00 to $10 for attending in smallpox;
$50 to $100 for amputations of limbs, breasts, or eyes; $25 for
"extirpating" the tonsils; $125 for a hernia operation; $15 to $25
for an ordinary case of midwifery and $25 to $40 for a difficult
or tedious case. It took $10 to $20 to cure a simple or virulent
gonorrhea, and $25 to $100 to "cure" confirmed syphilis.*
The income of a doctor naturally varied with his skill, clientele,
and reputation. As a body the doctors of New York were held
in high esteem. Dr. John Bard was the dean of the profession
and the first president of the Medical Society of New York when
it was reorganized in 1788. He was an old-fashioned bedside
practitioner with a host of living friends whom on occasion he
had relieved of sundry ailments. He gave you a purge, a cupping,
or an hour or two of diverting conversation which took your mind
off your ills. His son, Dr. Samuel Bard, was even more eminent.
He had gone through the hospitals of London as an assistant to
Dr. Russell of St. Thomas' ; he had received instruction from Dr.
Else, the famous surgeon, from Dr. Grieve, and also from the
poet Akenside; at Edinburgh he had won the Hope Prize for
his compilation of the indigenous herbs of Scotland; and he had
published a handbook of midwifery. He organized New York's
* People who like to talk about ills and operations may consult a complete
list of these charges in Pomerantz, pp. 403-04.
Medical Arts and Wiles 87
first medical school in 1768 and in the summer of '89 attended
Washington when he fell ill of a malignant carbuncle.
Dr. Richard Bayley was a formidable surgeon who had studied
under Dr. John Hunter of London. He lectured on surgery in
New York and illustrated his findings with specimens of morbid
anatomy which edified his students but consternated some of the
more weak-stomached citizenry. Any operation, even if skillfully
performed, was a dangerous venture. Opium and laudanum were
the only anesthetics in use, and antiseptics were unknown. The
typical diet which followed a successful operation consisted of
tapioca, buttermilk, rennet whey, a good pear, and four or five
prunes.
Among other well-known physicians were Dr. Charles Mc-
Knight, surgeon and Columbia professor; Dr. George C. Anthon,
a German, who bought a house on Broad Street from Alexander
Hamilton in April; Dr. Charleton, who was said to have confined
his practice largely to his relatives; Dr. Orsi, an Italian; and Drs.
Seaman and Romayne. Presumably most of these doctors did as
well as that Negro in Philadelphia who, after winning his free-
dom and mastering medicine, earned fees, according to the
Daily Advertiser, "to the amount of $3,000 a year."
These gentlemen were, by and large, esteemed and reputable
members of the New York medical profession. But, then as now,
there were others.
While most doctors were given to pills, phlebotomy, and
purges, one of the most successful practitioners of the day, Dr.
Elisha Perkins, loudly condemned and discarded them all. His
method of treatment was mechanical, external, and so simple that
anyone equipped with Perkins' Metallic Tractors at a beggarly
five guineas the pair could cure himself. The tractors looked
suspiciously like horsehoe nails, but they were forged of metals
which, possessing strange chemical powers, were alleged to bring
almost instant relief when gently stroked over the seat of com-
plaint. Agents sold these metallic healers from Vermont to South
Carolina; but New Yorkers were privileged to consult Dr. Perkins
88 This Was New York
in person at No. i Gold Street and find relief from rheumatism,
boils, ague, cancer, burns, crushed bones, tuberculosis, bellyaches,
and toothaches.
Midwifery was usually practiced by elderly women, and the
rate of infant mortality was high. Mrs. De Lespine, an advertiser
among the sisterhood, had indeed considerable difficulty in de-
livering herself of the King's English. She presents "respectful
compliments to the ladies in general; is thankful for their en-
couragement as a midwife; and hopes they will not be offended at
her requesting, that in future such as mean to employ her will
apply prior to the time they wish for her attendance; inconven-
iences may then be put aside what from short notice cannot be
avoided; her place of bode is at No. 66, William-street."
Dentists, according to their advertisements, did about every-
thing to be expected of them. The best in the city was John
Greenwood, at No. 56 William Street. He undertook to preserve
the teeth and gums, make them adhere, remove tartar, cure
"scurvy in the gums," destroy bad breath (and without in-
timidating his public by declaring that one of every five had it) ,
and insert "artificial teeth in so neat a manner as not to be
perceived from the natural," thus imparting "a youthful air to
the countenance" and rendering "the pronunciation more agree-
able and distinct." In 1789 Mr. Greenwood forever enhanced
his reputation by making a full set of "sea-horse" teeth for Presi-
dent Washington. However, dental art did not measure well
with dental advertising, and Senator Maclay found Washington's
voice to be "hollow and indistinct, owing, as I believe, to artificial
teeth before his upper jaw." The honorable senator was more
than correct, because more intimate friends of the President
realized that Washington's long periods of silence during dinners
arose, not from any innate taciturnity, but from a fear that his
false teeth would fall out and thus compromise his dignity.
Mr. Greenwood's fees were four guineas (a little more than
$18) for transplanting natural teeth, which he furnished for
two to five dollars each on silver or gold plates. He charged one
Medical Arts and Wiles 89
to two dollars for artificial teeth, three dollars for "grafting" a
tooth into the gums, and one to two dollars for cleaning the
teeth and removing tartar. He sold his own tooth powder for
two shillings sixpence a box and paid a guinea each for live
teeth. His office hours took up most of the day, and since his ad-
vertisements mentioned that he had a room set apart for dentistry
alone, it may be inferred that, unlike some of his colleagues, he
was not simultaneously practicing the art of a barber or a black-
smith.
His chief competitor, M. Gardette, formerly of Philadelphia,
called attention to himself by inserting in the newspapers long
essays on the care of the teeth. More to the point, he undertook
to pull the teeth of the poor free of charge. His rivals were soon
compelled to do likewise, and by 1792 something like a public
clinic for dental treatment was opened by Richard Cort Skinner.
Thereafter dentistry progressively ceased to be a common trade
and slowly rose to the rank of a mystery and a profession.
Meanwhile patients could resort to Dr. Ogden, a fireman who
fixed teeth on the side; to Mr. Fisher at No. 114 Queen Street,
who combined dentistry with surgery, phlebotomy, and the
tonsorial arts; or to Dr. G. RuSpini, formerly "surgeon dentist
to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales" and now resident at
No. 42 Hanover Square. Dr. Ruspini modestly stated that his
own make of mouthwash, a "most extraordinary styptic solution,"
was sovereign for "all kinds of hemorrhages."
Despite M. Brissot's cheerful report on the salubrious nature of
the city enough New Yorkers fell ill and enough doctors failed to
cure them or charged them so royally for it that home remedies
flourished and patent medicines were far more popular than
they are today. For the former you had only to consult the drug-
gist, the tavernkeeper, your newspaper, the current (or any other)
Almanac, a friend, or your grandmother. The cures for certain
ailments were beyond the realm of argument. The time-honored
remedy for a cough was turnip broth. A blister on each arm,
reinforced in serious cases by a vomit, took care of a fever.
90 This Was New York
Cupping did for asthma, a cow-dung poultice for bruises, quick-
silver water for worms, a rotten apple for a sty. For the colic you
had a choice of catnip tea, peppermint water, "Daffys Elixir,"
or a draught of sweetened gin and water.
The newspapers gave frequent advice to the ailing, both in the
advertisements and in the news columns; and their offices were
as well stocked in patent medicines as the pharmacies. The New
York Journal for August 6 gave an infallible cure for the bite
of a mad dog:
Take six ounces of rue, picked from the stalk and bruised, four
ounces of garlic, picked and bruised, four ounces each of Venice
treacle, scrapings of pewter or tin and mithridate; boil them in
two quarts of strong ale or porter in a pan close stopped until
one quart is consumed, then strain the ingredients from the
liquor and give nine tablespoons to a man or woman, warm,
fasting; to children in proportion, according to their age; ten or
twelve to horses or cows; four or five to sheep, hogs, or dogs; this
even if taken in nine days by God's blessing will not fail.
Thomas Greenleaf, printer of the New York Journal (at 196
Water Street), did a brisk trade in patent medicines. He stocked
"a lotion for all kinds of ulcers" at eight shillings the bottle, with
full directions. Testimonials were offered as proof of the virtues
of Dr. Cowan's "Aetherial Anodyne Spirit for asthmas, dropsies,
fevers, consumptions, etc." ten shillings the bottle. For the tooth-
ache there was "Dawes's famous Golden Tincture . . . with which
any Person may cure themselves of that afflicted sensation of
Torture . . . also keeps the breath sweet . . . and cures sore eyes,
ulcers, and headaches." Dr. Ward, self-described as "Occulist
to his late British Majesty," offered "his famous Eye Water, a
perfect cure for all defilements or Vices of the Eyes." An "elec-
tuary for destroying Worms in children and grown Persons"
was sold in Wainwright's Apothecary Shop for four shillings a
pot.
Remedies for cancer and venereal diseases were advertised on
the equitable principle of "No Cure No Pay." Mr. Leonard R.
Medical Arts and Wiles 91
Leland, "bred as a physician," assured the world that "he can
totally eradicate cancer without cutting the terms are No Cure,
No Pay the Poor he cures gratis." But he took the precaution
to add that "his stay in this place will be short."
Sheed's Specific Solution, to be bought at No. 94 Queen Street
on the no-cure-no-pay plan, was "much approved for its quick
effects in the cure of a certain unfriendly disease." Travelers and
sailors in a hurry could procure it "with printed directions, on
half an hour's notice." One advertisement of this "valuable
medicine" contained an irrefutable endorsement. "Many per-
sons," it read, "could vouch for its quick effects were it admis-
sable, but the nature of the complaint forbids the idea." If Sheed's
didn't work, the patient could always fall back on Leak's famous
pills, of which two or three boxes at five shillings each were
claimed to suffice; or on Dr. Walker's "Jesuit Drops" at five
shillings the bottle but the number of bottles necessary was
never specified undoubtedly a bit of discreet restraint.
But whether you called in the most eminent doctor or placed
your faith in a metallic tractor or simply relied upon the curative
wisdom of your grandmother or your Almanac if you were ill,
your life was equally in danger.
CHAPTER VIII
The Woman's World
AFTER thumping on the knocker, what you found inside the
door of a New York house depended on whose house it was. In
the best homes a lackey or a maid, a whale-oil lamp, an elabo-
rately knobbed hatrack, a pier glass, and a cane stand helped
prepare you to meet the hostess. You had already removed the
dirt from your boots with the aid of a scraper on the stoop.
In many of the better homes, however, social life did not
begin at the front door. The front room on the ground fVor was
often set apart for business. If the tenant was a tradesman, it
served as his shop. A merchant or a banker used it for his count-
ing room, and a lawyer for his office. It was there a doctor felt
pulses and compounded drugs. In the rear was a combined dining
room and kitchen, or the summer kitchen might be in an out-
building; and the family spent a great deal of time in both.
The prevalent middle-class dwelling comprised two or three
stories and a basement. The latter contained the kitchen and
cellars. Above, a single large room stretched the length of the
main floor. The name of this room depended largely upon the
social pretensions of the occupant. It might be described as the
tearoom, the drawing room, or, more vulgarly, the parlor. Its
prim gloom was broken by an occasional reception or tea party.
The hostess sat alone at the mahogany table and poured. To the
guests scattered about the room, servants brought tea with rusks
and cakes, and sometimes wine with fruits. Glass doors, thrown
open on these gala events, set off the rear of the parlor as a
dining room. Less formal gatherings were held downstairs in the
92
The Woman's World 93
room behind the shop, and then hosts and guests sat around a
long oak table and possibly dunked. The upper floors contained
the bedrooms, usually three to a floor two big ones and a little
hall bedroom. Servants slept in the garret or, if the dwelling in-
cluded an outhouse, in the small rooms above the summer
kitchen.
The Secretary of War, General Knox, a man whose spending
habits were as extravagant as his waistline, lived in a truly elegant
house. It was a four-story brick mansion, 31^ feet wide by 60 feet
deep, on the west side of lower Broadway. Two of its rooms were
30 feet long, three were 23 feet, two were 20 feet, and one was
26 feet. In addition there were eight small rooms, half of them
with fireplaces. A large servants' hall and a kitchen, 20 by 30
feet, occupied the ground floor. A piazza, 10 feet deep, stretched
across the rear of the house. The back yard contained a good
well one of the few in the city a cistern, and an ash house.
The land, prettily gardened, extended 500 feet to the coach house
and a wharf end on Greenwich Street.
To be perfect, a dwelling of this luxurious type had garrets
capable of storing generations of outmoded heirlooms, and a series
of cellars respectively appropriate for fuel, wines, vegetables,
smoked and pickled meats, preserved fruits, and eggs packed in
salt. It included a detached summer kitchen, a stable, a smoke-
house, and an arbor for contemplation and garden parties. Per-
haps General Knox's place had them all. In any event the upkeep
proved such a burden the general was learning that to have a
million western acres valued at a dollar an acre did not mean
that he had a million dollars that he advertised his home for
sale before the end of the year.
On the other hand General Washington found a similar house
too cramped. The Franklin mansion, on the corner at No. 3
Cherry Street, several doors east of the present Franklin Square,
was something of an architectural show piece. It had been built
by Walter Franklin, a substantial merchant, only eighteen years
before Washington moved in. Its four stories with five windows
94 This Was New York
on each side, its Georgian doorway facing the square, its stoop
with two graceful flights of steps fronting Cherry Street, its
plastered attic fagade, and its fine proportions in gross and detail
made it a monument to good taste but did not go far enough
toward rooming the President's family, an executive staff, nu-
merous servants, and the army of callers who weekly "waited
upon the President at his levee" or who every Friday evening
partook of Mrs. Washington's tea. Next year (February 1790)
the President moved into the McComb place on Broadway. Even
there he was put to the necessity of building a stable to accom-
modate his "sixJVirginia bays," his saddle horses, his canary-
colored state coach, his chaises, phaetons, baggage wagons, and
other vehicles. Back in the Cherry Street house, which had no
such accommodations, his livery-stable bill ran to $80 a month.
To be sure, maintaining a coach in a city as small, ill paved,
and crowded as New York was an extravagant nuisance. Like a
private automobile in the city of a later day, it flattered your
pride but frayed your nerves. Maclay observed that one of his
fellow senators "affords a striking proof of the inconveniency
of being fashionable. He set up a coach about a month ago, and
of course must have it come for him to the [Federal] hall. But
behold how he gets hobbled: the stated hour for the Senate to
break up is three, but it often happens that the Senate adjourns
a little after twelve, and here a healthy man must sit two or three
hours for his coach to take him three or four hundred yards."
This became so embarrassing that the senator finally got to pre-
tending he was lame and had to wait. "Thus," concluded Maclay,
"Folly often fixed her friends."
The furnishings of a well-to-do home were still "Georgian."
An inventory of the house owned by Stephen and Mary McCrea
at 129 Cherry Street revealed in the drawing room a dozen
Sheraton chairs with needlework seats, a mahogany sofa, two
card tables, two tea tables, and several easy chairs. Above the
mantelpiece were a pair of French gilt mahogany mirrors set
off by sconces, and two oil lamps with tinkling crystals.
The Woman's World 95
The dining room contained a grandfather clock which looked
down upon a slender-legged mahogany dining table with rounded
ends, bar-backed William and Mary chairs, a solid serving table,
and a curved Sheraton sideboard. The china was Nankin, and
there were Lowestoft cups and saucers among the numerous
tea sets. There were pairs of fluted silver candlesticks of "Egyp-
tian" design, a hand-beaten silver bowl (dated 1720 and a
precious heirloom), silver caudle cup and mugs, salt boats and a
large coffeepot. The table sets forks and spoons were delicate
and graceful. There was likewise an elaborate silver tea service;
and assuredly the silverware included one or more tankards,
decanters, salvers, chafing dishes, sauce boats, punch bowls, sugar
bowls and tongs, shovels for the salt, snuffers and stands,
mustard pots, bread baskets, dram bottles, tobacco dishes, and
castors. It was not exceptional for a wealthy home to boast of
a thousand ounces of "massy plate."
Pewter was going out of style. The best had been melted into
lead bullets for the Continental Army; and silver, china, and
porcelain now supplanted the "garnish" of pewter plates and
porringers hung in a row along the wall or lined against the
back of the sideboard.
The McCrea bedrooms bulged with dressing tables, cedar and
oak chests, stools embroidered with needlework, sets of drawers,
and vast beds. Even the biggest McCreas had to climb into these
beds by means of steps set between the mahogany posts which
rose to the ceiling. In the nursery the little McCreas had a
mahogany cradle, a warming pan, and trundle beds. Brass-
handled drawers, rolling gently at a touch, guarded the children's
clothes; and a wardrobe shelved the linen. The master's study
contained a severe mahogany desk, bookcase, and medicine chest.
A "chariot, pair of bay horses, and pleasure sleigh" stood in the
stable. The kitchen gleamed with "brass and copper cooking
utensils."
Peculiar to New York, the Dutch cupboard called a has
lingered on until, in our day, it has become a museum piece.
96 This Was New York
Common to all America as well as New York were close chairs,
Windsor chairs, feather beds, and corn or straw mattresses.
Furniture was upholstered with rush, cane, matting, horsehair,
leather, plush, silk, and damask. The august names of Chippen-
dale, Hepplewhite, and Sheraton still ruled the styles. But next
year, 1790, their reign was to be threatened by a young man who
came down from Albany one Duncan Phyfe.
To run an upper-class home, magnificent but machineless, took
a great deal of care and labor. The care fell to the nerves of the
mistress, the labor to the hands of the servants. The most ex-
tensive household in the city was the President's. The number
of its servants was therefore hardly typical; but their character
and pay reveal the complications of eighteenth-century house-
keeping. Washington employed in his Cherry Street mansion five
white general servants at $7.00 a month plus liveries at $29
each; five black general servants at no wages, but $46 each for
clothing; two black maids at $46 a year each; a housekeeper at
$8.00 a month; three other women at $5.00 a month; a valet at
$162 a year; and the steward, Sam Fraunces, at $25 a month.
He hired a Mr. Hyde to preside "at the second table" for $200
a year, and his wife for $100. He had a hard time getting and
keeping a cook and a coachman his want ads for them ran at
least for a month. Dunn, the coachman who finally took the job,
drank too much, overturned the wagons, drove the coach into
the ditches, and "got the horses in the habit of stopping." From
the fragmentary bookkeeping .that has survived, Washington's
household expenses in New York have been estimated at $12,317
a year. The President, a thrifty man, was not proud of the result.
Perhaps, like so many of us, he overestimated his neighbors' gift
for getting along on little, but he complains that "it is unac-
countable to me how other families, on $2500 or $3000 a year,
should be enabled to entertain more company, or at least enter-
tain more frequently, than I could do for $25,000."
But this was living and entertaining in grand style. A
Connecticut man, Oliver Wolcott, got the position of auditor to
The Woman's World 97
the Federal Treasury in the fall of '89; and, before accepting the
position, he prudently asked another Connecticut man then
living in New York to make inquiries about expenses. The friend
replied that a house and stable could be had for $200 annual
rental, food came to about 25 per cent more than in Hartford,
and $1,000 a year would support him and his family very well.
In fact Wolcott found that if he was careful he could save from
his salary of $1,500 "more than he could expect to in Con-
necticut."
The best place to hire help was William Cavenaugh's "In-
telligence Office" at No. 22 Great Dock Street. Wages were
about $8.00 to $10 a month for menservants in the city, and
about half as much out on a country estate. A maid was to be
had for $25 annually.
In addition to the duties expected of her today, a maidservant
performed many tasks which either our machines have supplanted
or our habits no longer require. She did up ruffs, spun flax,
greased the master's leather boots, and polished the long rows
of brass and copper bowls and plates in the kitchen. If the
family possessed a cow pastured off Broadway she did the
milking and made the butter and cheese. She took the place of the
telephone and ran errands from one end of the town to the other.
The passing street cries were not always music to her ears.
"Totoot-totoot-tootoo ! East here's East!" reminded her, when
she bought a cent's worth of yeast in a tin measure, that she was
part of a home bakery. "Straw! Straw!" at six cents a sheaf
meant that the mattresses must be washed and stuffed anew.
"Here's white sand; choice white sand; here's your lily-white
s-a-n-d; here's your Rock-a-way Beach s-a-n-d!" served notice
that the basement floor, tracked with mud, again needed sand-
ing. As the autumn came on and the street vendors cried their
fruit, she was, with the help of the cook, a canning factory. In
the winter she was a heating plant, fetching the wood and laying
the fires floor after floor. She brightened the nights by the daily
chore of trimming candles and wicks, cleaning the candlesticks,
9 8 This Was New York
and filling the oil lamps. Dr. Benjamin Franklin estimated (in
1780) that an average household burned fifteen pounds or $4.50
worth of candles a month; for reasons other than economy our
maidservant might wish that the world had adopted the Doctor's
scheme for daylight-saving time. Finally, throughout the year she
was the plumbing system; she lugged the water from the well,
cistern, or water butt; she filled the wash pitchers and bathtub
with hot or cold as needed; and then she emptied the slops. She
earned her $25 a year.
Unless she was very elegant or delicate indeed, the mistress
too had her hands full. Her day began with the family marketing.
Few self-respecting housewives permitted anyone but themselves
to do the buying for the table, but the rich indulged in the luxury
of having a servant carry home the purchases.
Early-morning hours were therefore lively and crowded in the
six principal markets of the city. Besides Old Swago, already
remarked, on Broadway, there were the Bear Market on Green-
wich Street near Vesey, the Peck Slip Market at the foot of
Ferry Street, the newly built Catherine Market a few blocks
farther north on the East River, the Exchange Market on lower
Broad Street, and the Fly Market, oldest of all, at the bottom of
Maiden Lane. The latter was famous for its fish. "Black Sam"
Fraunces, in his capacity of steward to the President's household,
paid two dollars for an early shad. But Washington could not
stomach the high price and refused to eat it.
Naturally no housewife of today, if transported to the old Fly
Market, would complain at the prices. White bread sold for six
cents a 2-pound- i^-ounce loaf; rye bread for three cents a
i J-pound loaf. Butter cost seven to eight cents a pound and on
a warm day you rushed it home to the cellar. Beef varied from
3^ cents to 6J cents a pound, depending on cut and quality.
Ham brought seven cents a pound, and lard eight cents. White
loaf sugar could be had for 15^ cents, brown sugar for six to
nine cents a pound, and molasses for fifteen cents a gallon.
Many vegetables and fruits common today could not be found
The Woman's World 99
in the market stalls. Cauliflower, egg plant, rhubarb, head
lettuce, artichokes, and okra were not raised on a commercial
scale; tomatoes were unknown to America. Raspberries and
strawberries were limited to the wild variety. The "wretched"
fox grape was the only one of its species seen on the market; and,
like oranges, bananas, and pineapples, it was a luxury of the rich
to be bought at Peter Deschent's or Cato Railmore's fruit
shops, both on Broadway.
On the other hand, peaches and pears abounded in variety.
Apples were profuse in kind and enticing in name: Raritan
Sweet, Golden Pippin, Maiden's Blush, and Seek-no-Further.
Brissot, who loved to haunt the markets, speaks of the "superb
quinces," although he finds that "fruit generally is not so good
or handsome as in Europe." Washington's expense accounts,
kept for three months of his sojourn in New York, testify to the
range of food that well-to-do housewives could procure in the
markets. Among the fare that appeared on the President's table
were butcher's meat, bacon, tongue, geese, ducks, turkeys,
chicken, game, fresh and cured fish, lobsters, crabs, oysters, ice
cream, watermelons, nuts, citrons, and honey.
Beverages were procured, not from the markets, but from the
merchants. Tea was the general favorite bohea for "wives of
inferior degree" and souchong "as our matrons are richer." Bohea
could be had for thirty cents a pound, and for the like amount
of souchong a rich matron might part with as much as $2.40.
Coffee cost twenty-two cents a pound and chocolate 13^ cents.
Washington spent more money on coffee than on tea. Stronger
drinks cost him most of all. In three months the presidential
mansion spent nearly 168 ($420) on wines, spirits, beer, and
hard cider over one fifth of the total expenses for the table.
Madeira topped the list with $110, and $86.75 wort h of beer
came next. Common sweet wines such as Fayal retailed for
forty cents a gallon, Teneriffe for fifty cents, and Lisbon for
62^ cents. When bought by the pipe a mighty barrel containing
126 gallons good wines such as port came to ninety cents a
ioo This Was New York
gallon and Madeira anywhere from $1.30 to $1.80. Pure water,
also a beverage, cost one cent a gallon if it came from the Tea-
Water pump.
Madame's marketing would not be complete without a thought
for the children and for her husband's sweet tooth. Joseph
Corre on Wall Street and Adam Pryor on Broadway were the
leading confectioners. Something of the dainties they offered
may be gleaned from an advertisement of Pryor who, calling
himself the Federal Confectioner, moved in May to Wall Street
nearer his rival and the seat of government. Candies included
burnt almonds, barley sugar, and peppermint, orange, lemon,
cinnamon, and hartshorn drops. There were likewise coriander,
caraway, almond, and cinnamon comfits. Desserts comprised
pastries, jellies, blancmange, whip syllabub, floating island, rocky
island, pound cake, and brandy preserves. We may be sure the
children's favorites were not omitted : strings of rock candy from
China, cakes of maple sugar, raisins, sugared almonds, and, as
specialties of New York, crullers and Dutch cookies. Perhaps the
crullers were bigger, fatter, and yet lighter at John Nixon's
cookshop or George Walker's bakeshop on Broadway.
Children, in fact, occupied much more of a woman's time
than they do at present. Kindergartens, radios, and movies have
taken over many of the cares of motherhood. Moreover a child
in 1789 had to be prepared for an industrious life. (Today a
child perforce should be prepared for an even more industrious
and difficult life, but most parents do not know this.) A girl
was taught to sew, knit, embroider "samplers" first play at a
pianoforte, launder, clean house, and cook. A boy, unless his
father was very rich, was expected to go to work as soon as he
outgrew his toys. All children were trained to do innumerable
household chores, or the maid would never have got through her
day.
But, outside school hours, the boys and girls of 1789 probably
had as good a time as childhood ever enjoyed. Swimming and
fishing were close to every doorstep. The streets, vacant lots,
The Woman 9 $ World 101
and near-by fields resounded with the immemorial games of old
cat, rounders, hopscotch, I spy, chuck farthing, and prisoner's
base. Hoops, marbles, tops, stilts, kites, sleds, and skates were
seasonally epidemic. The more sedentary though hardly quieter
games played with plants, string, pegs, and buttons everything
from cat's cradle to ticktack filled the spare moments. A blade
of grass from the back yard, a cattail from Collect Pond, or a
whittled whistle could make the air hideous with the noise of
joy. On the whole, toys were limited to dolls and simple devices;
most of childhood's energy went into games. The Dutch influence
made especially popular ticktack, coasting, and outdoor bowling.
Anyone who believes that these rounds of amusements left a
mother carefree has never settled a child's dispute, umpired a
game, tidied up a nursery, or on a rainy day had to tell "another
story" when there were no more to be told.
Unless the lady of the house possessed a steward or house-
keeper, the superintendence of meals was no small part of her
work. Four meals were the daily routine for families that could
afford it. As a rule breakfast was at a ghastly hour, for the
middle-class man kept his business going from shortly after dawn
to dark. Dinner was served at midday, and it was a substantial
affair. Lunch counters were unknown and sandwiches scorned:
the businessmen went home and devoted two hours to eating
and napping. Tea came along about three in the afternoon. The
day closed with supper. (Formal dinners were generally scheduled
for four o'clock.) Finally, "baiting" was in order before going
to bed bacon and beef in the pantry or oysters from the cellar.
In contrast to all this was another New York, the New York
of the poor who numbered about one quarter of the city. Here
were no four meals a day nor mahogany four-posters. The one
or two rooms of a poor man's home he seldom has more in
modern New York were low and dingy. A garret, a cellar, a
shanty in a back yard, a hovel in a sunken lot, a ruined hulk in
Topsail Town or the Out Ward was his abode.
The floors were either dirt or bare boards. The best were
102 This Was New York
sanded, and it was a sign of gentility to etch intricate designs and
scallops around the borders of the white sand. Rude benches,
table, and bed summed up the furniture; traditionally the bed
was painted green. The mattresses were often stuffed with cattails.
Plaster and pictures were not to be found on the walls, nor glass-
ware and china on the table. The food was coarse or badly
wilted or decaying remnants from the markets. Meat was eaten
possibly once a week. Light and fuel were scanty and used
sparingly.
Clothing was equally coarse and simple. A workingman wore
a checked linsey-woolsey shirt, a red flannel jacket, leather knee
breeches, oxhide shoes, and an old cocked hat. His wife wore a
striped linsey-woolsey dress and a kerchief or mobcap. Whenever
possible these articles were bought secondhand, and when they
wore out they were cut down to fit the children. Indentured
servants inherited the garments of their predecessors. Slaves were
clothed in a material which has been described as "bull's wool."
Altogether the squalor was enough to account for the city's
330 dramshops. "Said Tatum's death," ran a coroner's verdict
in the winter of 1786, "was occasioned by the freezing of a large
quantity of water in his body, that had been mixed with the rum
he drank." Tatum's death is often ascribed to fanciful causes.
Perhaps it is not fanciful to observe that Tatum died poor.
CHAPTER IX
The Social Whirl
For Queen Street is a fashionable place,
And folks live there in plenty with some grace.
The Milkiad (1789)
THE anonymous writer of these lines was a bit out of date.
Fashionable families were abandoning Queen (now Pearl) Street
for Wall and Broadway; however, they continued to live in
plenty and with punctilious grace a type of life which may be
accepted as a satisfactory definition of "society." In a city and
land without a patent nobility, without hereditary rank or hide-
bound castes, without an authoritative test to distinguish blue
blood from red, property and manners and public office were
the chief prerequisites to get a man and his wife into society or
among those whom the rest of the people called "topping folks."
John Adams' phrase, "the rich, the well-born, and the able,"
might do to describe the ruling class; but society was more con-
cerned with enjoyment than government, and its chosen few were
likely as not more accomplished than able, and well dressed
rather than well born. It remained essential to be rich or at
least rich enough to pay the fiddler. Writes the Duke de la
Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, an early visitor to the republic:
Although there are no distinctions acknowledged by law in the
United States, wealth and professional standing determine the
different classes. The merchants, lawyers, great landowners,
physicians, and clergy comprise the superior class. The shopkeep-
ers, farmers, and artisans may be said to make up the second
class; and the third class is composed of the hired workmen. At
103
104 This Was New York
balls, concerts,, and public amusements these classes do not
mingle; and yet, except for longshoremen and sailors, everyone
calls himself a gentleman and is so called by everyone else.
Modest means are enough for the assumption of this title, which
enables a man to pass easily from one class to another.
Much in the same strain, another French tourist, M. Ferdinand
Bayard, divided the population socially into those who drove in
coaches, those who rode horseback or walked, and, lowest of all,
those who neither drove nor rode and who worked with their
hands.
However defined, the distinctions were sharp enough to be
scrupulously observed. During the Revolution John Jay and his
wife had once taken refuge in the home of a village clergyman.
In 1787 the parson sent Jay some news of himself and in the
course of his letter remarked: "Sir, we are prone to think that a
Gentleman of your Rank would not be so free to converse with
a Lower." It so happened that Jay was not only a Gentleman
of Rank but a person of piety, and he invited the clergyman to his
New York home "We have a chamber at your Service, and your
Horse shall be with mine." But the point remains that the "poor
Clergyman and Family" knew their place.
Typical of their cosmopolitan character New Yorkers were
not so quick to draw these lines as more homogeneous and hard-
shelled communities. Noah Webster notes in 1788 that the city's
"principal families by associating in their public amusements
with the middle class of well-bred citizens render their rank sub-
servient to the happiness of society"; whereas, by way of con-
trast, "an affectation of superiority in certain families in Phila-
delphia has produced in that city a spirit . . . which has given
the citizens, too generally perhaps, the reputation of being inhos-
pitable." In January of 1789 John Webb, who was visiting in
Savannah, writes to his brother: "I must confess I would rather
live in New York with 100 pounds than live here with as many
thousands." Savannah, he continues, "is a heavenly Winter
country , . , but the circle you have in New York But But!
The Social Whirl 105
Tomorrow I shall spend the evening with all the Belles and
Beaux of this place. But it will not be to be mentioned at the
same hour with your parties."
Nor was any past season which young Webb enjoyed in New
York to be mentioned with the parties of 1789. The presence of
the new Congress and the new administration with Washington
at its head and the country's most brilliant statesmen at his side,
as well as the determination of the "principal families" of the
city to show that New York knew how to dazzle as the nation's
capital, led to a burst of splendor which has never been sur-
passed. Like the ladies who wore their hats a 1'espagnole at the
Inauguration Ball, New York society paraded its plumes.
A "Republican" protested against this magnificence and in a
blistering letter to the Daily Advertiser (June 19) proposed that
"we leave to the sons and daughters of corrupted Europe their
levees, Drawing-Rooms, Routs, Drums, and Tornedos." Certain
other citizens perhaps more entitled by rank to enjoy these
festivities held aloof. Governor Clinton was noticeable for his
absence out of democratic principles, parsimony, or mere dis-
taste. Senator Maclay expressed the scorn of the backwoodsman
when he feared "we shall follow on nor cease till we have reached
the summit of court etiquette and all the frivolities, fopperies,
and expense practiced in European governments." Mr. Jefferson,
while he attended the dinner parties after his return from Paris,
was as a matter of his philosophy filled with "wonder and morti-
fication" that the dinner guests showed "a preference of kingly
over republican government . . . evidently a favorite sentiment."
M. Brissot had already been shocked at the decollete of the
ladies, which he considered "an indecency among republicans."
Mrs. Washington confessed, "I lead a very dull life here and
know nothing that passes in the town." She was in fact a victim
of this new court etiquette "a state prisoner" she calls herself
and adds, "as I cannot do as I like, I am obstinate and stay at
home a great deal." Although aware that she was not young and
gay enough to ride the social whirlwind as the President's wife
io6 This Was New York
should, she determined in her obstinacy "to be cheerful and
happy."
Mrs. Washington's situation was unique. Most of the par-
ticipants had no need of "resigning" themselves to be cheerful
and happy. They were joyously busy as they reveled in the routs
and drums, the teas and tornedos, the dinners and the levees. A
single worry plagued them. Mrs. Iredell, wife of the Supreme
Court justice, phrased it neatly: "When shall I get spirit to pay
all the social debts I owe?"
No detailed ledger of the social credits and debts of 1789 has
survived, or any accurate estimate on the revolutions per week
of the social whirl. Those who were in it were too giddy and
happy to analyze it objectively; those who were out of it were
either unaware of it or dismissed the matter with an acrid
republican grunt.
The social gyrations were rather bewildering. Abigail Adams
Smith remarked of New York in 1787 the relatively quiet days
of the Continental Congress that "public dinners, public days,
and private parties may take up a person's whole attention if they
attend to them all." Two years later the number of activities was
better than doubled.
A typical week might begin on a Sunday with a visit to any
of the twenty-one churches of the city. Trinity was not yet re-
built; the fashionable thronged St. Paul's. There you might see
and be seen by the best people. Some went to commune with
God; others were more interested in the Washingtons, the
Hamiltons, and the Jays. Some of the young chits, like Charlotte
in The Contrast, knew that church was something melancholy,
but appreciated that it was a fine place to "ogle the beaux." A
promenade on the Battery and a cup of tea with friends might
end the social obligations of the first day of the week.
Monday was a day quite empty of any official functions a
good time for private dinners or for simple relaxation.
On Tuesday, from three to four, came the President's levee
The Social Whirl 107
to which all ladies and gentlemen of rank and fashion were
frequent visitors.
On Wednesday evening Colonel and Mrs. Hamilton either
gave a dinner or held open house. There the gentlemen might
survey the feminine beauty of the capital and discuss the policies
that were going into the making of the new nation. The ladies
might exercise their varied wiles upon the numerous gentlemen
or discuss the latest fashions with Mrs. Church, who had recently
returned from London.
Mr. and Mrs. Jay often gave their dinners on Thursday. They
still retained the enormous social prestige they had acquired
during the period of the Confederation when Secretary Jay was
the outstanding character in the government. The Jays were
acquainted with the fashions of Madrid, Paris, and London
and their graces were such that no person willingly declined the
coveted invitation to their home.
On Friday evening came a more ceremonious event : Mrs.
Washington's reception. The receptions were somewhat stodgy
and stuffy, but there you met all the right people. If you were
fortunate you might persuade the luscious Mrs. William Bingham
to relate one of her risque stories or you might be simply but
heartily amused by the malapropisms of Mrs. Knox.
It was Mrs. Knox who sometimes put forth her best enter-
taining effort on a Saturday night with a grand dinner. She made
a great effort, for she was laboriously climbing her way up the
social ladder. She was the daughter of a plebeian family named
Fluckner; she had married an enterprising Boston bookseller who
finally became Secretary of War under Washington. It was her
humble origins which provoked her to remark, upon her return
to Boston after the Revolution, that "the scum of society has
now risen to the top." In New York she had sufficiently in-
sinuated herself into the best circles that Abigail Adams Smith
could describe her as "a lively and meddlesome but amiable
leader of society, without whose co-operation it was believed, by
many besides herself, that nothing could be properly done, in the
io8 This Was New York
drawing-room or ball-room, or any place indeed where fashion-
able men and women sought enjoyment." Mrs. Knox was so
eager to shine among the ton of New York society that General
Knox, without recorded protest, spent a ninth of his salary on
wines alone and incurred an annual deficit of one third of his
income.
In addition to all these regular affairs were many special events.
Governor Clinton gave an occasional dinner, the foreign diplo-
mats frequently entertained, and there were holidays to be
celebrated. Then President Washington gave many special din-
ners. His diary records some of the guests and the dates : October
i 8, November 16 25, December 3 4, December 5 10, De-
cember 17 26, December 31 ( ?). The last was a grand New
Year's Eve party. In addition to all this were the festive meetings
of the Dancing Assembly and the performances of the John Street
theater (three evenings a week, with a different play almost every
time).
Who was who in this scintillating galaxy? Mrs. Washington
certainly did her duty, although she was resigned if not dour
about the entire social scene. Mrs. Clinton did not often par-
ticipate, whether because of her poor health or her husband's
disinclination we cannot definitely say. Mrs. John Adams seems
to have led an unusually quiet life in New York. The real leader-
ship fell to others.
Mrs. Jay and Mrs. Hamilton were dominating figures. There
were others, but they were lesser lights at the moment: Mrs.
Ralph Izard was later to arbitrate over if not direct the social
fortunes of Charleston; Mrs. William Bingham was to become
the central figure of the republican court when, in 1790, the
capital was moved to Philadelphia. Kitty Duer and Mrs. Robert
Morris might have held their own in any society; they were re-
splendent in that of 1789. If you won the favor of any of them
you might readily find your way to the elegant affairs of the
nation's capital.
The most accessible of these social functions was the President's
The Social Whirl 109
levee. "The highest qualifications necessary," Maclay sarcastically
informs us, "are to be clean shaved, shirted, and powdered, to
make your bows with grace, and to be master of small chat on
the weather, play, or newspaper anecdote of the day." As the
gouty senator dressed and prepared "to do the needful," he was
wont to soliloquize on the subject with dour eloquence:
The practice is certainly anti-republican. This certainly escapes
nobody. The royalists glory in it as a point gained. Republicans
are borne down by fashion and a fear of being charged with want
of respect to General Washington. If there is treason in the wish
I retract it, but would to God this same General Washington were
in heaven! We would not then have him brought forward as a
constant cover to every irrepublican act!
We can almost see the hair powder fly.
Barbered and tailored, you might well follow Maclay to the
presidential mansion, though he admitted he was "no great thing
of a pattern," being "but a poor courtier." Between three and
four o'clock you presented yourself at the door of No. 3 Cherry
Street. One of the secretaries, Mr. Tobias Lear or Major William
Jackson, introduced you taking care to pronounce your name
distinctly. You observed that the President was clad in a black
velvet coat and breeches. His powdered hair was caught behind
in a silk bag. One hand held a cocked hat adorned with a
feather and a cockade, and the other rested on the polished steel
hilt of his long sword. When a sufficient circle of callers was
gathered, he began at his right and passed from one guest to
another, addressing each by name and chatting with him for a
moment. This was the time to display your mastery of small
talk. Thus (reports Maclay) :
The President : "How will this weather suit your fanning?"
Senator Maclay: "Poorly, sir; the season is the most back-
ward I have ever known."
The President: "Fruit will be safe; backward seasons are in
favor of it. But in Virginia it was lost before I left."
i io This Was New York
Senator Maclay: "Much depends on the exposure of the
orchard. We Pennsylvanians find that a northern aspect is most
certain in producing fruit."
The President : "Yes, that is a good observation and should be
attended to/'
And then, like Maclay, you made your bow and retired.
Unsuspicious minds found no smack of royalism in these simple
gatherings. To be sure, the levees were confined to the "fashion-
able, elegant, and refined," and they were free from "the in-
trusion of the rabble . . . with boots, roundabouts, patched
knees, or holes at the elbow." And a Revolutionary War veteran,
stung at the sight of repentant Tories back in favor, took quill
in hand to demand in the New York Journal (July 2) "from
what authority the most inveterate enemies to the Independence
of this country attend at every Levee of our Illustrious Chief . . .
and come into the presence of the father of his country, attired
in Garments stained with the blood of departed prisoners."
The illustrious chief himself saw the whole matter in a com-
mon-sense light. "Gentlemen, often in great numbers," wrote
Washington, "come and go; chat with each other and act as
they please. A porter shows them into the room, and they retire
from it when they choose, without ceremony. At their first en-
trance they salute me, and I them, and as many as I can, I
talk to. What 'pomp' there is in all this I am unable to dis-
cover." Nights, when the President sat down to write his diary,
he took pains to record how well the levee was attended ; whether
(as on December 29) "being very snowy, not a single person
appeared"; and if on occasion "the visitors were not very nu-
merous, though respectable." The word "respectable" appears
frequently enough to suggest that the writer put some weight
by it.
Mrs. Washington's Friday-evening receptions were open to
ladies as well as gentlemen, and they were rather more formal
than the levees. The first lady stood at the President's side as
the visitors arrived and were presented. Full dress was obligatory.
The Social Whirl in
Washington generally wore a fancy-colored coat and waistcoat
with black smallclothes; but he banished hat and sword and
mingled with the guests on the easy terms of a private gentleman.
Plum cakes, tea, and coffee were served. When the clock struck
nine, Mrs. Washington advanced and said with a smile, "The
General always retires at nine and I usually precede him." Where-
upon the guests withdrew; and the general went to his library,
read a while, took a nightcap, and noted in his diary, "The
visitors of Gent'n and ladies to Mrs. Washington this evening
were numerous and respectable" or whatever the facts warranted.
Formal dinners are by nature bores and, if the company has
any spirit, never follow the ordained etiquette to the end. Still
the essence of social behavior is to know the laws so that they
may at least be broken with proper discrimination.
Etiquette decreed that the dinners to which you received a
written invitation it was fashionable to scribble them on the
backs of playing cards should begin at three or four in the
afternoon. At a "great dinner" of this character, "the candles
are ready to be brought in with the going out of the last dishes."
The courses were usually two. The first comprised the entrees,
roasts, and warm side dishes, which were simultaneously laid on
the table in imposing abundance. Unless the acme of ceremony
prevailed, toasts were in order at any moment. They were a
sort of trial by combat. The Marquis de Chastellux, who fought
in America during the Revolution, often wrote of things about
which he knew little. But in discussing toasts he was traveling
over familiar territory:
I find it an absurd and truly barbarous practice, the first time
you drink, and at the beginning of the dinner, to call out succes-
sively to each individual to let him know you drink his health.
The actor in this comedy is sometimes ready to die of thirst while
he is obliged to ask the names or catch the eyes of twenty-five or
thirty persons. The others are no less unhappy, for they cannot
pay attention to what they are eating or listen to what their
partner is saying to them, being incessantly called to, as they are,
ii* This Was New York
on the right and the left or pulled by the sleeve to acquaint them
with the honor they are receiving.
Frequently four or five guests were thus toasted or annoyed
at a time. The marquis complains:
Another custom completes the despair of the stranger. . . .
They call to you from one end of the table to the other, "Sir, will
you permit me to drink a glass of wine with you?" The proposal
must always be accepted. The bottle is passed to you and you
must look your enemy in the face. You wait until he has likewise
poured out his wine and taken his glass. You then drink mourn-
fully with him, as the recruit imitates the corporal in his drill.
To the uninitiate there was no end to the helpings of food.
A hostess who stopped offering another portion was ungracious;
a guest who refused to accept it was rude. But when a diner
reached his capacity he could, if he knew the trick, halt the
flow by crossing knife and fork on his plate in a prescribed
manner.
The second course consisted of pies, pastries, cakes, candies,
and ices. After they were consumed the cloth was removed, and
fruits and nuts were brought to the mahogany board. This was
the signal for set toasts. "They serve to prolong the conversation,"
observes the marquis, "which is always more animated at the end
of the repast." A ceremonious dinner required thirteen of these
formal toasts, one for each state in the Union. Thereafter "volun-
teers" were in order to any number, so that even the present
Union could have been accommodated. When the host felt
that the safety limit had been reached, coffee was served a hint
for the guests to rise from the table.
Next day the town, or those in the know, could enjoy the
bouquets of gossip gleaned the night before. There was that
piquant episode on Richmond Hill. Vice-President Adams was
entertaining a distinguished company Baron Stcuben, the Dutch
minister Van Berckel, the deaf and eloquent Chancellor Liv-
ingston, and, seated next to Mrs. Adams, the French minister,
The Sadat Whirl 113
Count de Moustier, in his earrings and red-heeled shoes. After
the soup De Moustier kept his plate empty, declining everything
from the roast beef to the lobsters. "At length," so later rumor
tells, "his own body-cook came bustling through the crowd of
waiters and placed a warm pie of truffles and game before the
Count who, reserving a moderate portion himself, distributed the
rest among his neighbors." The Count's explanation was that he
had had experience with New York dinners.
Mrs. Robert Morris, a vivacious gossip, passed along her ex-
perience with spoiled cream at the President's board. Maclay
reports her tale :
A large fine-looking trifle was brought to the table and appeared
exceedingly well indeed. She was helped by the President, but on
taking some of it she had to pass her handkerchief to her mouth
and rid herself of the morsel; on which she whispered to the
President. The cream of which it is made had been unusually
stale and rancid ; on which the General changed his plate immedi-
ately. "But," she added with a titter, "Mrs. Washington ate a
whole heap of it."
*
No one excels Maclay for these candid shots. Next to him the
memoir writers of the period appear as oily, somber, and pompous
as the portrait painters on whom they apparently modeled their
prose. The Pennsylvanian's account of his first dinner at the
President's which was the ultimate in social dining for the
season of 1 789 cannot be abridged.
At a little after four [related Maclay], we went to the President's
for dinner. The company were : President and Mrs. Washington,
Vice-President and Mrs. Adams, the Governor and his wife, Mr.
Jay and wife, Mr. Langdon and wife, Mr. Dalton and a Lady
(perhaps his wife), and a Mr. Smith, Mr. Bassett, myself, Lear,
Lewis, the President's two secretaries. The President and Mrs.
Washington sat opposite each other in the middle of the table;
the two secretaries, one at each end.
It was a great dinner, and the best of the kind I ever was at
ii4 This Was New York
The room, however, was disagreeably warm [in a New York
August].
First was the soup; fish roasted and boiled; meats, gammon,
fowls, etc. This was the dinner. The middle of the table was gar-
nished in the usual tasty way, with small images, flowers (arti-
ficial), etc. The dessert was, first apple-pies, pudding, etc.; then
iced creams, jellies, etc.; then water-melons, musk-melons, apples,
peaches, nuts.
It was the most solemn dinner ever I sat at. Not a health
drank; scarce a word said until the cloth was taken away. Then
the President, filling a glass of wine, with great formality drank
to the health of every individual by name round the table. Every-
body imitated him, charged glasses, and such a buzz of "health,
sir*' and "health, madam" and "thank you, sir" and "thank you,
madam" never had I heard before.
Indeed, I had liked to have been thrown out in the hurry; but
I got a little wine in my glass, and passed the ceremony. The ladies
sat a good while, and the bottles passed about; but there was dead
silence almost. Mrs. Washington at last withdrew with the ladies.
I expected the men would now begin, but the same stillness re-
mained. [Then] the President told of a New England clergyman
who had lost a hat and wig in passing a river called the Brunks
[Bronx]. He smiled and everybody else laughed. He now and
then said a sentence or two on some common subject, and what
he said was not amiss.
Mr. Jay tried to make a laugh by mentioning the circumstances
of the Duchess of Devonshire leaving no stone unturned to carry
Fox's election. There was that Mr. Smith, who mentioned how
Homer described Aeneas leaving his wife and carrying his father
out of flaming Troy. He had heard somebody (I suppose) witty on
the occasion; but if he had ever read it he would have said Virgil.
The President kept a fork in his hand, when the cloth was taken
away, I thought for the purpose of picking nuts. He ate no nuts,
however, but played with the fork, striking on the edge of the
table with it We did not sit long after the ladies retired. The
President rose, went up-stairs to drink coffee; the company fol-
lowed.
I took my hat and came home.
The Social Whirl 115
Fashionable teas, held in the middle of the afternoon, had
their punctilios. Unwritten law required the hostess to refill the
cups as quickly as they were emptied. As a result the Prince de
Broglie on one occasion was nearly drowned. He was attending a
tea at Mrs. Robert Morris' it was back in 1782 and he held
out bravely till the twelfth cup. Just as he was sinking, a neighbor
whispered in his ear and told him that when he felt he had
enough of the water cure he should place his spoon across
the top of his cup. "It is rude," said his rescuer, "to refuse a
cup of tea when it is tendered, but once you give the signal
with your spoon, it would be indiscreet for the hostess to renew
the offer." Another Frenchman, ignorant of this device, saved
himself by hiding his cup in his pocket.
Tea and cards almost inevitably went together. "In New
York," writes Rebecca Franks, a visiting Philadelphia belle, "you
enter the room with a formal set curtsy, and after the how-dos,
things are finished. All's a dead calm till the cards are introduced,
when you see pleasure dancing in the eyes of all the matrons and
they seem to gain new life." Some of them were known to gain
or lose three or four hundred dollars, as well, at whist, omber,
or quadrille.
In Miss Franks's opinion New York women turned to cards
because they didn't know how to talk. "I don't know a woman
or a girl who can chat above half an hour, and that only on the
form of a cap, the color of a ribbon, or the set of a hoop."
Philadelphia ladies were different. "They have more cleverness
in the turn of an eye than those of New York have in their whole
composition." This is all plainly libelous, for New Yorkers knew
how to talk their own lingo at least to the extent of annoying
the purists, who wrote protests in the Gazette, the Packet, and the
Columbian Magazine against the fopperies, slang, and fashion-
able mispronunciations current in the drawing rooms.
New Yorkers, so the protests ran, said they were "bored" at
tea without cards; one afternoon was "infinitely" better than an-
other; disasters were called "unpleasant." A young chit "swam"
ii6 This Was New York
in a minuet; or, "dangling over" the Battery, she "flirted" her
hoop all part of the art of "pulling caps for a man." If the
man was a beau, his buckles were "tonish," and when he left the
room he "minced out." If he was quite the opposite of a beau, he
was "a Wabash" a savage who didn't "know Buffon from
Soufflde." To be thoroughly in style, belles and beaux, between
sips of tea, spoke of their good fortchune at the last round of
whist, or, seeking quietchude, cast their eyes toward a corner sofa
where they hoped they would not be distchurbed. Once there
in a "snug party" they could remain indifferent to the virtchues
of the harpsichord.
Miss Franks says nothing of the popular songs she heard during
1783 at the tea routs of New York. In 1789 someone would
surely be found at the newfangled pianoforte, singing "Roslin
Castle," "Old Maid of the Mill," and that two-year-old hit from
The Contrast, entitled "Alknomook, the Death Song of the
Cherokee Indians." The words of the latter may be described as
infinitely distchurbing.
The rout of all routs was a ball or dancing assembly. Two stand
out red-lettered in the calendar of the season. One was the
Inauguration Ball although no one called it that until it had
passed into history. Legend, assisted by the imagination of Mr.
Jefferson who was still in France, has transformed it into a regal
affair with a dais for Washington, on it a sofa in place of a
throne, and, as "favors" for the ladies, ivory-handled fans painted
with a medallion portrait of the President and presented to them
by a page at the entry.
Two days afterwards, however, the New York Packet (of May
9) soberly reports that the subscribers of the Dancing Assembly,
society's pet dancing club, gave "an elegant Ball and Entertain-
ment to his Excellency, the President of the United States," who
"was pleased to honor the company with his presence." The
ball was held in the City Assembly Room on Broadway and was
attended by about three hundred persons. They included the
Vice-President, most of the members of Congress and cabinet
The Social Whirl 117
officers, Governor Clinton, Chancellor Livingston, Mayor Duane,
Ex-president (of Congress) Griffin, Baron Steuben, the Count
de Moustier, the French envoy, and other foreigners of distinction.
A "numerous and brilliant collection" of ladies graced the
room. Washington danced a minuet with Mrs. James Maxwell,
a cotillion with Mrs. Peter Van Brugh Livingston, and another
cotillion with Mrs. Alexander Hamilton. "The Company retired
about two o'clock, after having spent a most agreeable evening.
Joy, satisfaction, and vivacity were expressive in every counte-
nance and every pleasure seemed to be heightened by the pres-
ence of a Washington."
A week later, Count de Moustier gave an official ball in honor
of the President. His sister-in-law, odd Madame de Brehan,* de-
clared she had "exhausted every resource" to produce a showing
worthy of France. Again the "three hundred" of society turned
out in plumed and satined array, and next day an enthusiastic
congressman from New Jersey wrote all about it to his wife.
Boudinot relates :
After the President came, a company of eight couples formed
in the other room and entered two by two, and began a most
curious dance called En Ballet. Four of the gentlemen were
dressed in French regimentals and four in American uniforms;
four of the ladies with blue ribbons round their heads and Ameri-
can flowers, and four with red roses and flowers of France. These
danced in a very curious manner, sometimes two and two, some-
times four couple and four couple, and then in a moment all
* This strange woman has confused writers almost as much as she did her
contemporaries. This, too, would have given her pleasure, but certainly she
would have preferred it to be about more than a name. Madame de Brhan
came to the United States with her brother-in-law, the Count de Moustier,
so that her son might get a good education as well as "be safer from seduction
than in France" (so Jefferson explained about "Madame la Marquise de
Br6han" to Jay). Lafayette called her the "Countess de Bre*han." Her
neighbors in New York gave her a variety of titles never listed in the Alma-
nack de Gotha, for in the blunt language of the day, they thought that "she
was sleeping with the French minister." Jay, then Secretary for Foreign Af-
fairs, explained that while this might be proper in France it created a bad
impression in America. This was the cause of Moustier's recall at the request
of the American government the first in our diplomatic history.
ii8 This Was New York
together, which formed great entertainment for the spectators,
to show the happy union between the two nations.
Three rooms were filled, and the fourth was most elegantly set
off as a place for refreshment. A long table crossed this room in
the middle. . . . The whole wall, inside, was covered with
shelves filled with cakes, oranges, apples, wines of all sorts, ice
creams, etc., and highly lighted up. A number of servants from
behind the table supplied the guests with everything they wanted
as they came in to refresh themselves, which they did as often as a
party had done dancing, and made way for another. We retired
about ten o'clock at the height of the jollity.
Among the good-fellowship and fraternal organizations the
Masons, St. George's, St. Andrew's, St. Patrick's, and the like
only one was distinguished for its social pretensions. It did its
best to compensate for the country's lack of an aristocracy by
creating a hereditary membership, and its name was the Order
of the Cincinnati. Tlirough it some of the fathers of the Revolu-
tion, without waiting for their sons and daughters to take up the
task, sought to form a self-anointed peerage. With Washington
at their head, Louis XVI as their patron, the Counts de Ro-
chambeau and de Grasse, the Marquis de Lafayette and Baron
Stcuben among their members, with gold eagles in their lapels,
with chairs of state, silk standards, and diplomas, with member-
ship guaranteed to their eldest sons in the remotest generation,
the Cincinnati managed to earn their own unmitigated esteem.
But other people too many of them laughed.
New Yorkers in particular could laugh every time they went
to the theater and saw The Contrast. "Why," explains Jonathan,
the Yankee hayseed, "the colonel is one of those folks called the
Shin Shin dang it all, I can't speak them lignum vitae words
you know who I mean there is a company of them they
wear a china goose at their button-hole a kind of gilt thing."
Senator Maclay noted their "arrogant airs" and told himself,
" 'Tis probable the whole body of them will soon be demanding
pensions to support their titles and dignity." When Baron Steuben
The Social Whirl 119
asked John Jay to accept an honorary membership, the Secretary
for Foreign Affairs replied, with his own proficient sarcasm, that
he was "neither young enough nor old enough to desire that
great honor" When the baron persisted, Jay waxed eloquent
against a society which, so far as he could see, existed for the chief
purpose of "conferring honors upon themselves."
No doubt unperturbed by all this though Jay's shot must
have struck home to a baron who had once conferred upon him-
self the title of general the Cincinnati held their annual meet-
ing on the Fourth of July at the City Tavern. They marched
to the President's home, made him a speech, and received a reply.
Then they "proceeded in procession, attended by Col. Bauman's
regiment of artillery and band of music (whose appearance was
truly martial) to St. Paul's church." They entered flag foremost,
eagles on their breasts, and occupied seats "alloted for them-
selves." Colonel Alexander Hamilton delivered a eulogy on the
late Major General Nathaniel Greene. And at four o'clock
those members who qualified sat down in Fraunces' Tavern with
the officers of General Malcolm's brigade and drank their
thirteen toasts. Perhaps Colonel Hamilton favored the company
with the song that, years hendfe, he was to sing for the last time
to the Cincinnati before he went to his fatal meeting with Burr:
"How Stands the Glass Around?"
A somewhat different organization has since become famous as
New York's very own. On May 6 the Daily Advertiser carried the
announcement that "The Sons of St. Tammany intend celebrat-
ing their Anniversary Festival, the ist of May, Old Stile (corre-
sponding to the 1 2th inst.) at the place appointed. . . . Dinner on
the table at 3 o'clock." St. Tammany's Society had led a feeble
existence since its appearance in several colonies before the
Revolution and its rebirth three or four years after. But in 1789
it took on a fresh, vigorous life unimpaired if not altogether
untarnished to this day.
Its new founders came from a wide diversity of background.
William Mooney, the grand sachem in 1789 and eminent in the
120 This W as New York
society for more than thirty years thereafter, was an upholsterer.
The guiding spirit was John Pintard, scholar, philanthropist, and
wealthy merchant. Among the officers were Thomas Greenleaf
and John Loudon, printers and publishers, Dr. William Smith,
physician, and White Matlack, the city's big brewer; and on the
roster of members appear the familiar names of Roosevelt and
Livingston. The wiskinkie, "eyes" and doorkeeper of the society,
was in a class by himself: little Gardiner Baker.
According to its announcements the following year, the society
proposed to foster "whatever may tend to perpetuate the love of
freedom ... to promote intercourse between the States, and to
remove local and class prejudices." Pintard revealed its social
tendency when, in writing to a friend, he foretold that "its
democratic principles will serve in some measure to correct the
aristocracy of our city." But in 1789 and until the impact of the
French Revolution penetrated New York, the sachems and
braves were more interested in their tribal feasts than in political
powwows.
The "old stile" May Day celebration had less elegance but
more hilarity than the balls which graced the City Tavern.
Tents were set up on the banks of the Hudson about two miles
out of town. The braves smoked the pipe of peace, ravished the
victuals, drank to brotherly love, bellowed in chorus; and little
Gardiner sang his favorite "Battle of the Kegs."
Little Gardiner Baker "little" he was and "little" was he
called was soon to bear the great standard of St. Tammany
down Broadway when the tribe paraded in feathers and war
paint. He was an amateur antiquarian, "himself a greater curi-
osity than any he collected," and liked to dwell on the good old
days and their crumbling survivals with the ardor "of a monk
in exhibiting an undoubted relic."
Regular meetings of Tammany were held in Sam Fraunces*
tavern on Cortlandt Street. The high spot of these occasions
came when the members resolved themselves into a "Committee
of Amusement." As the surviving manuscript minutes of two and
The Social Whirl 121
three years later record for posterity, the first feature was the
recital of "American Anecdotes." No one will ever know the
vintage of these stories or their nub, but something time-honored
and familiar may be sensed in the "anecdote of a Sailor and his
Girl ... a Connecticutt Man and his Daughter ... a Traveller
and Hog ... a Connecticutt Girl and her Mare ... a Country
Girl and Spark." There were stories of a Dutchman, an English
sailor, a Boston Negro; and it may be wondered whether it was
too early in the nation's cultural history for the wiskinkie to rise
and begin his anecdote with the words, "Once there were two
Irishmen ..."
Debates followed next in the order of amusement. There was
thrusting of pros and cons on the abolition of capital punishment
except in cases of murder; on whether married or unmarried
life is happier; on whether innate affection is planted in the
human breast; and whether the abolition of the slave trade would
damage the West Indies.
At formal celebrations Washington's Birthday, the Fourth of
July, the society's anniversary the Committee of Amusement
commanded the ritual thirteen toasts. Copious draughts were
sacrificed to the sentiments Tammany men held dear: "May
the Sons of Liberty be ever superior to the love of Property. . . .
May the Eagle of Liberty hover over the World and Tyrants be
its prey. ... May the oppressed Sons of Liberty in foreign
climes ever find a peaceful Asylum in this our Land of Freedom.
. . . May the Genius of Freedom accompany the American
Stars to the Uttermost Regions of the earth and under their In-
fluence proclaim the Rights of Man."
Singing, for those who survived, invariably ended the program
of amusement. Through the smoke of the calumets and the
fumes of the toasts rang hunting songs, love songs, patriotic
and moral songs, and a curious ditty entitled "Nothing at All."
While Colonel Hamilton, gathered with the Cincinnati in a
neighboring tavern, may have been rendering "How Stands the
122 This Was New York
Glass Around?" Brother Hawes of Tammany sang "One Bottle
More."
In conclusion the assembled braves, sachems, grand sachem,
father of the council, scribe of the council, sagamore, and
wiskinkie intoned the twelve verses of the "Etho Song," official
anthem of the Great Wigwam. The first couplet was sung in
harmonious strains:
Brothers, our council fire shines Bright,
We feel its heat, we see its Light.
But the thunder of voices and stamping of feet were enough to
raise the watch on Cortlandt Street when, reaching the last verse,
they roared :
Then pass the bottle with the Sun
To Tammany and Washington!
CHAPTER X
Diversions and the Arts
THE theatrical district of the city was sharply defined. It lay
on the north side of John Street, halfway between Broadway and
Nassau; and it consisted of one playhouse. This was a wooden
building, painted red, set about sixty feet back from the street and
approached through a roofed passageway.
Almost any issue of the daily newspaper, the Daily Advertiser,
carried a notice after this pattern of May 6 :
THEATRE
By the Old American Company,
THIS EVENING, will be presented, a Comedy, called
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL,
To which will be added a Comic Opera, called
THE POOR SOLDIER
With the original Overtures and Accompanyments.
Places in the Boxes may be had of Mr. Philips, at the
Office of the Theatre, who will attend from Ten to
Twelve o'clock, A.M. and on the days of the performance
from Three to Five P.M. where also Tickets may be
had, and at Mr. Gaine's, in Hanover Square.
The doors will be opened at Six, and the curtain drawn
up precisely at Seven o'clock.
Box 8s. Pit 6s. Gallery 45.
Ladies and Gentlemen are requested to order their
Servants to take up and let down with their horses
heads to the East River, to avoid confusion.
VIVAT RESPUBLICA.
123
This Was New York
A full house when the President attended and the line of
horses and sedan chairs extended back into Broadway brought
$800 to the box office. The management did its best to secure this
happy result by suitable publicity. Two days before the perform-
ance the Daily Advertiser was induced to report: "It is whispered
that The School for Scandal and The Poor Soldier will be acted on
Monday night for the entertainment of the President." Ad-
monishing the leading lady every journalist imagines he is born
a dramatic critic the newspaper continued: "Mrs. Henry ought
on this occasion condescend to give passion and tenderness to
Maria."
Washington's advertised presence drew to the theater "topping
folks" the pink of society, the governmental and diplomatic
world, and even avowed enemies of the stage and all its immoral
works. A humble spectator who paid his four shillings (50^)
for admission to the gallery enjoyed quite a show before he entered
the playhouse. Not least would be the sight of the star, John
Henry, who had the gout and who always arrived in a one-
horse carriage upon which were painted two crutches with the
motto : "This or These." There is social history, something for a
Hollywood star to read, in his remark, "I put this motto and
device on my carriage to prevent any impertinent observations
on an actor keeping a coach." The leading lady, Mrs. Henry,
likewise provided a thrill. "A perfect fairy in person," she wore
such enormous hoops that her husband was obliged to slide her
out of the coach sideways and then carry her in his arms to the
stage door.
The same humble spectator could describe his first visit to the
John Street theater in the words of a country bumpkin in Royall
Tyler's play, The Contrast: "I saw a great crowd of folks going
into a long entry that had lanterns over the door. They showed
me clean up to the garret, just like a meeting-house gallery. And
so I saw a power of topping folks all sitting around in little
cabins, just like father's corn-cribs such a squeaking with fiddles
and such a tarnel blaze with the lights, my head was near turned."
Diversions and the Arts 125
The lights may have turned the yokel's head, but their dripping
wax did worse to the heads of those below. On cold nights the
discomfort was increased by lack of stoves, and what the actors
may have taken for applause was only the audience stamping
its feet to keep warm. Other inconveniences arose from the ab-
sence of programs, ushers, or reserved seats. Servants sent on
ahead held places for their masters. The orchestra consisted of
fiddles and drums; even so, the audience complained when it
was deprived of its full half-hour of overture. A further annoyance
may be read in the newspaper notice: "Gentlemen crowd the
stage and very much interrupt the performance."
But there was much to enjoy. When the President entered his
box, which was painted with the arms of the United States,
the fiddles and drums struck up the "President's March," a tune
written by the orchestra leader, Philip Fyles (or Phila), and
later developed into our familiar "Hail, Columbia." There were
cheers for Vice-President Adams when he entered another box
painted with the national coat of arms, and for Governor
Clinton, too, when he sat behind the arms of the state "the
genuine effusion of Freemen." Opera glasses came into style this
year, and the gallery had an extra treat making fun of these
"spy-glasses." On occasion the scenery was ambitious. A per-
formance of The Shipwreck was enlivened by a "real balloon"
on the stage. The pantomime of Robinson Crusoe furnished, so
the advertisement claimed, "the most brilliant display of Scenery
ever exhibited in the Western World." This brilliant display in-
cluded landscapes described in Captain Cook's voyages to Tahiti
and New Zealand except, that is, a view of the Falls of the
Passaic. In describing the latter, the Daily Advertiser pictures
a darkened stage; then the Genius of Columbia, gradually lighted,
rose from the waterfalls; at a motion of his wand, the new Federal
Hall appeared in the background; and, still rising, the Genius
ascended to a cloudbank surmounting a Temple of Concord,
a "superb transparency" with columns symbolic of Wisdom,
Fortitude, Virtue, and Justice. Even when the drops were crude
This Was New York
and stale, there were always nonsense choruses that "double
talk" common to popular songs throughout the ages to be
bellowed back from gallery and pit; choruses such as:
Ditherum doodle, adgety,
Nadgety, tragedy rum,
Gooseterum foodie, fidgety,
Nidgety, nadgety mum,
Goosterum foodie!
Finally the playwrights could be counted on to exercise their
liberty "to make a smutty joke, throw the ladies into confusion,
and give the jessamies [fops] a chance of tittering to show their
teeth."
These same jessamies and pretty chits enjoyed "snug parties"
in the sideboxes. They could hear their own behavior described
by a lively young belle in The Contrast:
The curtain rises, then, by mere force of apprehension, we
torture some harmless expression into a double meaning which
the poor author never dreamed of, and then we have recourse to
our fans, and then we blush, and then the gentlemen jog one an-
other, peep under the fan, and make the prettiest remarks; and
then we giggle and they simper, and they giggle and we simper,
and then the curtain drops, and then for nuts and oranges, and
then we bow, and it's pray, Ma'am, take it, and pray, Sir, keep it,
and oh! not for the world, Sir; and then the curtain rises again,
and then we blush and giggle and simper and bow all over again.
Oh! the charms of a sidebox conversation!
As for the performance at which the President first appeared,
Senator Maclay, who sat in the presidential box, did not ap-
prove. "The play," he wrote, "was The School for Scandal. I
never liked it; indeed I think it an indecent representation before
ladies of character and virtue. . . . The house," he added,
"was greatly crowded, and I thought the players acted well."
The Poor Soldier, a favorite comic opera which Maclay dis-
missed with the one word "farce," was played four times in '89.
Diversions and the Arts 127
The season opened April 14 and closed December 15; but the
house was dark throughout August and on several other dates
because of illness, building repairs, or the weather. Altogether
1 1 8 performances were given usually two and sometimes three
plays an evening. The double-headers were mostly comedies
followed by a farce, comic opera, or pantomime. During the
intermission between the comedy and farce, Mr. Durang and
Mrs. (or Miss) Durang favored the audience with a hornpipe
dance.
The year's repertoire included thirty-one comedies, twenty-six
farces, nine comic operas, six tragedies, and two pantomimes
the work of more than three dozen authors. The most popular
playwright was O'Keefe, whose farces, which included The Poor
Soldier, were given on twelve nights. Sheridan was played eight
nights The Critic, The Duenna, The Rivals, besides The School
for Scandal. Shakespeare's Merry Wives of Windsor, The Tem-
pest, and Richard III each had one performance. Otway, Gold-
smith, Garrick, Fielding, and Cumberland were among the
authors ever heard of before or since. As a whole the program,
if not the actors, did well by English drama.
Of native playwrights there were but two. Royall Tyler's
The Contrast, which was revived on June 10, was in fact the
first American play to be acted by professional comedians; its
initial performance was at the John Street theater in 1787. The
second of America's professional playwrights was William Dun-
lap "dramatist, theatrical manager, painter, critic, novelist,
and historian," eventually the author of forty-nine plays and,
among other major works, a History of the American Theater,
a History of the Rise and Progress of the Arts of Design in the
United States, a History of the New Netherlands, and a lively
diary. Dunlap's maiden effort, The Father or American Shandy-
ism, opened on September 7. On November 24 he had another
first night with his farce, Darby's Return, which had the dis-
tinction of making Washington laugh. Or, as the Daily Ad-
vertiser reported, "Our beloved Ruler seemed to unbend." Read
128 This Was New York
today, neither The Contrast nor The Father is intolerably dull.
What they lack in plot and character study, they make up in
slang, "wit," and local "cracks," though hardly enough to raise
a laugh one hundred and fifty years too late.
The nearest thing to a circus was a collection of wild animals
to be seen at No. 28 Wall Street, opposite the Coffee House. Here
Dr. King, lately from South America, exhibited "a Male and
Female of the surprising species of the Ourang Outang or Wild
Man of the Woods; the Sloth, which from its sluggish disposition
will grow poor from travelling from one tree to another; the
Baboon of different species and of a most singular nature;
Monkey, Porcupine, Ant-Bear, Crocodile, Lizard, and Sword
Fish; Snakes of various kinds and very extraordinary; Tame
Tyger and Buffalo : Also a Variety of Birds" all for 55. an adult
and 2S. 6d. a child.
But there were cheaper shows. For two shillings (and one for
a child) you could see Joseph Decker's wax figures, burglar and
fire alarm, and a "small paradox" at No. 14 William Street. The
feature of the collection was "a Speaking Figure, suspended by
a ribbon from the centre of a beautiful Temple, which asked
questions itself, and answered with delicacy and propriety ques-
tions addressed to it either in a whisper or a more audible tone."
This was only a sample of what you saw at Bowen's wax works,
No. 74 Water Street, for 2S. 6d. for adults and is. for children.
Besides a number of edifying Biblical scenes, and figures that
moved their heads, winked, and performed other feats "to the
admiration of the spectators," there were effigies of "the Presi-
dent of the United States sitting under a canopy in military
dress . . . the King, Queen, Prince of Wales of Great Britain
habited in cloaths which were presented by the King" and three
leading clergymen of New York. Among the admiring spectators
on September 17 were "the President and his Lady and family
and several other persons of distinction."
During the summer Mr. Decker was amusing the populace
gratis by flying balloons up the Harlem River. Then he raised
Diversions and the Arts 129
a hundred guineas, by subscription, to build a balloon one hun-
dred feet round, in which he himself proposed to ascend. When
the day came it was September 23 two thirds of the city turned
out for the show. Just how or why, no one knew, but a minute
before Decker was to take off, the balloon went up in flames.
Next day the New York Journal published a notice no doubt
inspired by one of the unlucky investors: "Yesterday at four
o'clock departed in a blaze the much Celebrated Balloon, con-
structed under the admired abilities of Mr. Decker . . . which
perfectly accorded with his Nota Bene that he should leave the
city after his descent into the purses of the generous spectators."
We have already learned of Christopher Colles and his scientific
exhibits.
Other spectacles cost nothing unless you bet and lost. Con-
siderable money was placed on a shooting match, August 8, in
a field off Greenwich Road. One-armed Captain McPherson of
Philadelphia won the match, his competitor, Captain Stakes,
having failed to hit the barn door on which the target was fixed.
A week later there was a boat race off Sandy Hook between
a local pilot boat and a Virginia-built schooner from Curasao
for a purse of fifty half-joes ($400). The pilot boat beat her
rival by about seven minutes covering a course of forty-two
nautical miles in five hours. Thirty boatloads of spectators watched
the race, and $5,000 "exchanged their owners." There were
only two horse races during the season of '89 : one on Greenwich
Lane and the other at Jamaica.
Hessian bandmasters so a traveler reports helped elevate
musical taste after the Revolutionary War was over and they
had settled in America rather than face the music back home.
In any case the music lovers of New York, who must have been
fairly numerous, possessed many opportunities to indulge them-
selves. A musical society was organized in 1788, and its members
were required to perform as well as listen. To this end instru-
ments could be bought from the president of the society, George
Gilfert, who ran a music store and published current composi-
130 This Was New York
tions. John Jacob Astor, at No. 81 Queen Street, imported
pianofortes from England. His rival and neighbor, Thomas Dodd,
manufactured a variety of instruments. Dodd's own make of
pianofortes the "most fashionable instrument" cost 25 per
cent less than Astor's importations. Benjamin Carr, music dealer
and publisher of Philadelphia, maintained a branch store in
New York. If pianofortes were most fashionable, the popular
instrument for men was the German flute and for ladies the four-
stringed guitar. Other favorites were the violin, harpsichord,
'cello, hautboy, clarinet, and bassoon.
There was no dearth of teachers. Mr. Gilfert gave lessons in
the instruments he sold. John Rudberg, of No. 4 Great Dock
Street, taught the guitar, violin, and clarinet. Henri Capron and
Alexander Reinagle, players in the Old American Company's
orchestra and concert managers on their own hook, both taught
music. Reinagle was a prolific composer and a friend of J. C.
Bach.
Time passed quickest for those who studied under William
Hofmeister, better known as Billy the Fiddler. Billy was a dwarf,
about four and a half feet tall, who wore seven-league boots
and an oversized cocked hat. In his studio at Broadway and
Fulton he regaled the students with anecdotes of his old friend
Mozart, and played for them a Mozart sonata which he claimed
he himself had written. When he announced in the newspapers
his proposal to teach, he was candid enough to say that he was
incapable of doing anything else.
The best instruction was given by Peter A. Van Hagen, "or-
ganist, klokkenist, and componist," formerly concert master at
Zutphen and now resident at 23 Ferry Street. Mynheer Van
Hagen was a Dutch refugee whom political troubles at home
and a desire to taste republican freedom abroad had driven to
American shores. He came to New York in October of '89 ; and
he brought with him a son eight years of age, the inevitable
prodigy, who fiddled for the public at the Van Hagen concerts.
On the day of his last concert an admirer announced in the
Diversions and the Arts 131
Gazette that he would undertake to prove "before any judge who
had taste enough to take the matter into consideration" that
Mr. Van Hagen, senior, was the first master of music who had
ever visited America. Twelve lessons from the master, together
with the entrance fee, cost $8.50. He taught any number of
instruments, including the "violino harmonika," a contrivance
which enabled the player to extract a melody out of iron nails.
He likewise gave instruction in "shaking" a trill and the other
elements of singing. His companion, Mr. Frobel, tuned pianos
for five shillings each.
Eight concerts were given in the course of the year. In the
spring the Musical Society offered two concerts, one at the
Lutheran church and the other a benefit performance for jailed
debtors. The fall season provided six subscription concerts.
Messers Reinagle and Capron managed three of them; Mrs.
Anna Maria Sewell, who had retired from the Old American
Company to run a young ladies' school, managed the fourth; and
Peter Van Hagen, assisted by Frobel and the Van Hagen prodigy,
gave the last two.
The taste of the day, elevated by Hessian bandmasters, may
be judged, perhaps wrongly, by sampling the programs of these
concerts. There were overtures by Giordani, Guglielmi, Vanhal,
Ditters, J. Stamitz and C. Stamitz; a symphony by Goffec, and
a piano and violin duet by Billy the Fiddler's friend, Mozart.
Even before the rush of French masters who were soon to
take refuge in America from the carmagnole, dancing was a
serious, precise, and complicated pleasure. The cotillion, al-
lemande, and rigadoon demanded the ube of the head as well
as the feet. No one dared substitute energy for art and "swing"
a minuet. The Marquis de Chastellux had long before remarked
(in 1781) that dancing in American society worked more by
grace of law than by the law of grace. "Places are marked out,"
he said, "the centre dances are named, and every proceeding
provided for, calculated and submitted to regulation." He told
of a young lady in Philadelphia who was so busy chatting that
132 This Was New York
she forgot her turn in a contr6 dance. "Come, come!" shouted
the master of ceremonies. "Have a care, miss, what you are
doing! Do you think you are here for your own pleasure?" But
such crimes were apparently common in Philadelphia. When
Congress and its "court society" moved there in 1790, Mrs. John
Adams complained that etiquette in its dancing assemblies "was
not to be found"; and she remembered that "it was not so in
New York."
New Yorkers learned their steps and etiquette from a trio of
dancing masters. Like his father before him and his son after
him, John H. Hulett ran a school (at No. 15 Little Queen Street)
for the newest dances "according to the present taste both in
Paris and London." Mr. J. Robardet came from Albany in the
fall and opened another school at Fraunces' Tavern on Cortlandt
Street. Andrew Picken, "lately from Britain," conducted classes
in the City Assembly Room on Broadway a little above Wall
Street. He gave frequent exhibitions at which his pupils showed
off their skill from half past five till eight o'clock, when the
public could join in for six shillings a gentleman, or with a
lady eight shillings. Naturally an ordinary citizen didn't need
a school or an assembly hall Bowling Green or any tavern
would serve to do a jig, a hornpipe, or a reel.
John Trumbull, the artist, once advised a young beginner that
"it would be better for him to learn how to make shoes or dig
potatoes than to paint pictures in America." The absence of the
country's best painters Gilbert Stuart, Benjamin West, John
Copley who found Europe more congenial and profitable, gave
point to TrumbulTs advice. Still something was to be gained
in portraiture and in the decorative arts painting fans, china,
and coach panels. The trade, for it was hardly more than that,
could be learned from Mr. James Cox (at 52 Beekman Street),
who gave lessons for five dollars a quarter-year in painting
gowns, flounces and coats of arms. Besides coach and sign paint-
ing Mr. Ignatius Shnydore (of 28 John Street) taught the art of
representing landscapes, figures, and flowers in oil and water color.
Diversions and the Arts 133
The most appreciated artist was John Ramage, an Irishman
who came to New York via Boston in 1777. People considered
him the best miniature painter of the day although he was also
skilled at making life-size portraits in crayon and pastel; and
everybody who was somebody, including Washington, got
Ramage to record him for posterity. William Dunlap, in his
history of American art, records for us Ramage himself, at least
sartorially; and it is a pleasure to know that one artist in 1789
could afford to saunter along Broadway clad in "a scarlet coat
with mother-of-pearl buttons, a white silk waistcoat embroidered
with colored flowers, black satin breeches with paste knee-buckles,
white silk stockings, large silver buckles on his shoes, a small
cocked hat on the upper part of his powdered hair" the whole
set off by a gold-headed cane and a gold snuffbox. Whatever
Trumbull might say, this was better than digging potatoes.
Trumbull, who was a native of Connecticut, sought his own
fortune in New York this same year, after studying under West
in London. He did not fare badly, either. The Common Council
of the city paid him $466.66 to make a portrait of Washington
and a like sum for one of Governor Clinton; and the taxpayers
growled their disapproval, not at the portraits but at the ex-
pense. Shortly after his portrait was completed, Washington
entertained a number of Creek Indian chiefs with whom the
government was negotiating a treaty. After dinner he led them
suddenly up to this counterfeit of himself, dressed in battle array
and standing by his war horse. They stared in mute astonishment,
and then one by one touched the picture and said "Ugh!" If
this was Early American art criticism, it must be considered
as unfavorable; for, despite urging, the chieftains refused to sit
for Trumbull.
More compliant, Washington yielded to everyone who thought
himself an artist. He wrote a friend:
I am so hackneyed to the touches of the painter's pencil that
I am now altogether at their beck and sit "Like Patience on a
monument." At first ... I was as restive under the operation as
134 This Was New York
a colt is under the saddle; the next time I submitted very re-
luctantly, but with less flouncing; now no dray-horse moves more
readily to his thill than I to the painter's chair.
He sat four times in Edward Savage's chair for a portrait com-
missioned by Harvard College. He sat for Madame la Marquise
de Brhan, sister-in-law of the French minister, who did two
profiles of him "exceedingly like the original," or so he said.
The names of others who plied the brush that year such as
Ralph Earle and Joseph Wright have remained hardly more
than names and may be read about in Dunlap's history. Dunlap,
as we know, had abandoned painting for the stage; and he did
not return to his easel until 1816.
New York discouraged sculpture and its one practitioner, John
Dixey, of Dublin and the Royal Academy, who arrived in the
city and languished there in 1789. Two years later the ar-
rival of the Italian sculptor Giuseppe Ceracchi made more of a
stir. He did busts of Hamilton, Jay, and George Clinton; he
proposed to make for the Federal government a marble Statue
of Liberty one hundred feet high at a cost of but $30,000 and
displayed a model of it at Tammany headquarters; then, re-
buffed in turn, he went back to Italy. True to his love for liberty,
he was eventually shot for trying to assassinate Napoleon.
While it is true that individuals cut silhouettes, painted,
chiseled, and etched, art in any profound sense was non-existent.
Of local color or character there was no trace. Neither was there
a corporate body of artists or a communal appreciation of the
pleasures that art could give. The first quasi-successful academy
of art in the United States had to await the efforts of New
Yorkers in 1802, and it is worth noting that its moving spirits were
not artists but laymen. The first creative association of artists
themselves, the National Academy of Design, had to wait till
1826. Its founder was the versatile William Dunlap, and its first
president a man who, typical of America itself, was to win im-
mortality in the practical arts Samuel F. B. Morse.
CHAPTER XI
News and Reviews
IT WAS a Monday morning in October. A breeze whipped
across Manhattan and set the day's wash flapping on the lines.
Blue Monday. Lazy autumn weather. But blue? proverbially so.
The President of the United States sent a messenger from
his Cherry Street home down to the New York Society Library
in Federal Hall. He wanted a book. Events were in the loom,
a tapestry of intricate pattern was weaving, and even in the
infant days of the Republic the problem of isolation pressed
for solution. What to do? how to act? were not abstract rhetorical
questions. They were to be answered promptly and with all the
consequences implicit in formal statements by the responsible
Executive of a sovereign state the first President of the United
States of America to face the difficult duties of that office. It
was Monday morning, the news from abroad was perplexing,
and His Excellency in this circumstance sent for VattePs treatise
on the Law of Nations, a solid statement of the prevalent con-
ventions as accepted between states, tenuous agreements then,
as now, hinging on the dubious interests of the parties involved.
It was the President's intention to consolidate the position of
the United States of America in that company, to look after
its welfare, and to save it, a child of the new humanism, from
premature and unwise commitments. What he found in Vattel
is not now in question, but no doubt he pondered its contents
with care.
Apart from what he learned from his old friend Mr. Jay and
from the files of the office of the Secretary for Foreign Affairs,
135
136 This Was New York
the President, like every other wide-awake resident of New York,
learned of the world's events from the morning newspapers.
There were neither newsstands nor newsboys,* but carriers de-
livered the Daily Advertiser and the Daily Gazette to the leading
taverns and coffeehouses and to the private subscribers at the
cost of six dollars a year. Single copies could be bought for four
cents at the booksellers' or the publishers' offices.
Let us glance, as Washington did, at that Monday morning's
Daily Gazette. Though it numbered only four pages, it was about
as high and wide if not as handsome as our contemporary dailies.
It contained much the same proportion of advertising to reading
matter, and it gave the current news. To be sure, the news was
exasperatingly slow in arriving, but when it came it was new
a topic for the day.
The front page which the President turned as rapidly as
we do tells little not already known. A ship is about to sail for
London, another for Saint-Frangois, a third for Glasgow. Some-
one advertises for sale a likely Negro wench, a mulatto, aged
about fourteen. Two sailors have run away from a ship, and
a reward is offered for their apprehension. The page is entirely
devoted to running advertisements, most of them an old story.
It corresponds to the want-ad section of the twentieth-century
press.
Page two is solid reading matter. A letter from France sum-
marizes the happenings of two eventful days in Paris, the progress
of the initial stages of the French Revolution. We had news of the
event two or three weeks ago; but this article, carefully written,
throws greater light on the subject. Excitement, we learn, has
*The history of the humble newsboy has not yet received adequate atten-
tion from either historians or Ph.D. candidates. Certainly the newsboy which
we know did not exist. It is possible that the printer's devil was sometimes
sent into the streets to garner a few coppers. We know that a printer-editor
himself sometimes sallied forth to peddle his wares on public corners. Over
in Philadelphia Ben Towne, the one-man staff of the Pennsylvania Evening
Post, himself hawked his daily publication with the street cry of, "All the
news for two coppers!" Sidewalk customers were few; they had only to drop
into the nearest tavern to read the news "on the house."
News and Reviews 137
died down in the countryside a traveler from Paris to London
has come through unmolested. Order is restored. Turn to page
three.
Page three contains a concise summary of the doings in Con-
gress (lately adjourned); a London letter dated 29 July 1789;
a news item or two from Philadelphia (not complimentary to
that city) ; the assize of bread; tides for the day; ship arrivals;
ships spoken; number of ships in the harbor. The theater manage-
ment announces its doors to open at 6: 15 of the clock and the
curtain to go up promptly at a quarter past seven. The play is
Merry Wives of Windsor, the afterpiece Barataria, a farce, in
which will appear the famous horse. Dapple. Mr. Durang dances
the hornpipe between play and farce, and the editor, in a news
item, bespeaks for the company a goodly audience. The Spanish
minister, about to sail, requests that all bills against him be
presented forthwith at the residence of His Excellency, No. i
Broadway. The post office is moving today into temporary quar-
ters at Crown and Broadway. The German society meets at seven
P.M. at the Lutheran Schoolhouse. One of the bookshops an-
nounces a new dictionary, an improvement on Johnson. Four
dollars reward is offered for the return of a runaway slave. France
is congratulated on the abolition of serfdom. The Moors and
Arabs are at war. Russia and Sweden are at war. Turkey and
Austria are at war. The Spanish fleet is scouting for Barbary
pirates.
The date is 5 October 1789. It is Monday. On that day the
Paris mob was marching on Versailles. It was raining, the mob
was hungry, and things began to look dark for Louis XVI. No
longer absolute monarch of France, he was about to become a
prisoner in the Tuileries. Meanwhile there was a President in
America.
In this welter of anarchy and discontent how does a President
of the United States of America act? He falls back on precedent.
Or if he makes precedent he makes it warily. He consults his
advisers. He borrows a book and reads up on the rights and
138 This Was New York
duties of neutral states, determined if possible to keep clear
of this European mess. The pages of Vattel, Law of Nations, lay
open to the President's scrutiny, but it is not to be hastily as-
sumed that he found in them an answer to his problem. He was
learning to be President, and at long last the Republic was a
going concern.
The Daily Gazette, published by John and Alexander McLean
at the sign of Franklin's Head, No. 41 Hanover Square, could
lay a slight claim to fame. Two years previously, when it was
called the Independent Journal, its pages carried the first batch
of Federalist letters in which were explained for the American
people the nature and constitution of the new government then
in the making. In 1789 nothing more noteworthy can be told
of it than its serial publication of the life of Baron Trenck, the
death of its editor, John McLean, and the similar fate which
overtook its carrier, John Quirk, who in the exercise of his duties
fell down in a fit and rose no more.
Its more formidable and successful rival, the Daily Advertiser,
was published by Francis Childs, a protege of John Jay, at 190
Water Street. Jay had first set him up in the printing trade; and
it was through Jay that Dr. Franklin assisted Childs in securing
a press, type, and paper. His newspaper has often been described
as the first daily in New York City. Childs's publication was the
first to be launched as a daily. His first number appeared on
March i, 1785, but during the previous week William Morton
and Samuel Horner had transformed their old paper into a daily,
the Morning Post. Two daily newspapers were already appearing
in Philadelphia, so that the New-York Daily Advertiser was the
fourth daily in the nation, but the first to be founded as a daily
paper. In typography and in contents it was a credit to its emi-
nent sponsors. The growth of sea-borne commerce more than an
appetite for learning what was going on in the world led to the
creation of these dailies; a goodly portion of their printed matter,
and the most scrutinized, was devoted to the arrival and depar-
ture of vessels, the ships spoken en route across the oceans, and
News and Reviews 139
other maritime news. On this October fifth we learn that the
vessels in New York harbor numbered 19 ships, 36 brigs, 4 snows,
21 schooners, and 37 sloops a total of 117, which meant about
twelve hundred sailors in port.
Three other newspapers led a straitened existence. The Packet,
appearing thrice weekly, was edited by Samuel Loudon, an
Irishman, a fervent patriot, and Presbyterian, who appealed to
the working classes for support and who delighted in opening
his columns to acrid religious and sectarian disputes. The Journal
came out weekly; its editor, Thomas Greenleaf, was an ardent
opponent of Federalism, a sachem of Tammany Society, and
a printer for the state of New York. The leaders of New York
society and government officials in the public eye could enjoy
seeing their names in print in the Gazette of the United States,
a paper which first appeared on April 15, 1789, and then twice
a week, and which bid for a nation-wide audience. Alexander
Hamilton backed the paper, John Fenno edited it; and its
columns read like a fulsome and arrogant court gazette in a
third-class German principality. Its rivals, almost needless to say,
lashed out against its monarchist tone, its passion for ceremonies
and titles, and its truckling to the leaders of Federalism as though
they were American blue-bloods; republican editors scorned
u such a contemptible creature as Johnny Fenno" all of which
was not calculated to fulfill the announced purpose of the paper,
that is, "to endear the General Government to the people." The
people were so little endeared to the gazette that by October
Mr. Fenno complained that he had attracted only 650 subscribers,
not enough to butter his bread.
But no New York paper promised to be on the road to for-
tune. It was a red-letter day when one of them sold two thousand
copies; a high average was around sixteen hundred. On the
other hand, when a paper failed, the crash could not have been
resounding. A comparatively new press, cases, and four fonts
of type represented an investment of about $200. The standard
wage for journeyman printers was six dollars a week. The press
140 This Was New York
and printers working under full pressure turned out two hundred
copies an hour.
A newspaper, in fact, was liable to be as laggard in getting
delivered as it was slow in being printed. Sometimes it never
got delivered at all. The Daily Gazette was dispatched for three
years to Richard Henry Lee in Virginia. In all that time it
failed to arrive. However, the bill did which was a victory
for the post. Lee, in a letter to one of his clan, explained that he
didn't mind paying and hoped that someone in the family re-
ceived the sheet.
Historians such as McMaster and Henry Adams have charged
that the press said little or nothing about significant events.
They forget that the press was local; that even if it wanted to,
it had no facilities for getting very far beyond its own doorstep ;
and as to significance if it means significance for a historian
it all depends on the school to which the historian belongs.
Certainly there was no dearth of news. Hardly a day passed
without its event a fire, a runaway team, a man overboard
off Peck Slip, to say nothing of dog fights, tavern brawls, riots
in the Fields, and the parade of fashion on Wall Street. Much
of this never got into the papers, and what did often failed to
accord with our contemporary notion of a good news story. The
January i number of the Daily Advertiser may serve to show
how fashions in news change as they do in clothes. All the news
of local origin in this issue was contained in less than half a
column. In that half-column thirty-one lines were devoted to a
fire which burnt out one story of a house and scared the ap-
prentices living in the attic. Yet in that same half-column, only
ten lines were given to the following drama:
On the 2gth ult. Capt. Barrel, of the sloop Cato, spoke a
brigantine from Jamaica, bound to this port, off Egg-Harbour,
which had lost all her masts, sails, and rigging on the 2 1 st. A sloop
from Rhode Island had her in tow the day before; but was obliged
to part with her in the night, as it blew fresh. The brig in distress
has lost all her people, except the Captain and four hands.
News and Reviews 141
Eight days adrift without masts, sails, or rigging; all the crew
lost save four and the captain; the rescuing sloop forced to give
up towing in the night gale total coverage in the Daily Ad-
vertiser, ten lines.
Yet New York kept in touch with its neighbors and also
foreign affairs (retailed, by means of a pair of scissors, from the
London press). The neighborly attitude comes to light in a news
item or two from Philadelphia. That city, it appears, had re-
cently gone through a moral crisis; bawdy houses were raided
right and left ; and it had been compelled to clean up its markets
spoiled meat. New Yorkers chuckled. The French ship of state,
launched in troubled waters, had their wholehearted sympathy.
They were or had recently been revolutionaries themselves, and
they congratulated the French people on its release from bondage.
The press gave tongue to this sentiment without stuttering.
More than forty display advertisements of leading merchants
offered wares for sale books, mathematical instruments, charts,
silverware, salt, nails, window glass, Bath porter, Jamaica spirits,
Liverpool coals, tea, Bordeaux, claret, cheese, sweet oil, aniseed,
sherry, Malaga, Irish linens, hides, gin, Swedish iron, German
steel, gunpowder, paint, paper, sugar, hats, opium, carpets,
leather, fruit trees, earthenware, looking glasses (some with
thirteen stars in the medallions), waffle irons, white lead, woolens,
and at No. 6 Fly Market a healthy, active Negro wench with
child of twelve months by no means an exhaustive list of avail-
able commodities, but illuminating. Mr. Van Hagen, organist,
offered music lessons; M. Robardet offered the quaver, the
pigeon-wing, and other dance steps, for gentlemen ; and the editor
himself offered an oblation to Thespia :
It is to be expected that the friends of the drama will be highly
gratified with the entertainments of the evening at the theatre.
The Merry Wives of Windsor is perhaps one of the first comedies
of the world (not played here these sixteen years) ; and there is
reason to believe that in the representation it will produce as pleas-
ing effects as any play yet attempted by the American company.
142 This Was New York
gunning no doubt for a few free tickets. All of the above
from a single issue of the Daily Gazette. Even Adams and Mc-
Master would be surprised at the mass of material, recently
collected, covering at least one significant event of 1789 and
reported at length in the press of every sizable town between
Alexandria and New York the inaugural journey of Washing-
ton from Mount Vernon to No. 3 Cherry Street, New York
City. The coverage on that story was just about 100 per cent.
If New Yorkers tired of the daily, semiweekly, triweekly, or
weekly press, they could always turn to another periodical, the
almanac, read about the stars in their courses, interrogate the
zodiac, and as a last resort make a will.
The almanac was at once a calendar, a nautical guide, weather
forecast, compendium of literary gems, guide to the moon and
to all the roads of the Western world. It was a popular little
book, handy to have around, and widely consulted by our
fathers. It got them up at sunrise, a shifty event and hard to pin
down; helped them catch the tide if they \vcrc putting out to
sea; and pointed the way to the wilderness or to Canada if the
local constables became pressing. Moore confined himself largely
to the waters of New York Harbor, tides not in the affairs of
men about town. Hutchins was more urbane. He indulged in
poetry and prose of a nature designed to meet their needs. Beers
and Judd were a little more rustic, but with any of them as a
guide the New Yorker could plant potatoes, find his way to the
magistrate's court, or to the Philadelphia stage house which is
the last thing in the world he would think of doing if it were
not located at Fraunces' tavern. W T ith Hutchins in hand, he pos-
sessed other information. An approaching comet is mentioned,
but for its appearance he had to watch the sky it was given
the nod but not precisely dated. If the New Yorker was finan-
cially embarrassed, Hutchins told the way out: plant sunflowers.
A bushel of seed at so much per quart nets you a fortune per
acre. It seems rather involved at this reading, but some un-
recorded genius may actually have worked it out. He was most
News and Reviews 143
helpful, this Mr. Hutchins. His opus is not limited to material
affairs, but includes pertinent data on a cure for love and notes
on the way to felicity in the other world. It also has a word to
say on the uses of castor oil, the wane of "Belly- Ache in Jamaica/'
on avarice, ambition, political liberty, cheerfulness, the con-
sequences of intemperance, together with rules for choosing real
friends and maxims for promoting matrimonial happiness "ad-
dressed to all widowers, husbands and bachelors." If in one of
those categories, the men could hardly do without Hutchins, for
even on Manhattan's isle it is something to know your way
around. And if he leaves the affair of the comet somewhat ob-
scure, about the eclipses of the moon he is quite explicit, putting
those events definitely on 9 May and 2 November nights of
wonder and wild surmise for the superstitious and for lovers
a presage of happiness.
A useful dispenser of local information was the city directory,
for it not only gave the exact location of some two hundred
taverns but, in addition, printed in full, and with address at-
tached, the name of its possessor. Thus he could always find his
way both there and back. It had a map, helpful in an emergency
of this sort. Of the 4,100 listed citizens, perhaps as many as five
hundred were purchasers, the price being 35. 6d. and rather
steep, but a good investment if you considered its many uses. It
gave the New Yorker a clue to his neighbors, and it gives us of
today a splendid picture of the city, its streets and public build-
ings, its people and their government, their institutions and
how they went about the business of getting a living. It is the
real book of Manhattan, and, if no other source were available,
the historian could still compose a pretty fair picture of the city.
He would have to invent a few current happenings such as riots
and soirees and lawsuits, but such things are all but universal and
his task would be light. If in addition to the directory he had
the minutes of a good rousing police court, his cup would over-
flow. Adams and McMaster and so many giants of other days
have sighed for these things in vain.
144 This Was New York
With the directory in the pot, let us see what comes out of it.
Let it be said at once that it lists in alphabetical order the names,
occupations, and residences of the citizens; and its title, if
printed in full, would discourage the restless reader of our day.
It was done for Hodge, Allen, and Campbell and sold at their
respective stores 144 pages of current information. Its alpha-
betical arrangement was somewhat erratic in spots, and its spell-
ing was not always consistent, and by its own admission it could
not vouch for every house number, since the system itself was
somewhat vague. But despite these idiosyncrasies (and perhaps
because of them) it turns out to be a lively affair. It does not
say that Elizabeth Carr ran a disorderly house, or that John
Henry was knocked cold in a street brawl and confined to his
bed for seven days, or that a man crying "Murder!" rushed into
Mooney's and hid under a table. Its readers knew all these things
why bring them up again? Nor does it mention that old story
about Marinus Willett being haled up before the Committee and
the Board of Governors for stealing a large quantity of wine
out of the President's garret in his college days of course, at
King's everyone knows it. It does not say a word about the
trial of Alderman John Wylley for extortion, so recently aired
in the General Sessions.
What it does say is enough to recall these lapses and many like
them; it mentions names, and memory was never known to fail
in affairs of this nature. In that sense the directory was some-
thing to chuckle over, a nudge in the ribs. "Who's Elizabeth
Carr? Oh yes, that drab!" The directory reads: Elizabeth Carr,
4 Old Slip; John Henry, comedian, 5 Fair street; widow Bar-
ham, porterhouse, 16, Broad-way; Frederick Bassett, pewterer,
4 Burlingslip; Elizabeth Anderson, bird-seller, corner of Green-
wich and Chambers streets; Margaret Le Brun, fruit shop,
118 Queen street; John Graham, merchant, 20 Little Queen
street; Charles Cox, oyster and punch house, 33 John street;
Graham and Johnston academy, Little Queen street; Hoysted
Hacker, pilot through Hell gate, 72 Water street; Daniel Hawx-
News and Reviews 145
hurst, glover and breeches maker, 27 Peck slip; widow Fleming,
milliner, Smith street; Barnet Mooney, hatter, 43 Cordandt
street; Peter Ritter, iron mongery and jewelry store, 50 Broad-
way; Andrew Gray, slop shop, Front street near Fly market;
Richard Haight, carpenter, Rope walk; Drew Hall, silversmith,
243 Queen street; J. Jadwin, packer of pork, 5 Gold street;
widow Job, 10 Cliff street; Peter Lacour, drawing master, 17
Princess street; Henry Knox, Secretary at war, Broadway; Wil-
liam Dunlap, portrait painter, 13 Queen street; Mrs. Fortune,
tavern, 30 John street; John Forsythe, taylor and habit maker,
88 Fair street; Charles Thompson, late secretary to Congress,
26 King street; William C. Thompson, vellum and parchment
manufactory, 28 Dyes street; John Wood, vestry clerk of St.
Paul's and master of the free school; Thomas Lloyd, short hand
writer, 56 Water street; James Miers, tavern at the horse and
harrow, Bowery lane; Richard Varrick, 52 Wall street; James
Duane, 17 Nassau street; John Jay, 133 Broad way; Alexander
Hamilton, 58 Wall street; Thomas Smith, sea captain, i Battery
barracks. These are names taken at random from the directory
for 1789.
Around 4,100 names listed there and so many widows! For
there had been a war, and war takes men by the throat. No
bachelors or widowers are listed as such, and no spinsters are
definitely given that status, although Eunice Jaenes or Dorcas
Sketch might perhaps qualify, both of them being schoolmis-
tresses. Mrs. Hazard, cake shop, 50 Chatham street; Thomas
Phillips, lapidary, 20 New street; Thomas Barrow, coach-painter
and print-seller, 38 Broad street; James Bramble, white smith,
49 King street. There is no end to the fascinating picture of New
York in 1789. Adrian Dowe, rush bottom chair maker, Bowery,
and of a different trade from Matthias Bloom, Windsor chair
maker, 1 05 Queen street. Obviously these items are not of interest
to everybody, but it is nice to know where you can order a pewter
bowl, or a bowl of punch, or a new spring bonnet. The directory
included a register of the Congress of the United States; foreign
146 This Was hkw York
ministers in residence; the governors^of the several states; officers
of the state of New York and of the city and county, of the
Chamber of Commerce, the Marine Society, the Assurance
Company; ministers of the gospel; a roll of attorneys licensed
to practice in the Supreme Court; information concerning the
New York Society Library and Columbia College; a roll of
militia officers; a list of Masonic Lodges and their officers; post
days, stage and coach rates; and extracts from sundry laws for
the guidance of the unwary.
Turning from the light and airy reading of the directory to
something more solid, we run afoul of the periodical magazines
of the day. A new venture (its first issue dated January 1790),
The New York Magazine or Literary Repository, follows closely
the scheme of things laid down by other journals of the time.
Each number contained sixty-four pages of reading matter
largely filched from the New York press or from the British
magazines or lifted bodily from any dog-eared book that was
handy. It was not a great financial success, and although at the
end of the first year it boasted a subscription list of about 360,
it was unlikely that the circulation increased much in the fol-
lowing five years. Of the subscribers about three hundred were
New Yorkers, the remainder either from near-by towns or living
along the seaboard from Nova Scotia to Charleston. Its out-of-
town list was augmented by several members of Congress and
was probably depleted following the removal of the national
capital to Philadelphia.
Each number included three or four short pieces of fiction
heavy with the dew of moral fervor, and such fugitive pieces as
the Sentiments of an Austrian Lady on Religion; the Benefits
of Temperance; the Fatal effects of Seduction; Remarks on the
manners (etc.) of Naples; the inclemency of Winter; On a
Proud Young Lady who encouraged two Lovers; a cutting
from Dr. Adams' Defense of the Constitution; the popular play,
Darby's Return; and an Account of Trinity Church, New York.
Its verse was native. It discussed in three or four pages con-
News and Reviews 147
gressional affairs, domestic intelligence, marriages, deaths, etc.,
and each number was embellished with an elegant representation
of some notable public building or local scene. A recent com-
mentator suggests that by including as they did short fiction
pieces with their other miscellany the publishers promoted the
reading of novels in America. Since a very large number of its
readers were also members of the Society Library and were
already avid for fiction, as the records of the Library disclose,
it is much more likely that the publishers sensed the already
existing demand and had a weather eye out for subscribers.
In the preceding year Noah Webster used similar bait but in
vain. His American Magazine, which ran from December 1787
to the same month in 1788, was heavily laden with fiction. It
devoted especial attention to the ladies and their interests, in-
cluding their moral improvement. Moreover it strove, as the
editor promised, "to collect as many original Essays as possible;
and particularly such as relate to this country." No predecessor
had freed itself to a like extent from English influence and the
slavery of scissors and paste. Original American verse, articles
on American commerce, agriculture, and travel covered numer-
ous pages. The public, however, refused to bite. However
emancipated in politics, it remained colonial in literature. "I will
now leave writing," Webster declared, "and do more lucrative
business." And he added, "I am happy to quit New York."
When, on October 5, the President sent for Emmerich de
Vattel's The Law of Nations, he followed the practice of many
other New York readers to the detriment of authors' royalties
and booksellers' profits. He borrowed the copy from a library.
Borrowing or renting a book, however, had substantial justifica-
tion in those days. American publishers as such did not exist:
they were job printers and newspaper printers who turned an
occasional book off the press; they were few in number and
the variety and quantity of their output small. Bookstores selling
nothing but books were likewise non-existent. A bookdealer, like
a modern druggist, was a merchant who displayed a few books
148 This Was New York
in what was otherwise a general store. An enterprising book-
seller like Hugh Gaine, whose book business was a minor adjunct
to a printing and stationery establishment, managed to import
several hundred volumes from London twice a year, and their
arrival became a duly advertised event.
Individuals possessed private libraries, naturally, but the gaps
and wants could be filled only at the price of patience and long
waits. Occasionally the newspapers announced the sale of such
libraries in extensive advertisements, giving the titles which
were classified by size (octavo, duodecimo, etc.) rather than by
subject matter. A private collection of five hundred volumes
was not uncommon, and many of the average books fetched
prices at about our 1913 levels. Still, when a reader wanted a
book in a hurry he usually had but one resort: a rental or a
quasi-public library.
Three such libraries catered to the city's needs. King's College
(now Columbia University) offered a choice of 1,500 volumes
to the faculty, students, and clergy. Open to its paying members,
the Union Library possessed 1,000 volumes. The most extensive
and best patronized was the New York Society Library, with
3,500 volumes. It was housed in Federal Hall, and there the
notables and intellectuals of the town stood before the rail, asked
for a classic or a popular novel, and had their names entered
in the big charge-out ledger.
On the day that Washington sent for Vattel as well as for
twelve volumes of the Commons Debates, thirty-three subscribing
members likewise drew out books. The members, who on May i,
1790, numbered 242, made up a roster of names prominent
in the annals of the city. The Livingstons repaired there, the
De Peysters, the Roosevelts, and Hamilton, Jay, and Burr.
Founded in 1754 and rechartered by the state of New York
in 1784, the society was democratic in principle and exclusive
in practice. Its membership was open to anyone who paid an
initial fee of five pounds and annual dues of ten shillings. The
subscribers were privileged to draw one book at a time for each
ADVERTISEMENTS
From New York City newspapers, April 1789.
O
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S "
News and Reviews 149
"membership" or share they possessed, although regardless of
the number of shares he might own a member received only
one vote. Borrowers who kept books overtime were fined. The
library was open from twelve to two on Mondays, Wednesdays,
and Fridays; and the members were required to apply for the
books in person. On rare occasions this rule was broken, a
servant appeared instead and his name was noted parenthetically
in the big ledger. Washington who sent a servant was a
member only by courtesy; and while no fine lay against him,
legend charges him with keeping the books a long, long time.
Many historians of the period have the curious notion that
the men of 1789 read only or largely theology. They picture
our fathers with their eyes glued to a denominational tract and
their minds fixed on the other world. Nothing could be further
from the truth, though the mistake no doubt arose from the
dearth of reliable information or from "facts" which, while true
in themselves, belie the reality.
A glance at the eighteenth century itself, without examining
a publisher's catalogue, should dispel the illusion that the men
of that age, whether in the Old World or the New, lived ex-
tensively in or for the kingdom of heaven. It was the century
of great wits Pope, Swift, Fielding, Voltaire, Johnson, Sterne,
and Goldsmith. Gibbon was doing a modern history of ancient
Rome. Locke, Montesquieu, and others were asking pertinent
questions. Richardson begat Pamela. There was a great stirring
of mind. It was polite to be learned. Johnson did his dictionary
in English, the Academy did theirs in French, and Voltaire did
his in a tongue everyone could understand. It was the century
of Burke, Fox, and Pitt, of Lord Chesterfield, Thomas Gray,
and Peregrine Pickle, of Rousseau, Catherine the Great, Fred-
erick the Second, George the Third, Louis the Sixteenth (among
others), of Diderot and Helvetius a mixed lot, writers, pro-
fessors, statesmen, kings, and rogues. It was the day of the
diplomat, of intrigue, of colonial enterprise and expanding
markets, of chartered companies, boudoir politics, and potentates
150 This Was New York
all the nabobs of the world, each convinced of his (or her)
own particular rendezvous with destiny. And into this whirlpool
of conventional piracy a new polity was born. There was a
revolution in America, and one in France. And along toward
the end of the century a king lost his head in Paris and a presi-
dent was inaugurated in New York City.
Neglecting this broad unmistakable background, American
historians have allowed themselves to be misled by the statistics
of our native publishing business. The impression created, for
example, by a study like Evans 5 American Bibliography is one
of a people whose reading habits ran pretty much to devotional
subjects, and although it is true that the reading of New Yorkers
is not necessarily an index of the country at large, at least for
that particular city a glance at Evans throws us completely off
the track. Fully 25 per cent of the imprints there listed for the
years 1789 and 1790 dealt with theology, and only 4 per cent
of them were fiction. But New Yorkers were not reading theology
in that proportion. Far from it. Almost the reverse, in fact.
Fortunately there is a source of exact information on this point,
if not watertight at any rate indicative the charge-out ledger
of the New York Society Library for the years 1789 and 1790,
and perhaps a word about the nature of this unique document
is pertinent to the subject in hand.
The ledger is a book of some three hundred pages, 14 X 20
inches, strongly bound in its day. It has come down through the
years in splendid shape. It is replete with unconscious error,
odd abbreviations, and one or two lapses of memory. It is, how-
ever, perfectly legible. Indeed the handwriting of its first custodian
is almost oriental in its delicacy and precision. The ledger is
a key to the reading habits of 242 prominent New Yorkers,
members of the Society Library. What they read a hundred and
fifty odd years ago is a matter of record. It is, so to speak, down
in the book.
The first entry in the ledger was made 24 July 1789. On that
date the Rev. Dr. Linn (chaplain of Congress) borrowed Gold-
News and Reviews 151
smith's Animated Nature and had his name inscribed on the first
line. He was fined yd. for keeping it more than a week. The
librarian was faithful, a scholar and a gentleman. The work
was too heavy for him, however, and on November 20 he charged
the novel Chrysal to Major Pratt and laid down his pen. Later
librarians were indifferent penmen, but they made marks and
the marks have been interpreted, reducing an old and fascinating
manuscript to dull statistics.
Animated Nature and Chrysal are pretty fair samples of what
was being read in the late eighteenth century. The men of the
time were primarily interested in foreign lands, in the strange,
the exotic, and inevitably in problems of the heart. They were
curious, and they were in love or somehow caught in love's
meshes. They read poems and plays of passion, novels and story-
books of history, just as we ourselves do, for escape, for comfort,
and for the joy of it.
All but a scant dozen of the society's members used the library.
They read on an average a book every fortnight. Great readers
like John Jay and Patrick Murdoch and John Pearss read three
books a week. Following is a rough classification of titles circu-
lating in 1789-90 together with figures showing the total circula-
tion of each class :
Class Titles Circulation
Biography and letters 76 712
Classics 20 74
Essays 99 6l 5
Fiction 138 3,133
History 151 i,55
Poetry and drama 66 351
Reference and periodicals 51 872
Religion and philosophy 69 282
Science 66 264
Travel and discovery 82 1,172
Totals 818 9,025
152 This Was New York
Contrast this table with the impression to be gained from the
output of American publishers (or printers) in the same years of
1789 and 1790. According to Evans' American Bibliography, the
American presses issued a total of 1,493 items, classified as fol-
lows:
Class Imprints Percentage
Theology 370 25
History 82 6
Travel and geography 62 4
Fiction 55 4
The printers, in other words, devoted only 14 per cent of their
products to history, travel, and fiction, whereas the readers (of the
Society Library at least) were devoting 65 per cent of their read-
ing to books in these categories, fiction alone accounting for 35
per cent.
The printers, it should be observed, did not misjudge their
public in turning out only 4 per cent of fiction and flooding the
booksellers with 25 per cent of theology. No reader of Fielding
can forget that, however great the surprise of Abraham Adams
to learn the sad fact, ministers and doctors of divinity paid to get
their tracts and sermons into print. And no printer forgot that
novelists, historians, and other mundane writers expected, on the
contrary, to be remunerated for their labor.
The ledger of the Society Library records, to be sure, the read-
ing habits of only a few select New Yorkers representing about
4 per cent of the total number of households. But its members
were the leaders of the community and of the state, and pre-
sumably they were readers of at least average taste. Sentiment was
in the air, and they read the sentimental novels of the day. They
absorbed the realistic fiction of Voltaire and Swift and Fielding.
They read the memoirs of Baron de Tott and the confessions
she called it an apology for herself of the noted actress George
Anne Bellamy. They also read the Lives of the Poets wherein Doc-
tor Johnson exhibits his remarkable critical decency and insight.
News and Reviews 153
And it is safe to say that other literate New Yorkers read much
the same thing, or would have if they had possessed the leisure
and opportunity.
The tastes of the Society Library's borrowers did not differ
greatly. They varied in the choice of titles but not in the charac-
ter of their reading. Out of the sixty-two books borrowed (and
presumably read) by the Rev. Dr. Linn, thirty-seven were fiction.
Frederick Rhinelander, a layman and merchant, consumed in ten
months the same number of novels out of a total of fifty-eight
borrowings. Both read The Fair Syrian and The Platonic
Guardian, the History of an Orphan; and while the clergyman
read Fielding and Smollett, the merchant read Dryden's plays
and Voltaire's Henriade. Elizabeth De Peyster borrowed fifteen
works; ten were novek or plays Richardson of course and Betsy
Thoughtless in four volumes; but the remaining five included
Mitford's Greece, Hawkesworth's Voyages, Henry Swinburne's
Travels, and Chastellux's popular reporting of America. The
Vice-President, John Adams, stepped in one day and borrowed
Kames's Elements of Criticism. Aaron Burr was an assiduous
reader of history; month after month he plowed through eighteen
volumes of the Modern Universal History; he read Gibbon's
Decline and Fall and eight selected volumes of Voltaire; but even
he relaxed with Lyttelton's Dialogues of the Dead and Ulsle In-
connue, or the Memoirs of the Chevalier des Gastines. His mortal
rival, Hamilton, found time for the two widely read novels, Ed-
ward Mortimer (By a Lady) and The Amours of Count Pal-
viano and Eleanor a.
On the other hand John Jay's reading tells little of typical
tastes. As chief justice of the Supreme Court in the first years of
that august body he apparently had ample leisure, and when it
came to books he was omnivorous. Everything was grist for his
mill, from The Children's Friend and Candide to Henry Swin-
burne's Travels in the Two Sicilies. In eighteen months he de-
voured sixty-eight volumes. Did he suffer from insomnia?
The most popular books of the year the "best sellers" may
154 This Was New York
perhaps be judged those most frequently borrowed. In analyzing
the society's ledger for this purpose, it must be assumed that
Shakespeare, the Bible, and many classics and standard reference
works reposed at home on the bookshelves of the borrowers.
The six books of non-fiction with the largest circulation carry
the explanation of their contents and popularity in their titles :
NON-FICTION
Author and Title Circulation
Cook: Voyages Round the World 154
Gibbon: Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire no
Johnson : Lives of the Poets 1 06
Hooke : Roman History 68
Gordon: History of the American War 67
Baron de Tott: Memoirs of the Turks and Tartars 66
Captain Cook, whose voyages were sealed with his compara-
tively recent death, saw the South Seas for the whole world that
was housebound but itching to travel. His description of coral
reefs and the ravages of the venereal disease and the fauna of the
islands, which was largely female, awakened grave interest. Al-
though only runners-up for the popularity prize, Wilson's Ac-
count of the Pelew Islands (circulated 42 times), Grosier's De-
scription of China ( 19 times), Grose's Voyage to the East Indies
( 19 times) , Jones's Life of Cook ( 1 7 times) , Osbeck's Journey to
China and the East Indies (3 times), an anonymous Chinese
Traveller (12 times), Duhalde's History of China, in seven vol-
umes (15 times), and Dow's Hindoostan (3 times) foreshadow
the age of the China clippers. As our reader has already learned,
in May 1789 the first vessel to display the American flag in the
Ganges River had returned very profitably to New York.
New Yorkers were on the make, and the world was their
oyster. They read for the delight of opening their eyes. So much
to know. It was, they learned, a custom in the port of Hamburg
to pay seamen upon signing articles two months' wages in ad-
vance. Splendid idea. That money never left the town. With Rus-
News and Reviews 155
sia and Sweden at war, they read Brace's memoirs on his Travels
in Germany, Russia, etc. (circulated 41 times), Bell's Travels
from Petersburgh in Russia to Asia (7 times), Coxe's Travels in
Poland, Russia, Sweden and Denmark (41 times) , Richard's Tour
from London to Petersburgh and Moscow (5 times), Harte's
History of Gustavus Adolphus (13 times), and Sheridan's Revo-
lution in Sweden (3 times). They also read an item in the news-
papers about shipping in the Baltic : taking advantage of Swedish
and Russian preoccupation with mutual destruction, England was
engaged in monopolizing the northern trade: a commentary on
the advantages of neutrality. Shrewd traders themselves, they
planned, while reading Bruce and Coxe, a raid on British ship-
ping. They proposed to build a fleet.
Still another class of books, though it fed the craving for vi-
carious adventure and travel, was not without its practical bear-
ing. The wide circulation of Baron de Tott's account of the Turks
and the Tartars pointed to an interest in the Moslem world that
soon was to reach close to home. Chenier's Empire of Morocco
(circulated 18 times), Vertot's Knights of Malta (18 times),
Mathew's Voyage to the Coast of Africa in 7785-7787 (14
times), Addison's The State of the Jews in Morocco, etc. (once),
a History of the Herculean Straits (3 times), and Revolution in
Fez and Morocco (once) informed New Yorkers of the shores
where the United States and the marines were to fight their first
foreign war.
The interest in Gibbon, who heads the list, should excite no
wonder. The author was still extant, and his masterpiece in the
first flush of its immortality. Hooke was probably read in order
to learn what happened before Gibbon took up the tale. Classi-
cal history, besides, was the requisite of a gentleman and the
ammunition dump of a patriot with a gift for oratory.
Despite the meager supply of printed material, recent Ameri-
can history aroused the inquisitive. Dr. Gordon's History of the
American War of Independence (fifth on our "best-seller" list)
was, we are told, the most sought-after book of the year. Lan-
156 This Was New York
guishing in the Debtors' Jail, General Samuel Webb's brother
begged for a copy of it and criticized it at length on his creditor's
time. Society Library borrowers for the year learned about them-
selves as best they could from Chastellux's Travels through the
United States of America (circulated 53 times), J. Smyth's Tour
in the United States (23 times), David Humphreys' Life of Put-
nam ( 1 6 times) , John Adams 5 Defence of the American Constitu-
tion ( 1 1 times), Jefferson's Notes on Virginia ( 10 times), Mante's
War in America (7 times), Smith's History of New York (7
times), Bossu's Travels in Louisiana (6 times), and Hitchcock's
Domestic Memoirs of a Pennsylvanian Family (once). Obedient
to a universal trait in human nature, New Yorkers slaked their
thirst for romances in the waters of the South Seas and along the
shores of Tripoli, oblivious of the drama and adventure to be
found anywhere west of Pittsburgh. But the romance of pioneering
and the Red Indians was probably too realistic. They contented
themselves by looking from afar at the Iroquois across the north-
ern boundary eight of them borrowing Colden's History of the
Five Nations of Canada.
An Universal History, "from the earliest account of Time, com-
piled from original authors," was an ambitious work designed to
make further inquiry into history both unnecessary and imperti-
nent. Divided into two parts, Ancient and Modern, it ran to
forty-three volumes. Both Goldsmith and Johnson were reputed
to have had a hand in its compilation. The Ancient part attracted
forty-one borrowers and the Modern part forty-nine. Among the
latter was, as we have noted, Aaron Burr who, at the end of it,
picked up the Dialogues of the Dead and buried himself. Cor-
nelius Roosevelt and twenty-six other borrowers chose a wiser
course; they took a short cut and read the one-volume Beauties
of History with its lessons in virtue and vice. Still others, among
the fifty borrowers of Voltaire, may have selected the Essai sur les
mceurs which accomplished what Goldsmith and Johnson in-
tended and which no one achieved again till H. G. Wells wrote
his well-known Outline,
News and Reviews 157
Another outline, entitled Animated Nature, served the
eighteenth century much as J. Arthur Thomson's Outline of
Science and Wells and Huxley's The Science of Life have served
the twentieth. Its four animated volumes enlisted fifty-eight bor-
rowers an inadequate measure of its wide appeal. The President
of the United States was thoroughly familiar with its contents.
Some of its statements may seem startling, and many are inten-
tionally amusing. As a compendium of scientific lore, no living
thing from man to flea is neglected. We can learn from it much
useful and entertaining information, as the following :
Queen Elizabeth erred when she decreed a fast day; a discus-
sion of final causes is as barren as a virgin dedicated to the Deity;
the dodo bird makes a meal for twenty-five men; the prevailing
wind off Cape of Good Hope in September is northwesterly; the
kings of the Cherokee take longer to perform their toilets than do
the ladies of London; the Greeks preferred red-headed women; at
Ispahan the king's messenger runs 36 leagues (108 miles) in 14
hours; in Africa the natives outrun the lion; there is a race of
ants that sallies forth periodically in search of adventure; the
buck goat grows old before his time.
The book discusses the human species at length. Man is given
a proud air, a conquering tread, a glance heavenward, and but-
tocks unlike those of any other work of God. The writer investi-
gates the hidden, mysterious process of procreation, the role of
male and of female, the embryo in its various stages, the difficult
drama of birth. All is not dark. The microscope reveals a fasci-
nating series of developments. But of conception itself there is still
great argument. Indeed it is touch and go whether or not the male
is an essential factor. Happily our writer inclines to the comfort-
able theory that he is.
To descend from man to brute is something of a comedown,
and to make the way less hazardous is the writer's concern. He
does it neatly. You are not plunged headlong into a pool of in-
fusoria as it is prescribed by the doctrinaires. On the contrary.
You are led to the paddock, take a look at the colts, and recall the
158 This Was New York
remarkable performance of Flying Childers who did the New-
market course in 6 : 40. The horse kind, which includes the ass and
the zebra, is carefully limned. No detail is wanting. The zebra
barks like a dog. The wild ass is even more asinine than his
brother in chains. The mule Aristotle vouches it is sterile. The
three breeds of Arabians are explained, their elaborately attested
pedigrees discussed. The ass not infrequently lies down and dies
after covering his mate.
The work begins with a consideration of the universe, the
phenomena of night and day, and the phases of the moon. It runs
on through twelve hundred pages of lucid prose and imparts to
commonplace facts a charm all its own, and at the end of it the in-
quisitive reader is possessed of valuable data respecting the entire
animal world. He knows that the seed of the cottonwood tree
intoxicates parrots as wine does man; that the male and female
wall bee are of a size, the former without a sting; that the breath
of the lion is very offensive. The author of this work is Oliver
Goldsmith. "Poor fellow!" Cumberland said of him, "he hardly
knew a turkey from a goose but when he saw it on the table." This
may be true, but discerning men have suspected that poor Oliver,
poor Poll, was the slyest leg-puller of his generation.
The society members may have read Animated Nature for en-
tertainment, but their curiosity in the realm of science was strong
and their judgment sound. An equal number of borrowers fifty-
eight read Buffon's Natural History, and learned how, with the
proper gifts, style can make a man out of a scientist. Thanks to
Fontenelle and Voltaire, astronomy and physics had reached the
multitude; and Count Algarotti's Newtonian Philosophies ex-
plained for the ladies attracted twenty readers who, like our own
nibblers of Einsteinian philosophies, probably stood as much in
need of explanation when they finished the survey of the universe
as when they began it. Twenty-three bold spirits tackled Priestley
On Air, as much a matter of puzzlement then as the quantum
jump today. A new science, if such it may be called, dismal but
only too pertinent, won fourteen readers to Adam Smith's Wealth
News and Reviews 159
of Nations. In such works modern biology, physics, and economics
came of age; the most advanced of our contemporaries can re-
read them with profit. Only Freud, his particular Fach still un-
dreamed-of, would read Hayley's Essay on Old Maids (27 bor-
rowers) with a superior smile.
The divine science, theology, had but few students among the
members of the Society Library and they were chiefly clergymen.
Top place among the borrowers went to the works of Gregory
( 1 6 withdrawals) , followed by Helvetius' Essay on Man ( 1 3 with-
drawals), a deistic work smelling powerfully of heresy, and by a
similar number of withdrawals for Prideaux's Connections. New-
ton's musings On the Prophecies came next (10 withdrawals),
and the remainder of the sixty titles on religion and philosophy
dwindled to seven or three withdrawals or less. Rousseau drew a
substantial clientele sixty readers but whether it was for his
political writings, his novels, or his deism, there was nothing in the
record to cheer a theologian.
At this late date it is probably impossible to fathom why the
most frequently borrowed work in the field of biography was
Sully 's memoirs claiming sixty readers. And what could have
been the Interesting Letters of Pope Clement XIV which in-
terested fifty-five borrowers? Johnson's Lives of the Poets, which
indeed leads the list, was the 54-volume edition containing the
poetry under consideration; and the poems were no doubt read
in preference to the Doctor's prefaces if so, this was in many
cases the reader's loss.
George Anne Bellamy's memoirs are something else. No popu-
lar actress can write a book about herself or get one written for her
without attracting an audience. George Anne, a star of the Lon-
don stage, published a sheaf of revelations which, as have many
since of her profession, set New Yorkers agog. The sales of her book
are not properly represented by the forty-seven calls for it at the
Society Library. It was entitled An Apology for the Life of George
Anne Bellamy, late of Covent Garden Theatre, written by her-
self; it appeared in 1785; the ghost was reputed to be Alexander
i6o This Was New York
Bridewell (who likewise edited Carver's Travels in Africa).
Mistress Bellamy had nothing to apologize for, at least to the
theater-loving readers, but there was much to explain. To begin
with her arrival in the world. It surprised her father, a sea
captain; and since the lying-in did not tally chronologically with
his marriage log, Captain Bellamy sailed away in a huff and never
returned. The baby was deposited on the doorstep of Lord
Tyrawley (a whilom friend of General Braddock) ; and His Lord-
ship did the handsome thing acknowledged the child and had it
tucked away with sundry offspring of other loves. She grew up to
follow the stage and made a name for herself that her father
might have envied or not. She met the best people in the green-
room of Drury Lane, she heard and retailed the choicest tattle of
London, and she had the good fortune to be kidnaped by a gen-
tleman (just before the fifth act of The Provoked Wife, in which
she was playing the role of Lady Fanciful) and spirited away to
a cottage in the country. She had temperament; she fell into a
dither when she moved across the way from Drury Lane to Cov-
ent Garden. Nevertheless she pulled herself together in time to
bring down the house and become the toast of the town. Eventu-
ally she fell on evil times, likewise retailed in detail, but to the
end she never forgot the thrill of that abduction. He was the only
man she really loved; and she, in the long line of mimics, the
only genuine Juliet. There must have been something to George
Anne, for hers is a robust book sharply in contrast to the senti-
mental truck of the day. Only an ungracious skeptic would clas-
sify the Apology as fiction.
In the field of acknowledged fiction, the "best-seller" list pro-
vokes comment for both the good judgment it reflects and the
bad.
The two poles of late eighteenth-century fiction labeled
realism and sentimentalism are represented by their masters,
Fielding and Sterne. The romantic horror story had not yet come
to flower; and the romantic variant of sentimentalism, intended
News and Reviews 161
FICTION
Titles Circulation
Female Stability, by Charlotte Palmer 116
Fielding's Works 115
Emmeline, or the Orphan of the Castle, by Charlotte
Smith 96
Arundel; a novel from real life, by Richard Cumberland 88
Sterne's Works 87
Arpasia, or the Wanderer, by the author of The Nabob
[Mrs. Monkland] 76
not to moisten but flood the eyes and lead the reader to wild
dreams of suicide, was barely on the threshold of success. Only
eighteen New Yorkers borrowed The Sorrows of Werther, writ-
ten by a young German named Goethe.
The common run of popular novels four of which made our
list were incredibly weak dilutions of Richardson. His Pamela
drooped with nineteen readers. Grandison, however, held its
ground with fifty-seven. And with such superior products at hand
or still fresh in mind pap though they were it would be hard to
conceive why Female Stability conquered the public if we did not
observe the same indiscrimination prevalent today.
The full title of this most-sought-out novel of the year is Female
Stability, or the History of Miss Belville, in a series of letters; by
the late Miss Palmer. It had appeared, London 1780, in five
volumes. Only one copy of this former best seller is known to be
now extant in America; and the Library of Congress, its happy
possessor, need not fear it will ever be read to tatters.
Light fiction in all periods is designed, like millinery, to give
a transient bit of pleasure; and it is as absurd to poke fun at a
past century's popular novel as at a last year's hat.
Adeline Belville, the heroine of the tale, is a model of chastity
and lofty sentiments and remains so throughout the five volumes.
162 This Was New York
"I often think when I am going to do anything material," she
says, "would Augustus have acted thus?"
Augustus? Mr. Augustus Grenville is the hero. He is Miss
Belville's ideal. He is dead. Indeed she was never actually wooed
by him; but things were shaping in that direction when, by a lack
of attention to detail, he was run through the body in an affair
of honor. Between groans he managed to discover his love to Miss
Belville and breathed his last in an early chapter, bequeathing
to some twelve hundred succeeding pages an air of moral recti-
tude almost thick enough to slice.
The story builds itself around these two pure souls. Miss Bel-
ville is widely loved, deservedly, for she is very beautiful, very
good, and very rich. Obviously an orphan. She never weds.
Augustus lives on in Miss Belville, and they go down the book to-
gether.
Shortly after the story opens, Miss Belville is newly taken in
charge by Mr. Evelin, one of her guardians. Mr. Evelin's house-
hold is not altogether without blot, but Miss Belville runs no
danger. She is too good for that. Despite her great wealth and
great expectations she escapes all entanglements. Her true love
is dead, and though she does not mourn she still remembers. Who
can compare with her Augustus?
One after another, or in pairs, males fall in love with the
heroine. She rejects them kindly. Her stance is infallibly correct.
She never takes a misstep or utters a thoughtless word. She scat-
ters sweetness and light, and in an emergency quotes Milton his
homilies on moral earnestness. Strangely enough no one, not even
bad Sir Harry Evelin, seems constrained to do murder.
Sir Harry (Mr. Evelin's brother) is a rake. He is a seducer of
innocence and one of those whose protestations of love precede
but do not necessarily follow seduction. As a result of one of his
careless and carefree betrayals he wrecks a home, causes the death
of one parent and the withdrawal of the other from all inter-
course with the world.
Miss Belville is so sweet and universally beloved that she quickly
Nevus and Reviews 163
becomes one of Mr. Evelin's family. Mrs. Evelin, it is true, does
not at first understand the business of so much stress on morals.
She herself is used to compromise, but like all who meet Miss
Belville she rapidly grows earnest. It is a kind of epidemic. Sir
Harry Evelin comes and goes. He meets the heroine and in spite
of his wide experience is no more immune than the others. He too
falls in love in his fashion and thereafter he does not wander
far. He lingers, but to no avail.
One after another Miss Belville slays her suitors. They fall in
sheaves, and she contemplates them tidily bound and stacked
like Sir Harry protected from future and penitent for past trans-
gressions. In despair some of them marry into the circle of her
friends, whom she distributes as consolation prizes.
Not that Miss Belville is hardhearted or cold-blooded. She is
merely faithful to the memory of Augustus. Once or twice, it is
true, she is tempted but for a moment. Toward the end, in a
dream, she sees herself led by Augustus into a beautiful sunlit
garden, filled with bird song and fragrant with flowers. There,
with the approval of Augustus, she finds herself betrothed simul-
taneously to the Right Honorable Earl of Arundel and Sir Edward
Wilmot, a delicate situation her one lapse from strict morality
but in the circumstances excusable.
No one in Miss Belville's world forgoes a possible inheritance
even on pain of separation from a beloved. This apparently is the
higher morality. Most of the men are tethered to aged aunts and
the women to decayed uncles. Miss Belville herself is compelled
to remain in England in order to inherit a further fortune, con-
solidate her position, and be prepared for sundry estates that
might otherwise go begging. Everywhere she turns, another
benefactor shows up. Admiral Harrison leaves her a pretty penny,
and so do others. Because of her fidelity to Augustus it appears
that better men are drawn from a happy life, bask in the sun of
her moral earnestness till they are like to wither, and finally es-
cape into prosaic matrimony.
So ends the history of Miss Belville a pattern of female sta-
164 This Was New York
bility. She remains to the last page "a sweet, grave, demure little
Venus/ 3 apparently not a day over sixteen and fixed indefinitely
at that charming age.
In Arundel it is the hero who incarnates the seven virtues. He
is curiously intact, and his goodness was no doubt a consolation
to many of the readers in certain phases of the moon. In any case
it was as much read as Emmeline, that lovely orphan of the cas-
tle. Such tales always have a castle. It is in ruins, one wing habit-
able. When His Lordship pays a visit, the other wing gets a going
over. Give the castle an orphan, a desolate moor, and an un-
scrupulous housekeeper. Give the orphan Diana's shapely limbs,
Juno's eyes, and a casket her sole inheritance. Give the casket a
letter which lies unread. Give the letter a break and you have the
story. Not so very different from a good movie and possibly as
edifying. Besides, Bunyan started it. Or Rabelais.
Most of the popular novels were debased copies of originals
that we now call classics. John Shebbeare's The Marriage Act (41
borrowers) was a debased Moll Flanders. The Platonic Guardian
by a Lady (45 borrowers) was debased Fielding. Charles John-
stone's Chrysal, the Adventures of a Guinea (34 borrowers) was
debased Smollett. But even the alloy of hack writing didn't rob it
of liveliness. We can understand the pleasure which John Jay,
Major Pratt, the Honorable John Lawrence, and its other read-
ers took in its company. The hero, Chrysal, was, as the title indi-
cates, not a man but a gold coin. As it passed from hand to hand,
rough and dainty, grimy and gloved, the readers were introduced
to "a dispassionate account of quite remarkable transactions" in
every corner of Europe. No one can accuse the generation of 1 789
of being stuffy, after a glance through Chrysal, That coin went
everywhere. The heading of the second chapter of Book Two is
typical: "Chrysal Comes into the Possession of a Celebrated
Female." The paramour who relinquished the coin is described
as "in the prime of life" but "remarkable for the coolness of his
constitution," whereat the philosophic guinea piece is set to won-
dering whether "he kept my mistress to hide his inability, as a fail-
News and Reviews 165
ing tradesman sets up a coach." On the whole, the book is
Turkish blend largely seraglio.
But its betters were not neglected. Fifty-three members of the
Society Library borrowed the Arabian Nights, forty-four Don
Quixote, forty-one Peregrine Pickle and Marmontel's Tales,
thirty-nine Gil Bias, and nineteen Rabelais.
Meanwhile, on the fourth of February, Robert Hodge the
printer announced the publication of The Power of Sympathy, or
the Triumph of Nature, which the blurb claimed to be the first
American novel. The story was based on the suicide of a lovesick
young woman in Boston during the summer of 1788, an untimely
event fully described in the press; and it was dedicated to the
young ladies of America. Since the 1789-90 ledger of the So-
ciety Library contains no mention of it, we cannot learn its fate.
Noah Webster had given up writing for more lucrative busi-
ness. He remembered well those capricious females who had not
subscribed to and salvaged his American Magazine from dis-
aster. So in 1790 he declared he was alarmed by the "new-
fangled tastes for fiction." He rightly continued, "A hundred
volumes of modern novels may be read without acquiring a new
idea. ... At best novels may be considered the toys of youth,
the rattle-boxes of sixteen." He merely forgot that new ideas in
sex, passions, and human character are hard to come by, and that
most of the world loves to remain sixteen years old or less.
In his edifying Memoirs of the Bloomsgrove Family, published
in Boston in 1790, the Reverend Enos Hitchcock said that
"nothing can have a worse effect . . . than the free use of those
writings which are the offspring of modern novelists. Their only
tendency is to excite romantic notions while they keep the mind
devoid of ideas and the heart destitute of sentiment." A moralist,
writing in the Monthly Mirror of 1797, made graver charges as
novels gained wider audiences. Under the alarming title of "Novel
Reading, A Cause of Female Depravity," he bemoaned the dis-
appearance of "moderately stiff stays, covered elbows and con-
cealed bosoms" and declared that "those who first made novel-
i66 This Was New York
reading an indispensable branch in forming the minds of young
women, have a great deal to answer for."
Thomas Jefferson saw in the "inordinate passion prevalent for
novels" almost a national menace. To Nathaniel Burwell he
wrote : "When this poison infects the mind it destroys its tone and
revolts it against wholesome reading. . . . The result is a bloated
imagination, sickly judgment, and disgust towards all the real
business of life."
But Chrysal and Female Stability continued to circulate.
In a city which had but one theater, plays were read exten-
sively. Besides miscellanies, the works of nineteen dramatists were
drawn from the Society Library shelves. Moliere had twenty-one
readers and Dryden eleven. But the most popular playwright was
a woman then in her grave almost seventy years. Twenty-eight
borrowers still delighted to read the comedies and dramas of Mrs.
Susannah Centlivre, an Englishwoman who married an ex-chef
of Louis XIV and wrote a score of successful plays. Two of them,
The Wonder: A. Woman Kept a Secret and The Busybody, were
produced at the John Street theater during the season of 1789.
They were in the Restoration tradition and light enough to be
enjoyed when Congreve and Farquhar went begging for borrow-
ers. A few lines will give a taste of her vein. The prologue of A
Bold Stroke for a Wife promises that
Our plot is new and regularly clear
And not one single tittle from Moliere
and the epilogue concludes:
But yet I hope for all that I have said
To find my spouse a Man of War in bed.
Mrs. Centlivre had a talent for the epigrammatic flick of a
phrase. Says a character in the Bold Stroke, "Marriage is re-
ducing a man's taste to a kind of half pleasure ; but then it car-
ries the blessing of peace along with it one goes to sleep without
fear and wakes without pain."
News and Reviews 167
Among the modern poets, Ossian or Macpherson was un-
derstandably the most popular, with seventeen borrowers. The
day was shortly coming when an Adeline Belville would be chris-
tened Minona or Malvina if she was to be considered a stable
female, and Augustus can remain a hero only upon condition of
changing his name to Oscar. But what local passion gave Pindar
twenty readers? It is a long drop to the five customers of Robert
Burns. Meanwhile three hardy souls read The Vision of Colum-
bus, an epic poem by Joel Barlow; five read The Conquest of
Canaan, a poem by Timothy Dwight ; and only one read McFin-
gal, a satire by John Trumbull. So fared the Connecticut literati,
the Hartford Wits.
Concerning the reading of the late eighteenth-century New
Yorkers, the gist of the matter is this: they read a great deal of
fiction in proportion to their other reading; they read widely of
history and travel; they read the newspapers certainly, otherwise
five newspapers would not compete in a city of thirty thousand;
they read the magazines, and particularly the British magazines;
they found a useful and perhaps interesting guide in the city
directory; they read law and medicine, and we know from the
results with what distinguished success; and, it goes without say-
ing, they consulted the almanac on every important occasion
pinning their faith on the answer of the stars. In all the amenities
of a machine civilization we are far ahead of our fathers. In
matters of the heart, and of the mind, and of taste (if it is not
dangerous to use that word ) , we are very like them.
CHAPTER XII
To School?
Xo SCHOOL. For generations of American youth these two
simple words have evoked a prospect or a promise that has
brought pleasure or dismay. To the average child of 1789 these
two words would have had no great meaning certainly nothing
to provoke either anticipation or alarm. The New Yorker of the
twentieth century takes just pride in the extent and the quality of
the free public school system. The New Yorker of 1789 could
have pointed to only one example of a free, non-sectarian school.
This had been founded in 1787 for Negro boys by the Society for
the Manumission of Slaves. During its first several years it never
had more than a dozen pupils. By 1792 it had added a small de-
partment for Negro girls and had changed its name to the Free
African School. And by this time there was another publicly sup-
ported primary school in operation in the Almshouse where one
schoolmaster and one schoolmistress presided over some sixty-five
children, mostly under the age of eight.
This was typical of the attitude of the eighteenth century. Ele-
mentary education and secondary education were not problems
of the government. The men of the period were property-minded
and at the same time they were influenced by the rising spirit
of philanthropy. The rich sent their sons and daughters to private
tutors and private academies; and for the poorest of the poor
they opened their purses to provide a meager elementary educa-
tion. And this bit of charity was not unmixed with self-interest,
for these tiny waifs of society might thus become equipped to earn
their own livings and would not remain a charge to the taxpayers,
1 68
To School? 169
Several of the churches of the city conducted free schools for the
children of their parishioners. But if one had no connection with a
church which boasted a school and if that person could not af-
ford private tuition then there was no "education" to be had.
The Regents of the University of New York had recommended as
early as 1785 that elementary education was of such importance
that it ought not to be left in the hands of private individuals. But
the taxpayers had prevailed and nothing was done.
In this chapter we are treating what is usually called "formal"
education. Elsewhere we discuss libraries, bookstores, the news-
papers, the clubs, and debating societies which spread knowledge
and provoked the contemplation of ideas. We have already dis-
cussed a category of persons who called themselves schoolmasters
and institutions that termed themselves academies. In New York
in 1789 it was possible to secure instruction in singing, dancing,
fencing, music (including the bassoon, guitar, violin, clarinet, and
the harpsichord), drawing, painting, embroidery, cloth work,
filigree work, and japanning. Some of these academies pretended
to teach almost any or the greater part of these subjects. William
Hofmeister, better known as "Little Billy the Fiddler," candidly
advertised that "being incapable of other employment, he would
teach music of almost any kind."
It is possible to find in the city Directory the names of some fifty-
five schoolteachers and there were some who were not listed.
Not a few of them were like "Billy the Fiddler." Incapable of
other employment they took to teaching: widows, old Revolution-
ary veterans, French soldiers who remained in America after the
peace, and simple incompetents. A writer in the American Maga-
zine declared that many who pretended to run academies were
low, ignorant persons and that time spent under their so-called in-
struction was worse than wasted. Some of the schools consisted
merely of a teacher who conducted classes in the parlor of his
lodgings. James Robins, who came from Philadelphia in October
1785, conducted an evening school in French "at his Lodgings,
No. 77, Fair-street," from six to nine except Sundays.
170 This Was New York
There were some good schools for boys. James Hardie at 9
Gold Street conducted a school from which thirteen scholars were
admitted to Columbia College in June 1 789. Malcolm Campbell's
was located at 85 Broadway, almost opposite Trinity Church. Su-
perior instruction was provided in each of them. Hardie was the
author of a Latin grammar and Campbell, who had taken an
M.A. at the University of Aberdeen, edited several volumes of
the classics. Messrs. Graham and Johnson ran a school at 19
Little Queen (Cedar) Street that met with generous approbation.
The Columbia Grammar School was the best in the city.
There were three principal schools for young ladies. Mrs.
Sewall opened her academy at 5 Crown (Liberty) Street in June
1788; Mrs. Carter, "late of London and Philadelphia," received
her first pupils in January 1789 at 76 Broadway, opposite the
City Tavern; and Mrs. Graham began her teaching late in 1789
and the following year occupied the house at i Broadway. In all
of them the young ladies were taught "the polite arts," which
ranged from reading, writing, and spelling through deportment
and dancing to embroidery and painting. The fees varied from
$80 a year for full boarders to $6 a quarter for day scholars. Be-
yond a few polite and useful accomplishments the American
woman was not expected to have much learning. La Rochefou-
cauld-Liancourt observed that American women were primarily
good wives and good mothers and that "household affairs occupy
all their time and cares; destined by the manners of their country
to this domestic life, their education is in other respects too much
neglected." A picture of what a cultivated young lady was ex-
pected to study is presented by Thomas Jefferson's admonition to
his daughter Martha:
With respect to the distribution of your time, the following is
what I should approve: from 8 to 10, practise music. From 10 to
i, dance one day and draw another. From i to 2, draw on the day
you dance and write a letter the next day. From 3 to 4, read
French. From 4 to 5, exercise yourself in music. From 5 till bed-
time read English, write, &c. . . . Inform me what books you
To School? 171
read, what tunes you learn, and inclose me your best copy of every
lesson in drawing. . . . Take care that you never spell a word
wrong. ... It produces great praise to a lady to spell well.
Gouverneur Morris, who was something of a bon vivant, looked
at the education provided for women and noted one great lack
which he proposed to remedy by establishing a school of cooking
for women. Noah Webster looked at the whole field of education
and saw nothing very admirable in it. He advocated a greater
study of modern languages and grammar and urged that schools
should specifically train their students for later careers in the oc-
cupations, professions, government, and the social duties.
But schoolmasters were by nature and by self-interest con-
servative. Changes were slow to come. The state was only be-
ginning to recognize its responsibilities in the field of education.
Democracy, in education as in politics, was only slowly becoming
articulate and effective. The revolution in American education
was still a matter of the future.
While the government assumed but slight interest in elementary
and secondary education it was actively concerned with the fate
of the greatest educational institution in the city : Columbia Col-
lege.
The picture presented by Columbia College, reorganized under
the new charter and name in 1787, was not an encouraging one.
The institution had had an interesting, honorable past and was
destined to a future beyond the most fertile imagination of the
time, but in the year 1789 its prospects were a matter of great
concern to its friends.
King's College (as it was formerly known) had suffered gravely
from the events of the Revolution. Classes had been suspended,
the faculty had been widely scattered, and the building itself had
been taken over by the British and used as a military hospital.
Soldiers had found that the library books could be bartered for
drinks at the local pubs; consequently they did a very thorough
job of spreading learning throughout the city. Even before the
172 This Was New York
physical plant of the college had been commandeered by the
Committee of Safety and then seized by the British, the morale
of the faculty and of the students had been shattered by political
divisions. Latin essays, experiments in physics, the variegated pur-
suit of truth had all been forgotten in arguments between loyalty
and opposition to measures of the British government. With the
eventual expulsion of the British military forces came the exile
of many of the wealthy and cultured Loyalists and the weakening
of a good tradition. The dislocations of war and the economic
crisis which followed the peace were blows from which the college
did not recover for almost half a century.
The college had been established by royal charter thirty-five
years before October 31, 1754 as the College of the Province
of New York. Known always as King's College, it began with an
enrollment of eight students and one instructor, the Reverend
President Samuel Johnson, D.D., one of that little Yale group
who, a generation before, had stirred Connecticut to its founda-
tion by going over to the Church of England. For six years King's
College held its sessions in the schoolhouse in the rear of Trinity
Church; in 1760 its new building, on the outskirts of the town,
overlooking the river on what is now Park Place, was occupied.
Three years later Dr. Johnson was succeeded by the Reverend
Myles Cooper, D.C.L., Fellow of Queen's College, Oxford, who
proceeded to reshape the institution in the likeness of his alma
mater. By 1775 his Tory sentiments had become so obnoxious
to certain groups of the citizens and students that one night the
portly president, clad in his nightshirt, made an undignified but
successful flight over a fence and to a British war vessel at anchor
in the Hudson while the youthful Alexander Hamilton had mean-
while harangued an eager mob outside the college building. He
never returned. The following spring the college gave up its build-
ing for military use at the request of the Committee of Safety, and
because of the disturbed state of public affairs and the divided
loyalties of its constituency, ceased all but its corporate existence
during the remaining years of the war. During its twenty-two
To School? 173
years King's College had had in all 232 students on its rolls, of
whom 107 were graduated in the liberal arts and 12 in medicine.
Some thirty-six undergraduates were left academic orphans upon
the closing of the college, one of whom was its most distinguished
alumnus, Alexander Hamilton.
At the time of the British evacuation in 1783, the college had a
building which was in a sad state of disrepair, some remaining
invested funds, and a few devoted alumni. There was no faculty,
and not even a sufficient number of its corporation remained to
form a quorum. These remaining trustees petitioned the new state
legislature for a revival of the charter, but instead the legislature
in 1 784 created the University of the State of New York, a state-
wide public educational system with a large board of regents, and
the college, renamed Columbia, was incorporated into the system.
This form of government proved quite unsatisfactory for the col-
lege, and, on April 13, 1787, the legislature finally passed another
act giving Columbia its independence and a new charter, under
which it has continued to operate.
Columbia had no president under the regents, chiefly because
of insufficient income, and the professors administered the college,
in rotation. A month after the new charter had been passed, Wil-
liam Samuel Johnson, D.C.L., son of the first president and,
strictly speaking, the first layman to hold the presidency of any
American college, was chosen president of Columbia. Educated
at Yale, Johnson had quickly become one of the most distinguished
members of the Connecticut bar, had been that colony's agent
in London for a decade, had served on the governor's council and
as judge of the superior court. He came to Columbia fresh from
service in the Constitutional Convention, where he had been
chairman of the committee on literary style, and from 1789 until
the Federal government moved to Philadelphia, Johnson was
senator from Connecticut. The college had made a good selection;
he was a distinguished, kindly, and able gentleman whose scholar-
ship and talents were highly respected by his contemporaries, and
his relations with the faculty and students were notably har-
174 This Was New York
monious. His salary was 400, and a portion of the college build-
ing was fitted up for his residence; the trustees also built him a
stable and set aside a portion of the college garden for his use.
Some critics charged that his duties as a United States senator
caused him to neglect his academic obligations; and his colleague,
Senator Maclay of Pennsylvania, declared that the academic gen-
tleman "padded" his expense accounts by claiming traveling ex-
penses from Connecticut when he actually lived in New York
City. Thus the senator-doctor-president may have the dubious
honor of having first established what later generations have re-
garded as a hoary and venerable tradition. In any event, the evi-
dence indicates that Dr. Johnson did well by the college.
At the end of 1787 Johnson assumed the professorship of logic,
rhetoric, and belles-lettres, and 50 was added to his salary.
Three other professors completed the active faculty in 1789:
the Reverend John Daniel Gross, D.D., professor of geography,
moral philosophy, and German; John Kemp, LL.D., F.R.S.
(Edin.), professor of mathematics and natural philosophy; and
Peter Wilson, A.M., professor of Greek and Latin.
The faculty was an interesting, cosmopolitan group. Dr. Gross
was a native of Germany who had been educated at Marburg and
Heidelberg, and had been pastor of German Reformed congre-
gations on the American frontier; as chaplain of regiments of New
York militia he had taken part in the battle of Oriskany and
other engagements before coming to Columbia. Unlike most
professors he managed to acquire considerable wealth (through
the purchase of soldiers 1 land warrants) and spent the latter years
of his life in philosophic retirement on a farm near Fort Plain,
New York. His course in geography and chronology, which he de-
livered to the sophomores twice a week, was a broad historical
orientation course, which Herbert Baxter Adams of Johns Hop-
kins University characterized a century later as "a highly credit-
able course, the best that the writer has found in the annals of any
American college at that period." His lectures on moral philos-
ophy, published in 1795 as Natural Principles of Rectitude, were
To School? 175
thorough and laborious. But when delivered in person under the
ornamental buttonwoods of the tiny campus, generations of Co-
lumbia students found the professor's disquisitions on moral
philosophy both relevant and inspiring.
Dr. John Kemp was a precocious Scotsman, a graduate of the
University of Aberdeen, who, after a year's trial appointment at
the college, was made a professor at the age of twenty-three. One
of his students, after many mellowing years, declared that "Dr.
Kemp, a strong mathematician, ably filled several departments of
science ; impulsive and domineering in his nature, there were mo-
ments with him when a latent benevolence towards the student
quickened itself, and he may be pronounced to have been an ef-
fective teacher." Although he was seemingly "devoid of genius
and lacked enterprise," his course in natural philosophy, which
included some six hundred experiments, was so popular that it
drew the attendance of the general public.
Peter Wilson, the lovable eccentric of the faculty, was also a
native of Scotland and an alumnus of the University of Aberdeen.
He had been principal of the Hackensack Academy, had served
in the New Jersey legislature, and had made a codification of the
laws of the state. He wrote or edited several treatises and texts and
was known to some as a pioneer American classical scholar. But
Professor Wilson, although by far the most earnest member of the
faculty and despite his wide reading, lacked any penetrating
scholarship. He was the complete pedagogue but not a profound
scholar. He was "cramped with dactyls and spondees" and was
usually harassed in his classical exegesis to the point where his
derivative theory and verbal criticism provoked gales of unre-
strained laughter among his students. Professor Wilson was re-
markable, not for his knowledge, but for his generous nature
and his kindly attitude toward his students. His enthusiasm, un-
like his knowledge, never faltered; he constantly reminded his
students that "without the classics you can neither roast a potato
nor fly a kite." The professor of Latin and Greek became so in-
fatuated with Josephus and the history of the Jews that he re-
176 This Was New York
solved to bring them "the proper spiritual salvation." He joined a
Society for the Conversion of the Israelites, and after years of per-
sonal effort it is alleged that he finally persuaded one of the lost
sheep to embrace the stern beauties of Calvinism.
The course of study in Columbia College in 1789 was very
little different from the traditional curriculum introduced into
America at Harvard from the English universities a century and
a half earlier. Before entrance the student was examined orally on
Caesar's Gallic Wars, Cicero against Catiline, the first four books
of Vergil's Aeneid, the Gospels in Greek, some Greek and Latin
syntax, Latin composition, and "the first four Rules of Arithmetic,
with the Rule of Three, and Vulgar and Decimal Fractions."
After he had paid the president (for the use of the library and
philosophical apparatus) the sum of one pound sterling, written
his name in the Matriculation Book, and been handed a copy of
the Statutes, he was a member of the college. As a freshman he
attended the professor of languages twice a day for Latin and
Greek, the professor of mathematics three times a week, and
the professor of logic and rhetoric once a week, with whom he
studied "English grammar, together with the Art of Reading and
Speaking English with propriety and elegance." He was also
obliged to turn in every day a written Latin exercise; once a week
a translation from Latin. As a sophomore he attended the profes-
sors of languages and mathematics once a day and the professor
of geography three times a week; there was a written Latin exer-
cise every day, and an English composition on a designated sub-
ject once a week. As a junior the student took logic once a week,
languages twice a week (consisting mainly of the professor's re-
marks "upon the peculiar beauties" of the Greek and Latin
authors, which the student took down in his notebook and gave
back on the quarterly examinations), and natural philosophy
three times a week his only taste of science with lectures and
experiments performed by the professor. The weekly assigned
composition in English or Latin was continued. In his senior year
the student took ethics three times a week, Latin once, and logic
To School? 177
and rhetoric twice; he was at last permitted to choose the subject
of his weekly composition. There were weekly exercises in public
speaking, public exercises at every monthly Visitation (of the
trustees), and public examinations at every quarterly Visitation.
If the student bore up under this for four years and behaved him-
self moderately well, he was given the Bachelor of Arts degree;
at the commencement three years after his graduation, if he had
turned in a written exercise to the president and paid another
degree fee, he was given a Master of Arts degree, completing
what survived of the medieval seven-year course in the liberal arts.
The average age of entering students at Columbia was be-
tween fifteen and sixteen. The undergraduates were often in high
spirits and required much disciplining. This was the duty of the
president. There had long been an elaborate system of rules and
regulations. From the early days of the college the attendance at
chapel was so irksome that a special prohibition of "Talking,
Laughing, Justling, Winking, etc." was established. There were
other curious regulations concerning "Drunkenness, Fornication,
Lying, Theft, Swearing, Cursing, or any other scandalous im-
morality." Further statutes forbade the frequenting of the numer-
ous houses of ill-fame near the college, cockfighting, cardplaying,
dice, and "Dilapidations of the College." For detected violations
there was an elaborate system of penalties, from a fine of sixpence
for absence from a lecture or the required morning and evening
prayers to five shillings for "profane cursing, or swearing; or being
intoxicated with liquor; or ... telling a wilful falsehood"; for
repeated offenses the student was publicly admonished before
the entire college and finally rusticated or expelled. Beginning in
1788, the students were permitted to wear gowns, reviving the
King's College custom; after April 1789 they were required to
wear them. The weekly holiday was Saturday, and Saturday
mornings the Columbia College Society held regular meetings,
at which the students read original compositions or engaged in
"Disputations."
The undergraduate body numbered between thirty and fifty,
178 This Was New York
most of whom lived at home or at other lodgings in the city, al-
though there were a few chambers, with studies, available in the
college at a quarterly rental of one dollar; John Randolph of
Roanoke and his brother lived there in baronial style with a
colored serving man. Life was not so easy for the average student,
like John Barent Johnson of the Class of 1792, whose diary has
survived; he had to furnish his own wood, candles, etc., make his
own fire, and fetch his water from the College Pump. John, the
barber, dressed his long hair Saturdays when he could afford it.
His weekly ablutions on Saturday are duly recorded, his whiten-
ing of his breeches and the brushing of his shoes and boots, as
well as his lament at once being aroused by the chimney sweep at
five-thirty in the morning.
Thursday the thirtieth of April 1789 was a gala day for the na-
tion and for Columbia. Young Barent Johnson was up at quarter
past six "A fine Day" and attended prayers in one of the
churches at nine. At one he saw the oath administered to "his
Excellency" George Washington by the chancellor of the state,
Robert R. Livingston of the Class of 1765; afterwards he at-
tended the services for the president at St. Paul's Chapel, con-
ducted by the Bishop of New York, Samuel Provoost of the Class
of 1758.
Commencement Day, May sixth, was another proud day for
the college. The exercises were held at St. Paul's Chapel after the
academic procession had marched over from the college building,
and were attended by President Washington, making his first
public appearance since his inauguration, Vice-President Adams,
the members of the Senate and House of Representatives, Gover-
nor George Clinton, and the principal state officials. Ten stu-
dents, who were about to receive the degree of Bachelor of Arts,
gave orations. Matthew Mesier spoke "On the Passions," John
Bainbridge simply "On Happiness," but the other subjects
ranged from "The Rising Glory of America" through "The
Progress and Causes of Civilization" and "Government, its
Progress from East to West" to "The Utility and Study of His-
To School? 179
tory" and the valedictory. Dr. Johnson then conferred the degrees
upon the successful candidates and the degree of Master of Arts
upon DeWitt Clinton and three of his classmates of 1786. Wash-
ington's presence was a graceful tribute to the labors of the gradu-
ates of King's College who had been so active in establishing the
nation's independence and the new government.
A critic railed against the college because of its small number
of graduates: ten for Columbia as against thirty for Yale and
forty-nine for Harvard. Time has adjusted that, and today the
graduates of any one year at Columbia will approach the total
enrollment of either of the more ancient institutions. Another
critic, Dr. Hugh Williamson, suggested that less attention be paid
to the classics and more to natural philosophy and natural history.
But the same suggestion might well have been made to any
American college of the period.
No other American college, however, had the eminent Peter
Wilson as the professor of Latin and Greek. When he began his
celebrated explanation of the English noun "stranger," from the
Latin preposition "E" ("Thus, young gentlemen," the Doctor
would say, "E ex extra extraneus gallice etranger, anglice,
stranger"}, many a student thought of the fine fish waiting to be
caught in the Hudson, and some braved the risk of a college fine
and snared them; others merely wished the good professor were
back in Hackensack or even in the Scotland whence he came
a stranger in a promising land.
In spite of all the crudities and all the difficulties of early Ameri-
can education, the eminent Dr. Benjamin Rush could declare,
ten years after Washington's inauguration: "I am satisfied that
the ratio of intellect is as twenty to one and of knowledge one
hundred to one with what they were before the American Revo-
lution."
But the revolution in American education was still a matter of
the future.
CHAPTER XIII
The City at Prayer
To ANY foreigner possessed of a sense of history, the most
astonishing spectacle in New York was its churches. There were
twenty-two of them, representing thirteen denominations: Re-
formed Dutch, Jewish, Protestant Episcopal, French Huguenot,
Quaker, Lutheran, Presbyterian, Baptist, Moravian, German Re-
formed, Methodist, Roman Catholic, and Independent Congre-
gational. And, unrepresented by a visible organization or edifice,
there were Deists and citizens of no religion at all. It was not, how-
ever, the number and variety of these faiths that would make a
foreigner's hair stand on end, but the curious fact that not one of
them was subsidized, controlled, or "established" by the govern-
ment, that all of them were voluntary and self-supporting, and,
finally and incredibly, that no member of them suffered a single
disability as a citizen of the Federal union because of his religious
views.
"Here, no particular modes of faith or worship are established,"
said the Rev. Dr. William Linn in his Fourth of July sermon
(1791) on the blessings of America. "No undue preference is
given to one denomination above another. Every one stands upon
equal footing, and can prove successful only by the piety, virtue,
learning, and liberality of its professors."
Nothing like this had ever been known in human history. The
nearest approach to such freedom must be sought for in the palmy
days of the Roman Empire or in the vanished Dutch Republic;
but even in these and few similar instances a privileged state-paid
cult held a superior position. Before 1 789 had run little more than
1 80
The City at Prayer 181
half its course, a second nation in the history of man, the French,
was to free the conscience of its citizens from dictation, discrimi-
nation, and tithes. The ideal, if not the reality, of this liberty first
effected in America was to become a commonplace of the nine-
teenth century. Yet so unaccustomed is mankind to religious free-
dom, so low it reckons the dignity and value of the individual,
that any day now, if the totalitarian forces of the world prevail,
the worth of man which is another name for the rights of man
will again be lost. Most of humanity will relapse to its habitual
level of primitive savage intolerance. The American experiment
may once more be unique as it was in 1789.
Even then the experiment was not yet complete. The sixth
article of the Federal Constitution guaranteed that "no religious
test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public
trust under the United States"; and the first of the amendments
which Congress passed in September of 1789 ordained that
"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of re-
ligion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." But several of the
states still carried on their statute books, as a hang-over from co-
lonial days, enactments which lagged behind these enlightened
views. After the adoption of its constitution of 1777 and the
enabling acts of 1784, New York, unlike the laggards, was a free
state in matters of religion with one exception. Catholics were
barred from holding public office until 1 806, when the first prac-
tical test the election of Francis Cooper as assemblyman from
New York City led to the removal of this last disability.
The liberty enjoyed by church, synagogue, and freethinkers of
New York, as elsewhere in America, was deeply grounded. It did
not spring from a ready-made body of doctrines loudly trumpeted
and suddenly enacted by a rush of enthusiasm. On the contrary its
development as a principle was long, slow, and obscure. Over
more than a century the colonists debated religion in meeting-
houses and general stores and absorbed the ideas of Erasmus,
Montaigne, Milton, and Locke probably without a mention or
even a knowledge of their names. Nor was the principle gained at
182 This Was New York
a stroke in bloody warfare, to be won on one battlefield and per-
haps lost on the next. Religious liberty lay implicit in the empti-
ness of the American wilderness and in that give-and-take be-
tween man and man which alone could tame it, turning forests
into meadows and towns. If the new world was to be conquered,
the need for healthy men unfettered if not fully rounded indi-
viduals was supreme; and an instinct of self-preservation pre-
vented any one group of Americans from crippling another for
more than a passing spell. Obedient to that instinct, clergymen
of all faiths played a powerful part in creating *a sense of Ameri-
can unity and laying the foundations of American independence.
In the eighteenth century it was the traveler's fashion to tour
the churches. Little of antiquity and less of art could be seen in
the churches of New York or any other American town; but a
round of Sunday visits enabled a stranger to estimate the character
of the natives, appraise the choirs, and sample the pulpit oratory.
He inspected no Sunday schools, for they did not exist.
For antiquity of structure, such as it was, the oldest example
in New York was the Garden Street Church of the Reformed
Dutch. It was built in 1693 that is to say, it was less than a cen-
tury old; it stood on what is now Exchange Place between Broad
and William; and its only concessions to art were the coats of
arms painted on its small leaded panes. Here you could enjoy
the Rev. Gerardus Arense Kuypers, lately of Hackensack and
Paramus, reading the prayers and preaching the sermons in
Dutch. There must have been pathos in the last Dutch sermon
as a regular feature of the service which he gave before a hand-
ful of die-hards in 1803.
Organized in 1628, the Collegiate Reformed Protestant Dutch
Church, to which the Garden Street edifice belonged, was
naturally the oldest religious body in the city. Even in 1789 it
boasted the largest membership so large that two additional
buildings were normally in use: the Middle Dutch Church on
Nassau Street, which was closed for repair of the damages done by
the British occupation, and the North Dutch Church on William
The City at Prayer 183
Street between Fulton and Ann. The latter was erected in
1767-69 to accommodate the many members who desired serv-
ices conducted in English.
The stranger had plenty to gape at in the North Dutch Church.
Clad in a black silk gown with large flowing sleeves, the dominie
was perched in a high cagelike pulpit. Above him a huge sounding
board gave to the sermons an appropriate roll of thunder. After
pronouncing the text it was customary for the dominie to ex-
claim: "Thus far!" An hourglass stood at his side; and when the
sand ran out, the sexton gave three raps with a cane, warning the
dominie that he had gone far enough and that it was time to
bring the sermon to a close. On one never-to-be-forgotten mid-
summer Sunday the heat put the sexton to sleep ; twice the sand
ran out, and each time the dominie glanced at the dozing sexton,
drew a long breath and a fresh text, turned the glass, and
preached an additional hour. Before the sermon the sexton em-
ployed a long pole to hoist announcements and notices up to the
pulpit ; and after the services the deacons collected alms by means
of long rods hung with bells and velvet bags.
Two distinguished divines occupied this aerial pulpit in 1789.
Dominie John Henry Livingston, a graduate of Yale and Utrecht,
was the son-in-law of Philip Livingston, a signer of the Declara-
tion of Independence. He was professor of theology in the Dutch
Church and ended his days as president of Rutgers College. His
commanding appearance, deep voice, eccentric gesticulation,
enormous wig, and copious notes all added weight to his sermons.
As for his colleague, Dominie William Linn, no sexton ever went
to sleep under his trumpetlike voice, which "could be heard for a
mile." Nor Congress either, after he was chosen chaplain of the
House (at a salary of $500) . He memorized his sermons, drama-
tized them with vehement gestures, and won the reputation of
being the most eloquent preacher in the city. A stranger who
heard him deliver a charity sermon was moved to write in the
Daily Advertiser (October 30) : "Would ministers always preach
thus, I venture to say that it would soon become fashionable to
184 This Was New York
go to church and perform Christian duties in general." Unques-
tionably Dr. Linn merited his $1,000 salary and rent-free house
on Cortlandt Street.
The Jews represented the second-oldest faith in the city. A ship-
load of them, coming from Curasao, settled in New Amsterdam
in 1654; and from the outset private services must have been held
in one of their homes. Two years later their religious life was or-
ganized at least to the extent of possessing a burial ground; a
fragment of it remains intact to this day off Chatham Square,
where the oldest decipherable stone, commemorating one Benja-
min Bueno de Mesquita, is dated 1683. A map of New York in
1695 locates their synagogue on Beaver Street near Mill. Their
congregation, called "Shearith Israel," or the Remnant of Israel,
drew up a constitution in 1706.
But the Jewish house of prayer to be seen on Mill Street in 1 789
was only sixty-one years old. It was a small, simple structure of
stone and brick, with wooden beams imported from Curagao. A
visitor needed to be a linguist in order to follow the entire serv-
ice, which was mainly in Hebrew, with a sprinkling of Spanish
and English. However, the occasional sermons of Rabbi Gershom
Mendez Seixas were in admirable English. His Thanksgiving Day
sermon was published in pamphlet form, to be purchased for one
shilling; and the Daily Gazette (Dec. 23, 1789) informed the
public that "this excellent discourse, the first of the kind ever
preached in English in this State, is highly deserving the atten-
tion of every pious reader, whether Jew or Christian, as it breathes
nothing but pure morality and devotion." On another occasion
he preached in St. Paul's Chapel. Rabbi Seixas was a trustee of
Columbia College, he participated with thirteen other clergymen
in the inauguration of Washington, and he served for fifty years
(1766-1816) as leader of the Jewish community. His congrega-
tion, "Shearith Israel," the oldest in American Jewry, still flour-
ishes; and today the same liturgy may be heard on Central Park
West, with no doubt something new in sermons, as on Mill Street
a century and a half ago.
The City at Prayer 185
Then as now the fashionable church was the Protestant Epis-
copal. The members of this offshoot from the High Church of
England had a hard time looking down on the Dutch, who were
on the spot first; but they succeeded, even to the point of recruit-
ing society-minded Knickerbockers. However, they found it no
trouble at all to look down upon Presbyterians, Baptists, Congre-
gationali&s, and other dissenters. One stranger touring the
churches in 1 784 did not relish this attitude. He wrote in the New
York Packet:
A foreigner presents his most respectful compliments to the
congregation of St. Paul's, and begs leave to observe to them that
he must think they are devoid of any manner of humanity or com-
mon politeness, when they can see genteel strangers come into
their Church, and not endeavor to procure them a seat, but sit
with a mortifying indifference upon their countenance. . . . He
is persuaded such unfriendly inattention cannot proceed from in-
fluence of climate, as their neighboring city is possessed of good
breeding and politeness.
Still it might have been the climate, for the stranger's letter was
written on a New York fifteenth of July.
It must likewise be considered that the Episcopal Church, alone
among the New York denominations, was the proprietor of many
goodly acres of land. By royal grant it possessed what was once
known as the Church Farm, which extended northward from
Fulton Street to Greenwich Village and westward roughly from
Broadway to the Hudson River. Its holdings, however, were as
unremunerative as they were extensive. In May of '89 the cor-
poration advertised forty-six lots for sale in an effort to secure
ready money for rebuilding Trinity Church, and it also an-
nounced its determination to collect back rents.
The original Trinity Church, built in 1696, had been destroyed
by fire at the outbreak of the Revolution. Demolition of the ruins
had begun in 1788, and the work of rebuilding occupied all of
1789 to the great fascination of the sidewalk superintendents.
i86 This Was New York
Among them the editor of the New York Journal particularly ap-
proved of the spire which, if equipped with lightning rods, would
he claimed, furnish excellent protection to Wall Street and the
Federal Hall. The completed church, with a steeple which carried
lightning rods two hundred feet into the sky, was consecrated on
March 25, 1790. All the clergymen in the city and high govern-
ment officials, including the President, participated in the solemn
event. (Forty-nine years later in 1839 Trinity was torn down
and was replaced in 1846 by the present edifice.)
Meanwhile the visitor on tour had to be content with the two
Episcopal chapels: St. George's on Beekman and Cliff streets,
built in 1752; and St. Paul's on Broadway, which was opened in
1766. St. Paul's, now the oldest religious structure and, after
Fraunces' Tavern, probably the oldest building extant in the city,
looked much the same in 1789 as it does today except for the
steeple, which was added in 1794. It was here that Washington
could be seen attending services in a canopied pew set apart for
his use and listening to the discourses of Bishop Provoost.
The Right Reverend Samuel Provoost, D.D., Bishop of New
York and Rector of Trinity Church, was a portly gentleman with
a round full face and much dignity of bearing. What he lacked in
intellectual power and oratorical fire he made up in classical
learning, knowledge of languages, science, and botany, and, more
to the purpose, in public spirit, hospitality, and charity. In 1789
he served as chaplain to the United States Senate as, in years gone
by, he had served the Continental Congress. People who knew
him said that he gave more liberally to the poor than his salary of
$1,750 and rent-free house on Nassau Street should warrant.
His assistant, the Rev. Benjamin Moore, had been his predeces-
sor as rector of Trinity. This strange mutation was an aftermath
of the Revolutionary War. Trinity was rife with unreconstructed
Tories, fearful of their fortunes and prestige. Upon the conclu-
sion of peace in 1783 and before the refugee patriots could get
back to their homes and vote, the Tories elected Moore to the
The City at Prayer 187
rcctoratc. Next year the patriots, who had returned in force,
ousted Moore and installed Provoost. As part of this struggle the
New York State government changed Trinity Church by statute
into a purely American institution. The episode was typical of a
transformation that took place in a number of sects with English
or Dutch affiliations.
Dr. Moore was a modest man whose sermons were marked by
their simplicity. He lived to become rector again of Trinity, then
bishop, and also president of Columbia College. His son, Clement
C. Moore, built up Chelsea, endowed the Protestant Episcopal
seminary with its land, and wrote " 'Twas the night before
Christmas."
The Huguenots were the third congregation to build a church
in the city. After using the Dutch church in the Fort for some
years, they erected their own in 1688. But in 1789 their Church
of the Saint-Esprit, a later structure on Pine Street, was an un-
usable wreck as the result of British depredations; and in 1803
the dwindling congregation merged with the Episcopalians.
The Quakers had two meetinghouses one on Liberty Street,
built at the beginning of the eighteenth century; and the "New
Quaker Meeting" erected in 1775 on Pearl and Oak streets. The
Friends were prominent in the formation of a society, in 1785, for
the liberation of slaves; and the Quaker, Samuel Franklin, be-
came its first president. Another Quaker, Robert Murray, con-
tributed the funds to create a school for Negroes, the African
Free School, in 1787.
The Lutherans built their first church in 1702, on the corner of
Broadway and Rector Street. Its fate was told in the name, "Burnt
Lutheran Church," which clung to the corner for many years. In
1789 they were to be found in their steepleless Swamp Church,
built in 1767 at William and Frankfort streets. Their pastor was
the Rev. Dr. John Christopher Kunze, lately of Philadelphia but
born and educated in Saxony. He was not a man to listen to from
a pew, for his sermons were learned, delivered in a weak voice
1 88 This Was New York
with a thick German accent, and never less than one hour long.
But in private he could discourse profitably on theology, numis-
matics, and astronomy. Except for his intimate friend Rabbi
Seixas, no New Yorker was his peer in the mastery of Hebrew and
other oriental tongues, which he taught at Columbia College. His
brother-in-law was Frederick Augustus Conrad Muhlenberg, one-
time pastor of the Swamp Church and now Speaker of the House
of Representatives. The star boarder at his home on Chatham
Street was Senator Maclay. Decidedly Dr. Kunzc was worth cul-
tivating.
A stranger not only found a ready welcome in the Brick Meet-
ing of the Presbyterians on Beckman Street, but he was ushered
directly to one of the two Governor's Pews. Reserved for visitors,
these pews were installed opposite each other near the middle of
the side walls; they were raised magisterially from the floor and
were surmounted with imposing wooden canopies. Thus the visi-
tor commanded a full view of the pulpit affixed to the top of a
sturdy column. At its base a circular pew was occupied by the
officers and the chorister. There were no choir, organ, long rods,
or velvet bags with bells. The lines of a psalm \\crc sung alter-
nately by the chorister and the congregation. At the conclusion of
the service tin plates were passed about, and each Presbyterian
contributed one copper and no more.
If you liked the sermon \ou heard on any given Sunday morn-
ing in the Brick Meeting, you could hear it again the same after-
noon in the other Presbyterian church on Wall Street. Or vice
versa f or the ministers repeated their discourses twice on a
Sabbath, switching from one church to the other. There was,
however, a difference in background. The Wall Street Church,
the first Presbyterian place of worship in the city, \\;tv an ancient
structure dating from 1719. The Brick Meeting, which Noah
Webster called "genteel" but Manasseh Cutler described as "ele-
gant," was a bare twenty years old.
During 1789 the permanent pastor of these churches was a
towering figure in American Presbyterian history the Rev. Dr.
The City at Prayer 189
John Rodgers. He was moderator of the first Presbyterian General
Assembly in the United States, which was held this same year in
Philadelphia; and he was likewise president of the New York
Society for the Relief of Distressed Debtors and vice-president of
the Society for Promoting Useful Knowledge. During the Revo-
lution he was an ardent patriot and never relinquished his interest
in public affairs. Senator Maclay tells of his lobbying in behalf of
Hamilton's funding bill a sort of relief for distressed creditors.
"The Rev. Dr. Rodgers," he writes in his diary, "called on me and
General Muhlenberg this evening. He owed me no visit, for that
he paid a day or two ago. Directly he began to extol Hamilton's
system, and argued with it as if he had been in the pulpit. I
checked him; he made his visit short." Dr. Rodgers 5 salary and
perquisites came to $2,250 a year.
Prospective colleagues of Dr. Rodgers came and went though-
out the year. Candidate James Muir, a young Scotsman, nearly
won acceptance, for his sermons were rarely more than half an
hour in length; but his strong burr and a defect in his speech
made half an hour not short enough. The Rev. Jedediah Morse
also offered himself as a candidate, with the result that the con-
gregation disagreed so firmly on their respective merits and de-
merits that neither was chosen. Towards the end of the year John
McKnight, a Pcnnsylvanian, secured the position and preached
his first sermon on the text, "I ask therefore for what intent ye
have sent for me."
The roll of Presbyterian churches would not be complete with-
out mention of two offshoots of this sect. The Associate Reformed
Church, popularly known as the Scotch Presbyterians, worshiped
on Cedar Street near Broadway under the leadership of the Rev.
Dr. John Mason. An Associate Presbyterian congregation, formed
in 1785, occupied a frame church on Nassau Street, called the
"Seccdcrs 1 Church." For a part of the \ear 1789 its pulpit was
occupied by the Rev. Dr. David Goodwillie, whose sermons
were "intensely evangelical, and divided and sub-divided with
most systematic exactness."
This Was New York
The first Baptist church was built in 1728, but within a few
years the congregation dissolved. In 1762 a fresh start was made
in a church which stood on Gold Street, between Fulton and
John. Its membership numbered 196 in October of '89. The
twelve preceding months may not have been typical, but dur-
ing that period twenty-one new members were admitted and
seventeen old members were dismissed or excommunicated. The
Rev. Benjamin Foster, pastor of the Gold Street church, was a
close rival to Seixas and Kunze in his knowledge of Hebrew and
Chaldaic; and he was probably unrivaled for his output of ser-
mons. Year in and out he delivered four to six discourses a week.
In 1752 the Moravians or United Brethren built a small
wooden church on Fulton Street near William. The Rev. James
Birkby was its pastor in 1789.
Another German group, the German Calvinist Reformed
Church, began its New York history in 1758, and it remained
affiliated with the classis of the Dutch Church in Amsterdam until
the close of the century. Its church on Nassau Street, rebuilt in
1765, was commonly called the Baron's Church, because here on
any Sunday of '89 the chances were good for meeting Baron
Steuben among the worshipers. Although John Jacob Astor was
the treasurer, it was too early in his career for him to be of much
help to the Rev. Dr. John Daniel Gross. The members were on
the whole humble folk, artisans and little shopkeepers. Dr. Gross's
salary was 150 a year, but in 1789 he received only 107 of it.
The total church expenses for the year, about $600, would prob-
ably not have been met if George Gilfert, music dealer and organ-
ist, had not contributed more than one tenth of the sum. Dr.
Gross eventually resigned on account of ill health, went to Cana-
joharie, New York, and grew wealthy speculating in soldiers' land
warrants.
From their various rungs on the social ladder, High-Church-
men and dissenters alike joined in looking down on the Method-
ists. The latter committed two unforgivable sins against the
canons of respectability: they were audibly demonstrative in their
The City at Prayer 191
worship and they were incorrigibly democratic in their member-
ship. A considerable number of their New York congregation were
Negroes. Moreover such is the illogic of human nature many
Methodist ministers, despite their democracy, had been tainted
with Tory sympathies; and it was not forgotten that during the
British occupation of the city the congregation remained un-
molested in its worship. The work of Francis Asbury in creating
not only an independent American Methodism but the first na-
tional church organization on straight American lines a work
crowned with his appointment as bishop in 1784 had not yet
altogether penetrated the public mind. In the summer of 1789
attacks upon the patriotism of Methodist leaders appeared in the
New York press.
The Methodist Society of New York, which was the oldest in
America, was founded about 1760. Its Wesley Chapel on John
Street, built in 1766, was America's first Methodist church a
long, low, rubble structure coated on the outside with blue
plaster. About three hundred members united here to listen to
the Rev. John Dickens or to Elder Thomas Morrel -the 'latter a
powerful speaker who continued to preach until his ninetieth
year. Negroes likewise preached in the John Street church; and
the whites of America were astonished to discover, in an age as
yet innocent of Zion churches and camp meetings, that the colored
race is gifted with oratory.
Somewhat before the outbreak of the Revolution a small group
of Roman Catholics worshiped privately under the direction of a
Jesuit father. The first public congregation was formed in 1783;
and two years later the cornerstone of its first church, St. Peter's,
was laid by Don Diego de Gardoqui, minister of Spain. Conse-
crated but still unfinished by 1789, St. Peter's was a brick build-
ing on the corner of Barclay and Church streets. The Rev. Wil-
liam O'Brien, a Dominican, officiated there until his death in
1816. Father O'Brien had studied in Bologna, and one of his
fellow students eventually rose to an archbishopric in Mexico.
The infant church in New York badly needed funds, and Father
192 This Was New York
O'Brien remembered his faraway friend. Accordingly in 1789 he
made the arduous journey to Mexico and managed to bring back
nearly $6,000 and several paintings for the completion and adorn-
ment of St. Peter's.
This same year a new church made its appearance in New
York. The Daily Advertiser of November 6 announced that the
Independent Congregational Church, under charge of the Rev.
George Wall, would hold initial services on the following Sunday
in their meetinghouse on Great George Street (Broadway). Pre-
sumably this was the first Congregational church building in the
city.
More new churches were on the horizon, and other new faiths
were already at work. In 1785 the synod of the Dutch Church
of New York and New Jersey complained of the "mighty flood of
errors, the free-thinking, with all the different kinds of irreligion"
that were sweeping the country. By this extravagant language the
synod meant that deism and kindred beliefs typical of the century
of reason were noticeable in America. Whether error or not, a
faith in the fatherhood of God and brotherhood of man inde-
pendent of divine revelation and formal creeds which was the
essence of deism was far from irreligious and hardly a mighty
flood. Still it perceptibly influenced the temper of the times.
Few people, to be sure, had read Reason the Only Oracle of
Man, published in 1784 by Ethan Allen, the hero of Ticonderoga
the first important deist work written in America. Acquaint-
ance with Voltaire and Rousseau or Shaftesbury and Bolingbroke
was limited to intellectual circles. Neither Franklin, Washington,
Jefferson, Madison, nor other deists among the Founding Fathers
cried their faith from the housetops. But the rationalist character
of the Declaration of Independence, with its invocation of the
"laws of Nature" and "Nature's God," and the very silence of
the Federal Constitution, which avoided any implication of
revealed religion, testified to the new spirit.
Around boardinghouse tables, in the taverns, and on the door-
steps of churches people were debating and questioning tradi-
The City at Prayer 193
tional creeds. From his own boardinghouse Senator Maclay
writes :
Went down-stairs; found a large company; the subject was re-
ligion and most unmercifully was it handled ... it was at-
tempted to be established that the whole was craft and imposi-
tion; that all our objects were before us believe what you see;
observe the fraud and endless mischiefs of ecclesiastics in every
age, etc. . . .
Few of the historic facts which they adduced could be refuted.
But by way of opposition Luther's Reformation was mentioned.
It was easily answered that, had there been no abuse, they needed
no reformation. But a further remark was suggested that Luther
was a mere political machine in the hands of those German
princes who could no longer bear to see their subjects pillaged by
Roman rapacity. The [old] doctrine was, pay for indulgences and
purchase salvation with good works, alias money. The new doc-
trine was, faith is better than cash; only believe, and save your
money. It need not be doubted but the new doctrine was on this
account more acceptable to both prince and people. Luther, how-
ever, had the Scripture with him.
At this point the discussion switched from history to science
to the kind of talk the backwoods of America still enjoys. Con-
tinues Maclay:
Another position I thought still less tenable: that man was but
the first animal in nature, that he became so by the feelings of his
fingers and hence all his faculties. Give, said they, only a hand to
a horse, he would rival all the human powers.
But Maclay had the answer:
This I know to be groundless. The 'possum, from its feeble, harm-
less and helpless faculties, is almost extinct in Pennsylvania, and
yet one I killed on the island at Juniata had as complete a hand,
with four fingers and a thumb, as one of the human species.
On another occasion Maclay tried to figure out the age of the
earth from the erosion of rocks by the Falls of Niagara. He con-
194 This Was New York
eluded that the Falls, to say nothing of the earth, was 55,000
years old. Despite the discrepancy between this estimate and
Bishop Usher's calendar of creation, Maclay remained an ob-
serving Presbyterian. But his talk, his speculation, and his tolerant
concessions showed which way the new wind was blowing.
In the 17905 it blew Elihu Palmer to New York, and this
noted freethinker soon established a Deistical Society. It blew
in John Butler, who argued against Trinitarianism in the Large
Assembly Room on Cortlandt Street, created a Unitarian Society
fr* X 794> anc ^ embarrassed the orthodox clergy by inviting them
to public debate. Two years later the same wind brought to town
the Rev. John Murray and other itinerant preachers of universal
salvation, who launched the Universalist Church. Before the
century had closed, the first two parts of Thomas Paine's Age of
Reason released deism from its confinement to philosophers and
highbrows and, till the age of Ingersoll and beyond, made it one
of America's popular faiths.
CHAPTER XIV
Preserving the Peace
NEW YORK suffered from the War of the Revolution more
than any other American city. It was the one important center
held by the British throughout the Revolution from September
1776 to November 1783. Within a brief span of years it had
experienced two drastic and sudden changes in population. When
the British easily seized the city in 1776, they estimated that 95
per cent of the people had already fled. But once the British
were in control, many Tories and others drifted into and partially
repopulated the stronghold abandoned by the patriots. The
Tories, in turn, were rudely disturbed by the surrender of Lord
Cornwallis at Yorktown and then thrown into confusion by the
final peace of 1783. Before the victorious American forces re-
occupied New York, more than ten thousand persons fled in
search of a hasty refuge in other parts of the British Empire. Dur-
ing the British occupation there had been a vast and destructive
fire, wholesale looting, and destruction of property. The normal
life of the city almost vanished, and with its disappearance there
came a general breakdown of law and order and morality. Every
war means a relaxation of standards even for those who win.
And these are things far more easily destroyed than rebuilt.
Preserving order in colonial New York had never been simple;
it was doubly difficult in the years which immediately followed
the Revolution. There were numerous breaches of the peace,
cases of assault and battery, gambling, dueling, larceny of many
descriptions, swearing, drunkenness, and prostitution. The dis-
creet and law-abiding New Yorker went home early of a night,
195
196 This Was New York
bolted his doors, and placed his trust in the city watch. If he
lived in one of the better sections of the city his slumbers might
be undisturbed, but in less desirable precincts there were tavern
brawls, street fights, lewd merriment, and occasional riots which
taxed the full strength of all the officers of the law. The lanes
and streets and the highways leading from the city were dark and
twisting and infested by footpads, who were described by apolo-
getic New Yorkers as "wheelbarrow men [i.e., prisoners and con-
victs] escaped from Philadelphia." Whatever the origins of these
nocturnal disturbances, the prudent New Yorker of 1789 was
ensconced in his home after dark, unless he wished to witness
something of what the clergy termed "scandalous and heaven-
provoking improprieties."
The most apprehensive citizens especially the taxpayers
were well aware that the City Fathers were making valiant efforts
to police the metropolis. It would be too much to expect that
even the most prescient could have predicted that a time would
ever come (within a century and a half) when the police force
of the city would number fully two thirds of the total population
of the first capital of the new nation. The well-informed New
Yorker of 1789 understood the complicated structure of law en-
forcement; certainly visitors were impressed by the variety and
efficiency of the officers who preserved the peace of the city.
These officers of the law included a high sheriff and his under-
sheriffs, a high constable and sixteen elected constables, a chief
marshal and his deputy marshals, the city watch, and, during
great emergencies, the state militia.
The sheriff was appointed annually from among the "sub-
stantial freeholders," was permitted to hold no other office, and
could not retain the post longer than four years. Robert Boyd
was the sheriff of New York from 1787 to 1791. He had many
duties connected with the holding of courts, choosing of juries,
supervising of elections and the issuing of legal papers. He and
his deputies were officially instructed to exert their vigilance to
prevent the theft and destruction of personal property during
Preserving the Peace 197
fires. His was the custody of the prisoners in the Jail, whether
awaiting trial or under sentence. That the sheriffs were often
lackadaisical, if not negligent, in their duties is indicated by the
great number of state laws providing penalties for accepting
money for excusing jurors, corrupt conduct during elections,
concealing or neglecting to arrest felons, taking illegal fees in
court actions, allowing prisoners "to escape voluntarily," and
taking prisoners to taverns and overcharging them for food and
liquor. The sheriff had the power to appoint jailors, and, since
the post of jailor was one of profit, he probably did not remain
oblivious of this possibility of augmenting his income. Altogether
the sheriff was an important, respected and busy official.
The high constable (the officer who nearest approximated the
modern police commissioner) was appointed each year by the
mayor and was eligible for any number of reappointments. James
Culbertson served in this important post from 1789 until his
death in December 1799 a decade of notable public service.
His opportunity first came when, on the last day of December
1788, the Common Council formally charged Captain Frederick
Wiessenfels, of the city watch, with irregularity of his command.
The accused replied that "his advanced Age and Infirmity of
Body" prevented his doing any better and asked to be permitted
to resign or be discharged. The council discharged him and ap-
pointed Culbertson one of the captains of the watch. Within
three months came a greater opportunity. The mayor removed
James Burras from his office of high constable for total neglect
of duty and then appointed Culbertson as a fitting reward for
the capture of "a dangerous robber in the night." Culbertson
continued to serve as one of the two captains of the watch, as
superintendent of street cleaning from 1789 to 1794, and as
deputy clerk of the market. It was his general responsibility to
see that the peace of the city was kept, and, until the creation
of a corporation attorney in 1801, the high constable brought suit
against the violators of municipal ordinances to recover the
stipulated penalties. The constables who served under the high
198 This Was New York
constable were elected each year: two from each of the first six
wards aijd four from the Seventh (or Out) Ward. Election as a
constable was generally esteemed a misfortune, and the most
ingenious pleas were invented to escape it so ingenious that
penalties of from five shillings to 10 were devised for those who
refused to serve. The constables received no regular stipend but
took fees for a variety of services: serving legal papers, appre-
hending prisoners and recalcitrant witnesses, and transporting
prisoners to jail. These officers were also paid a reward of four
shillings for each vagrant they seized and thrust into the toils of
the law. In 1785 the city treasurer paid the constables 20 I2S.
for 103 vagrants taken to the Bridewell. The increasing number
of vagrants made this too expensive, so that in November 1786
the reward was reduced to two shillings sixpence a head. But in
January 1788 the city paid the police officers 45 i8s. for ap-
prehending vagrants. The high constable and his assistants were
also charged with the grave responsibility of keeping the nu-
merous hogs of New York off the streets of the city. Their efforts
were not conspicuously successful, for in 1790 the Common
Council ordained that any person might seize a stray pig for his
own use. However, if the pig was turned in at the Almshouse
the captor was given a reward of seventy-five cents a dollar a
head if delivered by a constable or marshal. Many a diligent
constable augmented his income by snaring hogs.
It would appear that there were, in 1789, between twenty
and twenty-five mayor's marshals under the supervision of a chief
marshal. They held office by the appointment and at the pleasure
of the mayor. Their general powers were similar to those of the
constables a broad jurisdiction over all breaches of the peace,
murderers, robbers, "all idle Strollers," vagabonds, houses of
prostitution, and gaming houses. In addition they were to attend
diligently on the Mayor's Court and General Sessions to execute
any orders. Despite their powers the marshals were not prominent
in the policing of the city.
The city watch, however, was a famous institution dating from
Preserving the Peace 199
the period of Dutch control. The watch was alone responsible
for the preservation of law and order during the night. In 1789
there were between forty-five and fifty men in active service under
the command of two captains, who were directly responsible to
the Common Council. The members of the watch carried sticks
and wore painted "leathern hats" and each evening at nine (later
moved forward to seven) began their duties by an ostentatious
little parade to their posts from the old watchhouse near City
Hall. Each member received three shillings a night for his
services; during the winter this was increased to four (approxi-
mately fifty cents). The captains were paid eight shillings a
night; in winter, a shilling extra. But the members of the watch
were sometimes voted special rewards for meritorious services:
forty shillings to a watchman who captured a robber single-
handed in May 1786; 15 to watchmen Culbertson, Schofield,
and Gobel for having seized dangerous robbers at night in
September 1789; and the same sum to three watchmen for a
similar feat during December. Despite their painted leather hats
they were not always easily recognized. A farmer once came to
the city and caused some excitement by declaring that he had
been stopped in the early hours of the morning by a gang of
thugs, who, after much questioning, permitted him to depart
unharmed. The next day, however, the high constable published
a notice saying that the alleged gang of thugs had consisted of
himself and several of his men, engaged upon very important
and secret service for the city. Culbertson was ever alert, whether
in protecting the safety of the metropolis or its good reputation.
The same, alas, cannot be said for the majority of the watch.
There were a few brave and impudent spirits among them, and
to them went the rewards; the others were prompt in giving the
fire alarm and in apprehending minor violations of the law, but
too many of them seem to have possessed an intuitive under-
standing that some culprits were too dangerous to molest. The
average member of the watch was not celebrated for courage or
rash exploits.
2Oo This Was New York
In grave emergencies threatening the public safety the mayor
could request the governor to summon the militia, or the governor
might do so of his own initiative. The militia was potentially a
powerful force; it included every male citizen between sixteen
and forty-five. Many inhabitants of that age had received con-
siderable military experience in the Revolution, and, since the
governor resided in New York City, which was the state capital
as well as the Federal capital, these forces could be quickly
summoned. The first important service rendered by the militia
was in the so-called "Doctors' Riot" during April 1788.
Medical students had need of corpses for dissection. Since this
was an item not easily come by, they had for some time been
secretly removing bodies from the potter's field and from the
Negro burial ground. This obnoxious practice was so prevalent
that early in 1788 the free Negroes and slaves petitioned the
Common Council to establish some restraints upon it. During
the spring of that year the newspapers contained numerous com-
plaints against the rifling of graves by medical students and by
doctors. Several irate citizens charged that one body had been
snatched from Trinity churchyard. These complaints were
promptly ridiculed and described as an effort to interrupt "the
students of physic and surgery in their pursuit of knowledge."
On Sunday, April 13, a fun-loving medical student, wishing to
frighten some boys playing near the hospital, threw some sec-
tions of a cadaver out of the window. The practical joke was
successful beyond any student's calculation. The boys scampered
off through the town and spread their weird tales. A crowd soon
collected, broke into the building, and destroyed much equip-
ment. The next morning a mob two thousand strong began to
search the houses of the suspected doctors, who had already
taken a prudent refuge in the City Jail. The infuriated throng
then proceeded to the Jail as Governor George Clinton hastily
called the militia.
The Secretary for Foreign Affairs, John Jay, and his wife were
just leaving their house on Broadway to keep a tea engagement
Preserving the Peace 201
when General Matthew Clarkson panted down the street and up
to their door:
"My God, Jay, the mob is surrounding the jail ! They're going
to break in and rip up the doctors. If they succeed we'll have
murder and universal confusion. There's not a minute to lose.
Can you let me have a sword?"
Jay was not accustomed to sudden, swift exertion, but he
bolted up the stairs to return quickly with two swords. He thrust
one at Clarkson and armed himself with the other. Both rushed
off toward the jail. Governor Clinton was already there with a
few of the militia. He was accompanied by General Steuben,
who, somewhat out of breath, was remonstrating with the gover-
nor for having ordered the militia, if necessary, to fire upon the
mob. In the midst of his expostulations a brick neatly flattened
him to the ground. When he had recovered enough breath to
announce his speedy conversion, he yelled: "Fire, Governor,
fire!" Jay and Clarkson quickly approached the door of the jail.
Jay was almost there when he was struck by a stone and fell to
the ground. They carried him into the Almshouse, where he was
attended by Dr. Charlton, who finally brought him home with
"two large holes in his forehead." Within a few days he was out of
danger, but two weeks later he still nursed two large black eyes.
However, at the Jail, the militia did finally fire upon the mob,
killing three of them. For several days the city was in a turmoil,
but there was no further bloodshed. The medical profession had
suffered in prestige. In January of the following year the state
legislature passed an act to prevent "the odious practice of dig-
ging up and removing, for the purposes of dissection, dead bodies
interred in cemeteries or burial places." By the same act, however,
the legislature decreed that the bodies of persons who suffered
the extreme penalty for murder, arson, or burglary might, by
order of the judges, be delivered by the sheriff to such surgeons
as the courts might name for the purposes of dissection.
There were not many riots which demanded the calling of the
militia. But in 1791 "upwards of thirty foreign sailors, armed
202 This Was New York
with Bludgeons" made an attack against the city watch which was
repelled only with assistance. Two years later a mob attacked
and destroyed two houses of prostitution and created a disturb-
ance which only the militia was finally able to control; in 1799
a similar action brought forth the armed military force of the
state to preserve its domestic peace.
These gentlemen ranging from the constable through the
discreet watchman with the painted leather hat to the assembled
might of the state militia preserved the peace and maintained
the laws. They were the police of a great American metropolis
of 1789, yet their abilities, their training, and their services were
hardly greater than those of a spirited village constable in any
hamlet of the twentieth century.
The twentieth-century sheriff of New York might recognize a
certain kinship with the duties of Robert Boyd, but for some
years sundry citizens have notably agitated (and without success)
for the abolition of that part of the law-enforcement system which
has long since become obsolete and unduly expensive.*
The modern commissioner of police would find very few
familiar things in the activities of High Constable Culbertson.
He would look in vain for a traffic bureau, a bomb squad, an
alien squad, a detective force, a homicide bureau, or for any
fingerprinting or other scientific aids in crime detection. He would
certainly blush (before his certain removal from office) if the
governor were called upon to summon the militia to deal with a
disturbance centering around a house of ill fame.
If he wished to look back to the New York of 1 789 to see an
early picture of his own activities, he would search everywhere in
vain. Only his remote and distant contemporary, the village con-
stable, would feel at home,
Despite popular impressions to the contrary, the sheriff still exists. Certain
modifications were made in the office in 1942, the sheriffs of other boroughs
were eliminated, and now the Sheriff of New York is selected by civil-service
examinations.
CHAPTER XV
Be It Enacted by the People . . .
TO MR. BUMBLE, in Oliver Twist, and to the many thou-
sands of others who have had contact with it, it might logically
(and emotionally) appear that the "law is a ass." But that is
hardly a satisfactory solution to a legal problem. Certainly it
will never modify the actions of those charged with its enforce-
ment. To all persons, whether wishing to abide by it or break
it, there is ultimately posed one paramount question: what is
the law?
In 1789 there were few Federal statutes that might be broken,
for Congress had been too engrossed in the inauguration of the
new national government and in the establishing of the various
executive departments to pass many laws. However, there were
many state laws. The state legislature had been enacting them
since the Revolution, and by 1789 there were (when finally
published several years later) some 753 closely printed pages of
them badly indexed, it is true, but still rather clear in their
main provisions. Of the multitude of municipal ordinances there
was no adequate compendium; the best way to avoid any pos-
sible entanglement was to consult one of the aldermen (the city
fathers who legislated) or a good lawyer, of whom there were
many.
When the constitution was hastily drafted for New York State
in 1777, it was done in the midst of a great war, and the English
penal code had been retained with only one important modi-
fication: in important criminal cases the accused was permitted
to have legal counsel to plead his defense. Otherwise the criminal
203
204 This Was New York
code was barbarous and brutal not yet touched by the slowly
rising tide of humanitarian reform. In New York there were
nineteen crimes for which the penalty of death by hanging
was prescribed for the first offense: treason, murder, rape,
buggery, burglary, robbing a church, six degrees of larceny,
arson, malicious maiming and wounding, "the forcible taking
of women" (even though marriage might eventually ensue),
forgery and counterfeiting, stealing bills, bonds, or public secur-
ities, or assisting in any of these crimes or knowingly receiving
stolen goods. In addition there were many felonies (excepting
petty larceny, described as being under 5) which demanded
the death penalty upon any second conviction. It is true that
juries were more humane than the law and their verdicts tended
to mitigate the harshness of the criminal code. Yet the Court of
Oyer and Terminer pronounced ten sentences of death during
j 789 all for burglary, robbery, and forgery. The visitor to the
city on October 23 might have had the grim experience of
witnessing five executions on the public gallows housed in the
quaint Chinese pagoda near the Jail.
For less serious offenses other punishments were decreed:
branding, confinement in the public stocks, whipping (either at
the public whipping post or in designated spots around the
city), imprisonment at hard labor, simple imprisonment in either
the Bridewell or the Jail, and/or fines. Both fines and punish-
ments were frequently left to the discretion of the judges. One
Sarah Crowdy received twenty lashes on her bare back for
petty larceny. John Carroll, who stole "one loaf of sugar to the
value of Seven Shillings and 12 spades of the value of 80 shil-
lings," received thirty-nine lashes. But William Glover, who
robbed John Collins of a "Mettal Watch of the price of forty
Shillings [$5.00]" was sentenced to hang. William Matthews,
who stole seventeen gold rings, was given twenty lashes on his
bare back on each of three successive Mondays, near the Ex-
change, the Fly Market, and the Peck Slip Market. James
Shelvey, the public whipper, more than earned his annual salary
Be It Enacted by the People . . . 205
of 25. How busy he was we shall better understand when we
visit the sundry courts of law which held their jurisdiction and
their sessions in New York.
Even those who agitated for an enlightened revision of the
penal code could hardly object to the numerous laws which ap-
plied to slander, bigamy, assault and battery, fraud and perjury.
Nor did they object to the laws regulating a variety of lesser
matters.
Taverns were carefully regulated by a series of enactments
designed to give protection and comfort to the public. No tavern
licenses were to be granted unless it appeared to the commis-
sioners that the inn or tavern was "necessary for the accomodation
of travellers." The generous interpretation placed upon this clause
is indicated by the fact that there were more than three hundred
licensed taverns in New York one for every ninety men, women,
and children in the city. The tavernkeeper had to be a person of
good character. He was bound not to keep "a disorderly inn or
tavern, or suffer or permit any cock-fighting, gaming or playing
with cards or dice, or keep any billiard-table, or other gaming-
table, or shuffle-board, within the inn or tavern ... or within
any out-house, yard or garden belonging thereunto." All strong
liquors were sold for consumption on the premises, but home-
made metheglin, currant wine, cherry wine, and cider might be
sold and taken home. Unless especially exempted by the com-
missioners (and most New York City taverns were exempt by
statute), each tavern was forced to keep "at least two spare
beds for guests" and sufficient stabling and provender for four
horses or other cattle. It was not permitted knowingly to sell
strong drink to any slave, servant or apprentice without express
permission of the master. If any tavernkeeper permitted a person
other than a lodger or a traveler to run up a bill of ten
shillings or more for strong drink, he was legally disbarred from
collecting it; he was also enjoined by statute from accepting
from such persons anything but cash for all bills of ten shillings
or more. Each proprietor of a tavern had to erect a proper sign
2o6 This Was New York
containing his name on or near his tavern else a penalty of ten
shillings for each month's neglect would apply.
The prevalence of gambling and gaming in New York was
attested by many statutes. All games of chance were prohibited
in inns and taverns, but a special law "to prevent excessive and
deceitful Gaming" was passed by the legislature in February
1788. It declared that all notes, bills, mortgages, and securities
for money that were won by gaming or betting on games ' 'shall
be utterly void, frustrate and of none effect, to all intents and
purposes whatsoever." In a word, gambling had to be for cash
and cash alone. There was also a limit to one's cash losses. The
law declared that if, at any one sitting, a player lost a total of
10 or more and paid his losses, he might, within three months
of the event, go into any court of record in the state and sue the
winner or winners for the total sum lost, together with the costs
of the suit. Another provision of the statute was directed against
"any fraud or shift, cousenage, circumvention, deceit, or un-
lawful device or ill practice whatsoever" in gaming; any player
thus winning more than 10 at one sitting might be fined five
times the amounts so cunningly won. Any person winning or
losing 10 or more at any one sitting or 20 or more within
twenty-four hours might be indicted within one year of the
offense and, upon conviction, be fined five times the amounts won
or lost. Since, under this provision, the loser might be fined as
much as the winner, it is not surprising that the judicial records
show no complaints on the part of those who lost and the more
fortunate were less likely to complain. The lawmakers provided
for the problem of professional gamblers: "And whereas divers
lewd and dissolute persons live at great expences, having no
visible estate, profession or calling, to maintain themselves," any
two justices of the peace were empowered to make such persons
find sureties for their good behavior for a period of one year,
during which period the person so bound was not permitted to
win or lose more than twenty shillings at any one sitting. It is
Be It Enacted by the People . . . 207
a safe wager that these laws were more honored in the breach
than in the observance.
The august legislators of the state were determined to keep, if
possible, Sunday as a day devoted to quiet relaxation and the
contemplation of the Almighty (any persons observing a Sabbath
day on Saturday were exempted from some of the Sunday pro-
visions). On February 23, 1788, the legislature passed a broad
"Act for suppressing Immorality." It stated that "there shall be
no travelling, servile labouring, or working (works of necessity
and charity excepted), shooting, fishing, sporting, playing, horse-
racing, hunting or frequenting of tippling-houses, or any unlaw-
ful exercises or pasttimes, by any person or persons within this
state, on the first day of the week, commonly called Sunday." It
applied to all persons over fourteen years of age, and the penalty
for each proved violation was six shillings to be forfeited and
paid for the use of the poor. No person could sell anything (ex-
cepting small meat, milk, and fish before nine o'clock in the
morning) under penalty of forfeiting all the goods and chattels
so offered for sale. If the fine was not paid, the culprit was to be
put in the public stocks for the space of two hours for each
offense. All persons breaking these regulations for the Sabbath
were to be seized by a constable or any other citizen, detained
until the next day, and then carried before a justice of the peace.
Officers of the law were forbidden to serve any writs or processes
(except for treason, felony, or breach of peace) on Sunday. Any
person convicted of profane cursing or swearing was to be fined
three shillings for each violation; if the offense w r as committed
within the hearing of any justice of the peace or higher officer
of the law, no trial or further evidence was necessary for a
speedy and certain conviction. Persons guilty of drunkenness
paid a fine of three shillings (for the succor of the poor) for each
lapse; otherwise they were confined in the stocks for the space of
two hours for each spree.
Of all those who came in contact or conflict w T ith the law, the
208 This Was New York
situation of the debtors was the most tragic. The laws concerning
imprisonment for debt had been inherited from the English
debtor system, of which Voltaire once remarked that "if a poor
fellow cannot readily pay a little money when his hands are at
liberty, the better to enable him to do it, they load him with hand-
cuffs." The statistics of those who were thus thrown into prison
were (and remain) startling. From January 1787 to December
1 788 it was stated that 1,162 persons had been incarcerated in the
City Jail for debt, and of these 716 had been imprisoned for
debts that were recoverable before a justice of the peace. Fre-
quently the debt did not exceed twenty shillings (about $2.50).
This meant that during this brief period almost one out of every
seven free male New Yorkers above sixteen years of age had been
confined in the Jail for nonpayment of some debt. A debtor might
go through bankruptcy proceedings, but only if the persons hold-
ing three quarters of the debt agreed to this legal release. Efforts
made to correct this curious legislation came to nothing. With the
postwar depression new pressure was exerted, but to little effect.
When the New York Assembly was about to adjourn in 1787,
Robert Lansing asked the attention of the legislators while he
read the list of persons confined for debt within a few blocks of
where the Assembly met. He said that there were ten men, whose
total debts amounted to 24, who were rotting away without any
hope of release. The members of the Assembly agreed to his
suggestion that they each contribute one day's salary to succor
them. The New York Packet reported on March 6, 1787, that
there was one prisoner, among two dozen in all, who had been in
jail for more than a year and for a single debt which he might
have paid in far less time had he been at liberty. The apparent
answer was that his creditor was a man in the same business who
thus wished to eliminate competition. The debtors were thrown
into the same quarters with hardened criminals and were sub-
jected to all the abuses of an antiquated system.
Perhaps the most onerous feature of it all was that debtors
were forced to pay for their own food, fuel, and clothing while
Be It Enacted by the People . . . 209
thus imprisoned. Public concern for the confined debtors became
articulate in January 1787, when the New York Society for the
Relief of Distressed Debtors was formed. But less than two years
later the funds of this philanthropic group were exhausted and
the clergy were solicited to appeal for contributions. The state
legislature responded in 1789 with a law that provided that
persons owing 10 or less might not be imprisoned more than
thirty days. But the debtors remained bitter and forlorn. Some
of them took the contributions of charity and sent them to their
families so that not all need starve. Despite the modification of
the laws, Marinus Willett, a former sheriff of the city who had
again visited the Jail in 1790, reported of the debtors that "the
wretchedness there is past my power to attempt a description if
distress ever claimed legislative assistance . . . the confined debtors
in this place demand attention." The society continued its ac-
tivities; in May 1789 it acknowledged the anonymous gift of
1,500 pounds of fresh beef. During December 1789 the prisoners
in the Jail gave thanks to the President of the United States for
having contributed fifty guineas for their relief, but the secretary
of the society informed the public that the President had wished
to have no publicity connected with his donation. The society
lobbied in the legislature with some small effect, so that in 1791
it forbade the sale of liquor in the Jail by the warden, who had
for many years thus consoled his prisoners and enhanced his
personal profits. Two of the most curious publications in Amer-
ican newspaper history arose from the plight of debtors. On
March 24, 1800, William Keteltas, a debtor in the Jail, began
publication of the Forlorn Hope, in which he denounced the
"injustice, impolicy and inhumanity" of the whole system of im-
prisonment for debt. He declared that the debtors would starve
were it not for the efforts of the Humane Society (the new name
for the Society for the Relief of Distressed Debtors). Within six
weeks Keteltas found that he had a journalistic rival, the Prisoner
of Hope, published for expected profit by William Sing, a relative
of his and a person who was also intimately acquainted with the
2io This Was New York
conditions of which he spoke. Both publications disappeared
within a few months, but the problem of the insolvent debtor
remained and received no adequate remedy until the new
legislation of 1819 and 1831.
Before closing any brief survey of the state penal code as it
existed in 1789, two additional features are worthy of note. On
February 18, 1789, the legislature passed an act which regulated
in detail the fees of all officers of justice within the state. It not
only established very low fees for all the officers of all the courts
as well as for the sheriffs, but it fixed proper charges for the
attorneys engaged in virtually all legal actions. For example,
in any case in the Supreme Court the lawyer could charge a
retaining fee of only twenty-nine shillings, ten shillings for the
arguing of every special motion, two shillings for every attendance
in examining a witness out of court (at the rate of eight shillings
to a dollar ! ) . The manuscript records show that the court costs
in many cases did not amount to more than sixpence or several
shillings. Thus it would seem that litigation was cheap in 1789.
Certainly this was the clear and laudable purpose of the legis-
lators. The court fees in many cases were most moderate, but the
private papers of several lawyers indicate that they and their
clients were little bound by the prescribed charges for legal serv-
ices. Brissot de Warville observed that "the fees of lawyers are
out of all proportion; they are, as in England, excessive.'* Brock-
hoist Livingston once succeeded in keeping a case in the Court
of Chancery so long that the final bill for his services was 200.
When Alexander Hamilton resigned from Washington's cabinet
and returned to his law practice, his annual income was soon
reported to be $15,000, of which a considerable part was derived
from retainers and consulting fees. But even if there had been a
law to cover every possible service of a lawyer, who, indeed,
would have been foolish enough to engage one who did not know
enough to circumvent the legal regulations?
If you did not wish to pay a lawyer you might, at your peril,
plead your own case. The same act which regulated fees (Chap-
Be It Enacted by the People . . . 211
ter XXV of the Twelfth Session) also provided that any person
might carry on or defend his suit in any court of the state "with-
out the aid of any attorney, solicitor, proctor, advocate or coun-
sellor at law." This, however, was enacted when the laws were
neither so complicated nor the lawyers so well organized.
The second feature reflected the spirit of economy which
reigned over the purse of the eighteenth-century taxpayer. It
was that spirit which dictated early trials for all accused persons
who could not give bail, because it cost the public to feed some
of the inmates of the Jail (those imprisoned for debt had to feed
and warm themselves). It was the same spirit which said that it
was better to hang or whip or brand a culprit and be rid of him
than to confine him for long periods at the public expense. But
the act of 1789 also provided that in all criminal cases the ac-
cused, if he possessed any property or wealth whatsoever, was
compelled to pay the costs of transporting himself to prison. In
addition the accused was forced to pay the salary of the guard
employed to guarantee his confinement. This was a bit of irony
which only the imprisoned could best appreciate. And, unless
he was ultimately put out to work at hard labor, he had ample
time to meditate upon the strange ways of the world.
Of local laws ordinances passed by the Common Council
there was more than a plenitude. They regulated in detail the
public markets, the sale of bread, firewood, hay, lime, and char-
coal. Their supervision covered the activities of cartmen, ferry-
men, and all those who used the wharves and slips of the city.
Slaughterhouses, tanneries, and lumberyards did not escape the
formal attention of the city fathers. Peddlers and hucksters were
curbed and officially admonished to deal honestly. Gunpowder
could be stored within the city limits only as the Common Council
decreed. Reckless driving and racing on the streets were pro-
hibited. The firing of guns and the use of dangerous fireworks
were forbidden.
The ordinary property owner was charged with the building
and the maintenance of both the sidewalk and the street upon
212 This Was New York
which his property fronted. He had to pave them and keep them
clear of dirt, snow, or other encumbrances. He could not plant
a tree in front of his house (if he lived south of Freshwater
and Catherine streets); he could not erect a canopy, awning,
porch, or portico that protruded more than one tenth of the width
of the highway; nor could he build a hitching post in front of his
residence. He was forced to keep his chimneys clean and to keep
available the proper number of regulation-size fire buckets. For
all New Yorkers there were detailed regulations for the ob-
servance of the Sabbath. Even the churches did not escape the
attention of the city fathers in an early anti-noise campaign.
The prolonged and excessive pealing of church bells for numerous
funerals brought forth, in August 1789, "a law to regulate the
ringing or tolling of the Bells of the Several churches in the City."
An ancient New York institution had already quietly fallen
victim to the public demand for noise abatement. The official
town crier was now silent if not subdued. In 1788 the Common
Council paid John Porterfield eight shillings for having "cryed"
throughout the city the law against shooting off firearms on New
Year's Day. After that he merely "notified" the inhabitants of
municipal regulations by house-to-house visits or the new ordi-
nances were simply published in the newspapers.
There were, however, some creatures that were oblivious of or
indifferent to the august decrees of the mayor, the aldermen, and
the commonalty. They were the dogs, cous, pigs, swine, and goats
that leisurely roamed the streets of the metropolis. In 1785 the
Common Council legislated against "the Mischief which may
arise from distempered or mad Dogs in this city." Hogs were a
more constant and difficult problem. Twenty shillings was the
fine for the owner if he permitted his hogs "to go at large in
any of the streets." The high constable and his assistants were
charged with the enforcement of this measure. If the action of
the city fathers did not seriously perturb the swine, it did inspire a
newspaper rhymester to :
Be It Enacted by the People . . . 213
Oyes! Oyes! Oyes!
This is to give notice,
To all Hogs, Pigs, Swine and their Masters,
That from the first of February, '89,
If any person suffer his, her or their swine
To gallop about the streets at large,
Full twenty shillings is the charge
For each offence;
To be paid (by firm and special order
Of our good Aldermen and Recorder)
To the informer's use, with all expence;
Otherwise, HE shall have free leave to dine
Upon the said arrested swine,
Send them to jail, or give t' the poor,
For which "The Lord cncrease his store."
Since it was uncommonly difficult to identify the owners of the
hundreds of pigs that roved the streets, there were few if any
fines. The constabulary did not greatly limit the nuisance, al-
though cash rewards were paid for each stray pig delivered to the
Almshouse. In 1795 the council declared a civic warfare against
stray goats, which had hitherto enjoyed a certain inattention
and immunity. For some years, however, pigs and swine and goats
roved the highways and helped clean the streets of filth and
rubbish and for years the late New Yorker audibly swore as he
stumbled over them in the darkness of the night. There is no
record that the cows were disturbed. When, in the 17905,
Milbourne engraved Condit's drawing of Government House, the
artist shows two cattle calmly parked in the center of the drive-
way approach.
Scores of regulations and laws abridged and defined the free-
doms of the citizen, but there was no general complaint. The
New Yorker of 1789 reluctantly admitted that some restrictions
were perhaps necessary and inevitable in the daily life of an
expanding metropolis.
CHAPTER XVI
Oyez! Oyez!
DESPITE the relative simplicity of life in New York and the
presence of numerous officers of the law, it remained a difficult
problem to preserve the peace. Months after the British had
evacuated the city, Mayor Duane complained that "the tran-
quility of the Inhabitants hath been disturbed by an idle and
profligate Banditti who continue to rob and steal in defiance of
the vigilance of the Magistrates and the severity of frequent and
exemplary Punishments and by other abandoned Vagrants and
Prostitutes whom the ordinary Process of Justice hath not awed
nor reclaimed." In 1784 the grand jury called attention to "the
numerous receptacles for the vicious and abandoned" in what was
then known as "Canvas Town" and later as "Topsail Town"
the burnt expanse of the city between Whitehall and Broad
streets.
In many taverns the guests were pilfered as they listened to
news of the town and to tales of the prevalence of petty
larcenies in less respectable inns. The ringing of the city fire alarm
was a signal not merely for the firemen but for thieves to gather.
In 1786 there was a fire at the house of Diego de Gardoqui,
minister of Spain to the United States; when it was all over, the
delighted envoy sent a formal letter of thanks to the mayor ex-
pressing his astonishment that his home had not been stripped
of all its valuables. Street riots on a major scale were not in-
frequent, and minor brawls were the order of the day and night.
Houses of prostitution were numerous but generally were not
disturbed unless other lawbreakers notoriously congregated in
214
Oyez! Oyez! 215
them. From time to time a dissatisfied city mob would anticipate
the officers of the law and demolish a house of ill fame; for
other reasons the sheriff would occasionally step in and dismantle
a disreputable house. Constables and watchmen were frequently
assaulted and battered and Mayor Varick was once a victim of
several thugs who gave him a thorough pummeling. Attempted
assassinations dot the record. But what was to be expected of the
common citizenry when many of the most prominent persisted in
dueling a more gentlemanly form of assassination, but equally
against the laws of the state? What of respect for the laws in
general when the laws were openly broken by: Brockholst
Livingston (later a member of the United States Supreme
Court), General Samuel B. Webb, William Livingston, Jr.,
Captain Thompson (harbor master of the port), William Cole-
man (the fiery editor of the Evening Post), Aaron Burr (then
Vice-President of the United States), and Alexander Hamilton
(one of its leading citizens)?
Lawbreakers were like the fish in the sea: there were many
more than were ever caught. But enough were apprehended to
throng the courts and overcrowd the Jail and the Bridewell.
Mingling with them in the tribunals were many plaintiffs and
defendants in civil cases. In the courts we may observe justice in
its ultimate operation.
The most numerous judicial officers were the justices of the
peace, inherited from the old English System. An act of 1787
empowered the mayor, recorder, and the aldermen to act as
justices of the peace; in the same year five assistant justices were
created to care for the increased press of business. In 1789 they
were: James M. Hughes, George Bond, John Keefe, Nathaniel
Lawrence, and William Wilcox. Their duties were numerous.
They arranged for the support of "bastard children" (seizing
property when necessary for the purpose) , witnessed oaths, bound
out poor children as apprentices, prevented "private lotteries and
games of chance," attended and presided at "every town, pre-
cinct and district meeting." They were instructed to summon be-
2i6 This Was New York
fore them every person who broke any law or ordinance or any
person who was suspected of having done so. They had power
to summon juries to inquire into each and every breach of the
laws; they might officially inquire into the conduct of all minor
officers of the law. They held court (with or without juries) and
could order punishments in any case under grand larceny; they
might settle any civil case under 10. And they could always
order persons committed to jail pending the action of a higher
tribunal. They were a busy group, but few specific records of
their activities have survived to give us any detailed picture of
their contributions to law and order.
The coroner was a busy officer; in 1789 he was Ephraim
Brasher, a goldsmith who lived at 79 Queen Street. The state
law of 1787 gave him many duties: he "shall go to the places
where any be slain, or suddenly dead, or wounded, or where
houses are broken open, or where treasure is said to be found"
and then summon at least twelve "good and lawful men of the
same county" to inquire into the matter. He was charged with
the investigation of all the pertinent details. He was also to
inquire fully concerning "all them that die in prison or be killed
by misfortune." If any person was wounded, "especially if the
wounds be mortal," he was enjoined to ascertain the "length,
breadth, and depth, and how many wounds there be, and with
what weapons they were made . . . and who are guilty." The
coroner of 1789 had the investigating and the arresting powers
of the modern district attorney in addition to the duties of the
coroner of a later age. His records show that deaths by drowning
were frequent all along the waterfront; there were many others.
On October 6, 1789, he made "an inquisition on the body of one
Hannah Roberts" whereby it was found that she "being intoxi-
cated with Strong Drink died of an Apoplexy." Almost in the
same category was one William Becker who, "being intoxicated
with Strong Drink died in the Street near the fly Market by a
visitation of God." Accidents to children were also included. It
was, according to the coroner's records, on November 10 that
Oyez! Oyez! 217
"Catherine Walker in Company with several other Children
being a playing on Boards near a certain pile of Boards sticked
up, the same fell upon the Body of the said Catherine Walker and
much bruised her, of which accident" she instantly died. Since
the coroner's duties included the investigation of all houses that
were robbed, his records contain the circumstances as well as the
penalties that were finally meted out to the culprits, but these
grim facts are part of the chronicle of the Supreme Court to
which the coroner reported his findings.
Beyond the justices of the peace and next in rank above them
was the Mayor's Court (also known as the Court of Common
Pleas). It was the oldest court in the city, and under the juris-
diction of Mayor Duane it became the most esteemed court
among both litigants and lawyers a tribunal from which appeals
were seldom taken. It was empowered to hear all actions, real,
personal or mixed, that arose within the county of New York.
It was composed of the mayor, the recorder, and the aldermen,
or any three of them of which the mayor or recorder should
always be one. This was to try civil cases, but the same personnel
constituted the Court of General Sessions which was held for a
session of a week beginning the first Tuesday of February, May,
August, and November to judge criminal cases. This same group
of judges might be convened in a Court of Special Sessions at
almost any time, especially if the person accused of a criminal
offense could not give adequate bail or surety. The taxpayers
reasoned that it was cheaper to convene the judges than it was
to detain the prisoner at the expense of the municipality. Hence
justice was speedy whether the accused was eager or not.
These three courts were really only several aspects of the same
court. Although they met at different times and for several pur-
poses, the judicial personnel was the same. Before these august
judges came a motley collection of plaintiffs and defendants.
Many of the cases were for assault and battery 49 out of a
total of 137 for the year 1789. Take the complaint of Jane
Hutchinson against one John Winnick. Both were servants in
218 This Was New York
the household of Antoine Ren6 Charles Matharin de la Forest,
one of Louis XVFs diplomatic agents to the United States. She
alleged that on October 20 the said John Winnick raised his foot
and "planted it firmly at or near her middle posterior." The
accused denied the charge but admitted that it was sometimes
necessary to be firm with obstreperous females. The plaintiff
was said to have created a disturbance in the kitchen. There-
upon Winnick was commanded by his master to lay his hands
gently upon her and persuade her to desist. Witness Ann Mc-
Gwire testified that she saw him slap this troublesome Jane but
added that he used more than his hands. Delicacy seemingly
forbade the plaintiff to testify. The recorder charged the jury
to find for the defendant, Winnick was vindicated and order
restored to the kitchen of the French envoy.
Those guilty of assault and battery were ordinarily not heavily
fined: the usual fine being from 2 to 5. Exceptional cases,
however, increased that customary penalty. William McFall
assaulted Mayor Varick and was penalized 10. Paul Micheau
assaulted a Mr. Dunlap as he was coming out of church and paid
20. Only one person went to jail on this charge: John O'Brien,
who had struck Ann Gray in the market, was incarcerated be-
cause "he was too poor and unable to pay any fine." The others
were only lightly assessed : Moses Levy, forty shillings for having
beaten John Godwin until "Godwin cryed murder"; Angelica
Mallet, 35. 6d. for an attack upon John Gibeau, etc.
These were criminal actions. Civil actions for assault fre-
quently brought higher fines. In the case of Brown vs. Bloom
the damages were fixed at 50. There had been a fishing party
off Long Island. Brown, a member of the party, raided Bloom's
peach orchard and was about to make off with a few peaches
when he was accosted by Bloom and his son. Thus apprehended,
Brown declared himself quite willing to pay for the fruit, but
the Blooms demanded satisfaction of a different kind. They set
upon poor Brown and gave him a thorough beating, which cost
Oyez! Oyez! 219
the belligerent Blooms 50 and sixpence the sixpence repre-
senting the court costs.
The manuscript records of the court have also preserved the
testimony in the case of Sylvester Van Buskirk vs. Patrick Shays.
Samuel Barnet testified that a dispute happened at the City
Tavern and the defendant struck the plaintiff twice. He was so
hurt that "he kept his House several days." Edward Bardin
testified that, while he did not see any blows, he did hear a
noise and saw the bloody plaintiff and "gave him raw Oysters
to wash his Eyes with." Dr. Frederick Hermans said that Van
Buskirk "was blind ... his eyes were closed being much swelled
... for two days." The jury awarded the plaintiff 10: 16:6.
Once more the costs were sixpence. But when George Van Bus-
kirk was set upon by Peter Van Arden and several others in the
entry of Bardin's Tavern, the court said, in effect, that such brawls
were sometimes inevitable and advised the plaintiff to remain
at home if he wished to escape them.
Houses of prostitution were scattered throughout the city, but
they were especially numerous in the lower sections of Broad
Street and in the several blocks between St. Paul's and Columbia
College. It was concerning this latter section that a statistical-
minded visitor had noted, in 1774, that the entrance to the
college "is thro' one of the streets where the most noted prosti-
tutes live. This is certainly a temptation to the youth that have
occasion to pass so often that way . . . above 500 ladies of pleasure
keep lodgings contiguous within the consecrated liberties of St.
Paul's." The manuscript records indicate that this area still had
a very considerable and special population after the war. The
officers of the law regarded these activities with a genial indif-
ference unless houses of ill fame became very noisy or were
known to harbor criminals.
The testimony of three branches of the law-enforcement ma-
chinery was involved in the case of Hugh Doyle, who was charged
with keeping a disorderly house. This case, determined in the
summer of 1789, shows that the police were almost too intimate
220 This Was New York
with the establishment. James Culbertson, the high constable
and one of the captains of the watch, testified thus: "Knows
defendant has often been at his house entertained lewd
women, thieves and bad men has seen them in bed together
has often driven them out of the house." Then James Scofield,
a member of the watch, said that last summer he had heard a
great noise at the defendant's house and "went there some
people at the door gave notice that the watch was coming
found a woman with her clothes torn she said two thieves were
in the house and had escaped out of the back door and that
they had torn her clothes because she refused to lay with them."
Bartholomew Skaats, the city marshal, said that he knew the
defendant and "he kept a bad house." The verdict was hardly
in doubt, but there had been some delay, for the "mayor charged
the jury, who find the defendant guilty, and he having been in
jail since the ist. September last the court sentence him to be
imprisoned for one month." This was in effect a sentence of a
year, for the case did not come to trial until August of 1790.
Charles Wood, who kept a more refined house at 5 Chatham
Row, was found guilty and fined 12. It cost Giles Parks
10 for harboring loose women in his establishment, but James
Irwin escaped with a penalty of only 5.
Slander, libel, and extortion were against the law. John
Gibeau, he who was slapped by Angelica Mallet, paid 20 for
having called William Bayleport a thief and having stated
that he had stolen "from me 130 hard money." Isaac Glover
was fined 13 for having declared Isaac Michaels "a damned
rogue and a thief." Alderman Wylley made the mistake of
charging too much for a peace warrant and was fined 50 by the
court of which he was a member.
Apprentices often brought court actions against their masters.
Thus Martin Hill was restored, by judicial order, to the bosom
of his family because he successfully charged George Cork, his
master, on four counts: "i. For not clothing him. 2. For playing
cards with him. 3. For his wife's enticing him to lay with her.
Oyez! Oyez! 221
4. For employing him in servile labour not concerning his
trade."
It should be added that the courts of 1789 had no place for
heart balm, mental anguish, and similar afflictions. An untold
amount of mental suffering might be involved in an attempted
assault, but if you wished to prosecute your assailant successfully
it was wise to stand by and accept a few of the blows preferably,
of course, in the presence of your friends or other good witnesses.
Consider the sad example of one Flinn who on an October
day raced up Nassau Street pursued by a piratical-looking
assassin. Some said that the pursuer had a dirk in his hand;
others maintained that it was a cutlass (this point was hotly
disputed) ; all agreed that the pursuer "howled like a dervish."
Flinn was more nimble on his feet, dashed into Mooney's Shop
and thus saved his hide. But he thus lost his case, because when
he prosecuted it he was unable to show any wounds and the
assassin was set free to the probable future terror of the plain-
tiff. To prosecute your persecutors you had to have a good wound
to display to the court and the jury.
So great was the business of the Court of General Sessions that
by January 1797 Mayor Varick and his colleagues urged that a
session of one week be held the first Tuesday of every other
month, beginning in April. In writing to Governor Jay, Mayor
Varick added that
none of the Magistrates have for some time past appeared willing
to sit & try any Man at a Justices or Bridewell Court. And I [have]
expressly declared that I will much rather Resign my Office than
again sit in a Court where myself & my Brethren may stand ac-
cused before the Assembly of this State by the Perjury of any Ras-
cal in the Community or be the object of private prosecution thro
the contemptible & officious Zeal of even an Alexander Hamilton
himself . . .
They all agreed that two more sessions were desirable; but the
request was finally granted by the legislature only in 1800. The
belligerent mayor was himself accused of maladministration of
This Was New York
the laws, but the grand jury gave him a thorough vindication
during the November session of 1790.
Ranking next above the Mayor's Court and the Court of Gen-
eral Sessions in the judicial scale was the Court of Oyer and
Terminer. It consisted of any one member of the Supreme Court
sitting with the mayor, the recorder, and the aldermen or any
three of them. They met in New York at the same time as the
Circuit Court and heard cases which embraced robbery on the
highway, larceny (even of amounts as low as forty shillings),
forgery, receiving stolen goods, and similar offenses. This was
the court which meted out the heavy punishments from public
whippings to death by hanging. At the end of each session it
might transfer any unfinished cases to the Supreme Court. But
the governor might seemingly direct special sessions of the court
to relieve the overcrowded jails. In November 1798 Mayor
Varick appealed to Governor Jay
to know whether a Commission of Oyer and Terminer is out for
this City & County? & if so whether your Excellency can & will be
pleased to direct Chief Justice Lansing (if Permission can be ob-
tained from his crabbed peevish Wife) or Judge Lewis, if he can
be impressed with a sense of Duty & the Necessity of obeying the
Laws, to hold an Oyer & Terminer here by the 1 7th December to
deliver our Gaol. All our System is calculated to increase the
Number of Vagabonds, Rascals & Convicts in our City & will do
so, until such fellows can again be soundly flogged 39 lashes twice
or thrice told.
Mayor Varick was articulate in his opinions.
Beyond the Court of Oyer and Terminer was the Supreme
Court of Judicature. It was not quite so lofty or final as its title
might seem to imply. In 1789 it had a distinguished roster of
judges: Richard Morris as chief justice and Robert Yates and
John Sloss Hobart as associate justices; John McKesson was the
clerk of the court. It met in New York twice a year : the third
Tuesday in January for a term of two weeks and the third Tues-
day in April for a term of three weeks. The justices heard a wide
Oyez! Oyez!
variety of cases: murder, rape, petty and grand larceny, riot,
grave robbing, bigamy, counterfeiting, receiving stolen goods,
assault and battery, and inquisitions submitted by the coroner.
There were many other specialized courts that seldom came
into public prominence. The Court of Admiralty, in 1789 under
the direction of Judge Lewis Graham, had jurisdiction over all
maritime cases in New York, New Jersey and Connecticut. It
might also try cases of murder, of mayhem arising on vessels
in or "hovering in the main stream of great rivers or nigh to
the sea." With the organization of the Federal government, the
United States District Court supplanted the Court of Admiralty.
Chancellor Robert R. Livingston had long presided over the
Court of Chancery, but the business of this tribunal was so small
that it was usually transacted at Livingston's house at 3 Broad-
way. Despite the paucity of cases there were also two masters in
chancery, a register, and an examiner until the court was
finally abolished in 1847. The Court of Probates possessed
jurisdiction over wills and the administration of wills. Peter
Ogilvie was its judge from 1787 to 1799; during that period the
surrogate was David Gelston. The United States District Court,
presided over by Judge James Duane (who had resigned as
mayor to take the new office), first met in New York on
November 3, 1789, admitted several attorneys, and adjourned
for want of other business. The justices of the United States
Supreme Court had been appointed in 1789. The first meeting
of the court was not held until February 1790 in New York, but
there were no cases before the court, and after much ceremony,
the admission of attorneys, and a dinner it adjourned.
In the light of the subsequent history of the United States
Supreme Court there is one New York court indeed, the highest
which deserves more than a passing glance. The state constitu-
tion of 1777, hastily written in the midst of a revolution, con-
tained a provision for establishing "a Court for the Trial of
Impeachment and Correction of Errors," but it was not until
November of 1784 that the legislature defined its powers in de-
224 This Was New York
tail. It was the highest court in the state; it was composed of the
president of the Senate, the senators, the chancellors and the
judges of the Supreme Court, "or the major part of them." The
Assembly had the sole right to institute impeachment proceedings
which were to be tried by this court. But its other powers were
more important, for it might correct and revise any decision of
any important lower court, including the Supreme Court. This
was a curious mixture of the judicial and the legislative branches
of government and was established before the doctrine of "separa-
tion of powers" became popular. It was never invoked to over-
ride the decisions of a conservative judiciary, because in 1789
the senators were far removed from any democratic control or in-
fluence. But the machinery was there, and as the ballot was
gradually extended to the masses, it might have made unneces-
sary any later attempt to "pack the courts" by any chief execu-
tive eager to respond to an alleged majority of popular opinion.
An examination of the details of all the available manuscript
records of the cases that passed through the tribunals of 1789
gives a very clear impression : the problems of justice were com-
paratively simple, and their settlement was usually prompt. To
the law officers of that era their tasks seemed difficult and un-
ending. But what were the actual crimes that came before the
courts? Murders were rare; there were but few cases of counter-
feiting or of serious riot. Most of the criminal cases were for
petty or grand larceny, the keeping of disorderly houses, assault
and battery, and grave robbing. Crimes were committed by
persons who were simply lewd and dissolute, persons who were
desperately poor, or by drunks in a festive or belligerent mood.
There were no prostitution, gambling, bootlegging, or dope rings.
There were no labor problems, no picket lines to be supervised,
no organized extortion to curb; nor were there any bombings.
"Murder, Incorporated" was far in the future a development
of a century and a half of progress. The primitive, but celebrated,
early "gangs of New York" were also institutions of the future.
It was not until 1 792 that Coulter's Brewery was erected on the
Oyez! Oyez! 225
banks of the Old Collect and began to dispense an honest and
worthy brew that quickly commanded public esteem. But the
building itself became more famous, for in 1837 the dilapidated
structure joined the dregs and became the most famous tenement
in the history of the city: the heart of the renowned "Five
Points" district. Here, in their time, flourished the Chichesters,
Roach Guards, Plug Uglies, Shirt Tails, and the Dead Rabbits
a motley collection of thugs into whose midst the police seldom
ventured. And while the tavernkeeper of 1789 may have winked
from time to time at the revenue laws and pocketed an illicit
shilling, the venerable American institution of the speakeasy (first
disguised as grocery stores) did not appear until some three
decades later. The American talent for organization had pro-
duced a Federal Constitution, but it had not yet applied itself to
the field of crime.
The impartial chronicler must admit that the distance from the
courts of justice to the jail is often only a few brief steps. Public
opinion in 1789 held that it was not desirable to send convicted
culprits to jail. They might be fined or set in the stocks; they
might be branded or whipped or hanged. But if possible they
should be kept out of jail, because the penal institutions of the
city were inadequate and overcrowded and more important
they were expensive for the taxpayer.
In spite of this the Jail was to many New Yorkers a terrifying
and familiar, if not an intimate, institution. In the year 1789 at
least one out of every six adult white males was in it or had only
recently been released. By virtue of the debtor laws some of the
"best people" in the city were either there or were about to enter.
The great William Duer, darling of the speculators, was confined
there in 1792 after he had failed his obligations of almost three
million dollars. He, more than his fellow inmates, found within
its walls a certain security, for outside lurked a crowd of creditors
who yearned to hang him to the nearest tree. In 1797 a casual
visitor might have found the attorney general of the state among
the prisoners. Over in Philadelphia, Robert Morris, the financier
226 This Was New York
of the Revolution, languished in a debtors' prison for more than
three and a half years.
The Jail, or debtors' prison (better known as the New Gaol,
although it was built in 1759), was a rough stone building of
three stories with a cupola and a belL It was located at the
northeast corner of the Fields (now City Hall Park). It was
originally designed to confine debtors and persons awaiting trial,
but it later became thronged with vagrants and convicted
criminals. West of the Jail was the Almshouse or Poorhouse. Its
purpose was explicit in its name, but in November 1789 the
commissioners complained that it had "become too much of a
common Receptacle for idle, intemperate Vagrants, many of
whom have no lawful residence in this place and who by pre-
tended Sickness or otherwise, often impose on the Magistrates of
the City, by which means the House is overcrowded with num-
bers of abandoned characters greatly incommoding those who
are really objects of Charity." West of the Almshouse was a
more modern and imposing building: the Bridewell. Begun in
1775 and finally completed ten years later, it was designed to
house some four hundred guests: vagrants, the disorderly, the
idle, prostitutes, and servants and slaves locked up at the request
of their masters. Those guilty of misdemeanors or petty larceny
might be sentenced to hard labor in the Bridewell. Their serv-
ices might be sold to private individuals or devoted to public
works: manufacturing nails, cleaning drains, repairing streets, or
improving public property. Hardly in the category of hard labor
were the activities of those who were sometimes assigned to fish
in the Hudson to augment the Bridewell larder.
An official report on the Bridewell complained (even in 1802)
that the prisoners "are all mixed together, without any discrim-
ination of character; and by associating so many vicious persons
they corrupt each other, and render the prison a mere sink
of depravity; after remaining some time in dirt and the most
vitiating society, they are sent forth, fit candidates for the state
prison.'*
Oyez! Oyez! 227
This was understatement, for the conditions of the prisons
provide one of the sorriest and most dismal aspects of eighteenth-
century America. A prison was a place of punishment, not of
reform. It was to be run as cheaply as possible. Penology did not
exist. There seemed hardly any common decency.
All the unfortunates were tossed together: men and women,
young and old. The same lice that attacked the debtor who owed
three dollars fed upon the fornicator and the robber; hardened
criminals jostled the neophytes in crime, and both corrupted the
simple victims of misfortune. Prostitutes openly plied their ancient
trade within the prison walls, and the warden sold liquor at
fancy prices to the inmates. Debtors were forced to feed and
warm themselves; the city doled out a meager subsistence to the
others. But clothes were not provided, and rags were the style of
the day. There were enough beds for almost half the inmates.
Toilet facilities were in the category of luxuries; prisoners went
months without washing or shaving. Disease and vice took their
toll. And to all this profound distress was added the presence of
the insane. For them there was no medical care, no hospital, no
understanding. The state law of 1788 provided that lunatics be
securely locked up and, if necessary, chained. Keepers sometimes
quieted a madman by hanging him up by the thumbs and
flogging him to the point of exhaustion. In many institutions
they were not segregated from the other prisoners, but a begin-
ning was made in New York in 1785 when several small rooms
in the attic of the Bridewell were set aside for the confinement
and the chaining of the mentally ill.
The wonder is that the ordinary prisoner retained a semblance
of his sanity ; certainly many preserved only the memory of morale
and of hope. Fortunate was the culprit who was flogged or
branded and then turned loose. He had his scars, and perhaps
his liberty was precarious, but at least he was not rotting away in
the filth and the debauchery of the Jail or the Bridewell.
CHAPTER XVII
Against Foreign Enemies
1 O BE (and remain) unprepared against the threat of in-
vasion by a foreign foe is a venerable American tradition even
more ancient than our national government.
The strategic advantage afforded by the possession of New
York City (and the valley of the Hudson, if possible) was prop-
erly understood by the British at the beginning of the Revolution.
Although they were never able to sever New England from the
remainder of the revolting colonies, they did occupy New York
longer than any other great American city. And today, in the
files of the general staff of every potentially hostile power, is a
detailed plan for the invasion and occupation of the metropolis
that is a thousand times more important in the twentieth century
than it was in the eighteenth. Today it is miserably defended,
almost as poorly as in 1789. Its defense has always been a para-
mount problem for the inhabitants of the city. How were New
Yorkers prepared to defend themselves against foreign attack in
the eighteenth century? Where were the army and the navy of the
United States? Behind these poignant questions is a simple but
meaningful story.
When Lord Cornwallis surrendered his hosts at Yorktown in
October 1781, there was a vast sigh of relief a comfortable
conviction that the war was over. The fighting was indeed ended,
although the formal peace was a matter of many months and
many negotiations. The morale created by the tension of foreign
danger was relaxed. Some army officers now began to entertain
more seriously their just resentment against the shabby treatment
228
Against Foreign Enemies 229
they had received from the Continental Congress. Meanwhile
certain members of Congress, who had only half concealed their
inveterate distrust of the military, became bolder. As the dangers
of war disappeared they became in their civilian fashion
braver and more belligerent.
While delegates debated in Congress and diplomats began to
maneuver towards a peace, there were ominous rumblings in the
army. In the spring of 1782 Colonel Lewis Nicola sent Wash-
ington a letter fraught with the highest mischief. The colonel
discoursed on various forms of government and concluded that a
limited monarchy was the best; he referred to the habitual in-
gratitude of republics and suggested that the same great talents
which had commanded an army might well rule a nation.
Nicola's proposal that Washington become king provoked the
majestic wrath of the great Virginian. He replied at once that
"no occurrence in the course of the war has given me more
painful sensations than your information of there being such
ideas existing in the army, as you have expressed, and I must
view with abhorrence and reprehend with severity." His ire
mounted: "I am much at a loss to conceive what part of my
conduct could have given encouragement to an address, which
to me seems big with the greatest mischiefs, that can befall my
Country. If I am not deceived in the knowledge of myself, you
could not have found a person to whom your schemes are more
disagreeable." Then came the solemn admonition : "Let me con-
jure you, if you have any regard for your Country, concern for
yourself or posterity, or respect for me, to banish these thoughts
from your mind, and never communicate as from yourself or
any one else, a sentiment of the like nature." Washington was
writing not merely to Colonel Nicola, but to posterity. With this
in mind he summoned two aides, had them attest a true copy of
the original, and carefully filed it among his private papers.
Of Colonel Nicola no more was heard, but during March 1783
there was circulated in the camp of the main army at Newburgh
an anonymous address, replete with the effective and logical
230 This Was New York
exposition of undeniable facts. Bold and inflammatory, it urged
a rebellion, if necessary, to compel the Continental Congress to
express some tangible gratitude for the army which had fought
through a long war. It called for action, for a meeting of the
officers. But Washington quickly convened a meeting of his own.
"Gentlemen," he said, as he arose and took from one pocket his
written address and fumbled in the other for his glasses, "you
will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown
gray, but almost blind, in the service of my country." There
were few dry eyes and little effective spirit of rebellion in the
audience which heard his plea for still a little moderation and
forbearance.
Washington had scotched two sinister movements against the
republic. But a third burst forth while men were still pondering
the ominous aspects of the Newburgh Addresses. Some raw re-
cruits of the Pennsylvania line in camp at Lancaster mutinied
and marched into Philadelphia to collect their long-awaited pay
either from Congress or from the bank itself. On June 2 1 some
two hundred men, joined by a few veterans, assembled before
the State House where Congress was in session. There was no
serious disturbance until strong drink had made the rounds too
often; then came some broken windows, taunts, coarse jokes,
and obscene jests. Congress twice besought the council of the
state of Pennsylvania (then sitting under the same roof) to call
the militia for protection, but the chief officer said he did not
dare summon them. Congress quickly dissolved, fled the city.
Several days later the members found more tranquil quarters in
a college building at Princeton. Regular troops put down the
rioters, but Congress had no desire to return to the scene of its
humiliation. To some this all seemed high comedy; to others,
the first act of a tragedy.
With the coming of peace the Continental Army was rapidly
disbanded. When General Knox (who succeeded Washington)
had reduced it to fewer than seven hundred men, Congress de-
clared that "standing armies in time of peace are inconsistent
Against Foreign Enemies 231
with the principles of republican governments, dangerous to the
liberties of a free people, and generally converted into destruc-
tive engines for establishing despotism" and ordered the discharge
of all but eighty. These men made up the regular army of the
United States; two dozen were to guard the military stores at
Fort Pitt, and the remainder were to garrison West Point to cut
the grass and to oil a few cannons of doubtful value. The follow-
ing day Congress recommended that Connecticut, New York,
New Jersey, and Pennsylvania raise seven hundred militia to
garrison the frontier for one year. Washington and other military
leaders had often declared that the attempt to substitute a short-
term militia for a regular army would always prove "illusory
and ruinous." But Congress knew better, and in 1784 the regular
army, with the exception of the eighty glorified watchmen, dis-
appeared. With the sale of the Alliance in 1785 the American
navy no longer existed. This true disarmament should have
satisfied both those who dreamed of universal peace and those
who insisted upon absolute economy.
The good gentlemen who disbanded the army and literally sold
the navy had reliance upon the various state militia. The law
which prevailed in New York in 1789 was substantially the law
passed on April 4, 1786. It provided for military service for every
able-bodied male citizen "of the age of sixteen and under the age
of forty-five" with stated exemptions for state and city officials,
judicial officers, clergymen, schoolmasters, the professors and
students of Columbia College, postmen, certain stage drivers and
ferrymen, and "the actual attendant of every grist mill." A special
provision enabled Quakers to escape service and training by the
payment of forty shillings a year. Each citizen subject to militia
duty was required, within three months of formal notification
by the captain of his beat, "to provide himself, at his own
expence, with a good musket or firelock, a sufficient bayonet and
belt, a pouch, with a box therein to contain not less than twenty-
four cartridges suited to the bore of his musket or firelock, each
232 This Was New York
cartridge containing a proper quantity of powder and ball, two
spare flints, a blanket and knapsack."
These things each militiaman assembled and brought with him
when called for duty. If he was merely called to exercise he might
leave his blanket and knapsack at home. One might volunteer
for one of two light-infantry companies in which event it was
necessary to purchase a prescribed uniform. Each trooper sup-
plied his own horse and equipment. In fact the state furnished
nothing beyond the regulations, the compulsion, the occasion, and
to the artillery a few ancient cannons. The law provided that
all the militia "rendezvous four times a year" and established
a schedule of fines for those who failed to enlist or absented
themselves from exercises. All commissioned officers in the dis-
banded Continental Army were exempted from any service.
There was no concern about the uniform of the ordinary in-
fantryman, but for all non-commissioned officers and the privates
of the volunteer companies of light infantry the style was pre-
scribed: dark blue coats with white linings, collars and cuffs,
and white underclothes. General officers wore dark blue coats
with buff facings, linings, collars and cuffs, yellow buttons, and
buff underclothes. Regimental officers were entitled to the same
uniform but with white trimmings; staff officers were entitled to
the uniform of the general officers, but their coats had neither
facings nor cuffs. The several companies of grenadiers in the
New York City militia splashed the colors about more freely.
The second company of grenadiers of the ist Regiment thus
accoutered itself: blue coats, yellow waistcoats and breeches,
black gaiters, and cone-shaped caps faced with bearskin. Another
company of grenadiers did better with a combination of blue
coats faced with red and embroidered with gold, white waist-
coats and breeches, black spatterdashes buttoned close from the
foot to the knee, and cocked hats with white feathers.
If half the time consumed perfecting sartorial elegance had
been devoted to serious military training, the militia might have
been a formidable as well as a resplendent army. Only a few
Against Foreign Enemies 233
of the officers of the militia had received any considerable ex-
perience during the Revolution, and there was hardly an oppor-
tunity to communicate that little to the rank and file. The
"rendezvous" required four times a year by the state law usually
meant a parade down Wall Street, up Queen, and thence to the
raceground in Bowery Lane for maneuvers and "a variety of
evolutions." On July 4, 1789, the New York City brigade paraded
over the raceground at six in the morning and then marched into
the city and past the house of President Washington. The general,
although ill, acknowledged this mark of respect by appearing in
his full regimentals. At noon several cannons at the Fort boomed
a salute, and at four the officers repaired to dinner, wine, and
music at Fraunces' Tavern. The privates had already dispersed
to their favorite taverns. The New York military had been called
twice earlier this year for reception duty: on April 23, when
Washington first arrived in the city for the inaugural ceremonies,
and on April 30, the day of the inauguration. But 1789 was an
unusual year in the history of the city. The annual inspection of
the brigade was made by Adjutant General Nicholas Fish on
July 29. The parade and review of September 28 was marked by
the death of Lieutenant John Loudon, accidentally killed by the
discharge of a ramrod from the gun of one of his men.
Service in the militia was seemingly more of a frolic than a
chore. It usually came but four days a year; the parade was
colorful and the citizenry appreciative; the maneuvers were not
strenuous, and the banquets which often concluded the exercises
were events worth attending. Certainly there was matter for a
parade but little for a military officer to review. Useful in quell-
ing local riots, the militia could never, as Washington said,
"acquire the habits necessary to resist a regular force in modern
war." It was fortunate that no foreign enemy appeared in 1789.
There was no American navy; and this was the army available
for defense.
Armed men alone are not an adequate defense. Where were the
fortifications of New York City? The answer in brief: they did
234 This Was New York
not exist. Fort George, a vast sprawling structure just south
of Bowling Green, was a fort in name only. It had never been
completed; and in 1789 it was deep in dilapidation and decay.
It had offered no obstruction to the British capture of the city
during the Revolution; now it was definitely an obstruction to
the growth of the city. To the west and the south, beyond its
heavy masonry and extending almost to the water's edge, was
the Battery or Mall. It contained the remnants of an earthwork
and several cannons still valuable for ceremonial salutes. The
Battery, with its fine view of the river and the harbor, was a
promenade ground for the city.
It was clear that the Fort, if it had ever merited that descrip-
tion, must go. Real-estate values would be augmented and the
Bowling Green and Battery would gain a fresh beauty. New
Yorkers wished to make the city the permanent national capital,
for it brought them both honor and profit, and so proposed that
the state erect an appropriate residence for the President. Negoti-
ations to raze the Fort, begun in the summer of 1789, were
rapidly concluded. The state agreed to demolish parts of the
Fort to extend the line of Broadway to the river; the city was to
construct bulkheads to utilize the dirt from the Fort to increase
the area of the Battery. By late fall demolition was under way; it
continued through the greater part of the following year. Down
came the parapets and the bastions, the thick walls of masonry
and the great mounds of earth. Some of the stones were used in
the President's house which fronted on Bowling Green. Before
the house was completed the national government had moved to
Philadelphia, and "Government House" was the residence of the
governors of the state until Albany became the new capital. Wood
from the old Fort was distributed to the poor, for the winter of
1789-90 was bitter.
New York had no alarms of war, but it clearly heard the
echoes of Shays' Rebellion in Massachusetts and of later Indian
troubles on the Western frontiers. Along the taverns of the water-
front and in the halls of the old Continental Congress (which
Against Foreign Enemies 235
met in New York from January 1785 until the new government
began its operations) went stories of American seamen who had
been captured and enslaved by the Barbary pirates. Congress was
without money. General Knox had raised private subscriptions
to enlist men to put down the rebellion in Massachusetts. Con-
gress had no navy to speak the language pirates understood; it
was without money to redeem American citizens from the auction
block in Algiers. Various members of Congress did, however, ex-
press their sympathy.
When Washington became president a little vigor was intro-
duced into national defense measures. General Knox was made
secretary of war. Senator Maclay grumbled about the idiocy of
appointing a secretary of war in time of peace and insisted that
Knox was only conjuring up phantom dangers in order to provide
employment for the War Department. That department then con-
sisted of Secretary Knox and one clerk. In the Indian wars of
1790 hundreds of militia without training and sometimes without
weapons were slaughtered and frontier settlements laid waste; it
was not until 1794 that a trained army under General Wayne
ended the menace. But the frontier was far away, and New
Yorkers were not perturbed ; nor did New York militia take any
part in suppressing the celebrated Whiskey Rebellion in western
Pennsylvania.
It was the French Revolution and the bitter struggle between
France and Great Britain that made New Yorkers rise to the
sense of foreign danger with a sudden start. So great was the
danger of American involvement that Washington issued a
Neutrality Proclamation in April 1793; then came the difficulties
of enforcement. On June 14 the New York militia seized a French
privateer; by midsummer the war itself was brought to Sandy
Hook. A duel was arranged in New York between the British
frigate Boston, Captain Courtney, and the French 36-gun frigate
Ambuscade, Captain Bompard. Hundreds of excursionists sailed
down the bay and through the Narrows to witness the battle on
August i during which Courtney was killed and his ship badly
236 This Was New York
shattered. The Ambuscade, which suffered more than forty
casualties, lay at the Battery for almost two months making re-
pairs.
* During 1794 New York City made feverish preparations for
defense. The city gave "Bedlows or Ellis's Isle" to the state that
it might be fortified. The city fathers began to search for a supply
of muskets and cannons. They remembered that 522 "musquets
& Accoutrements" had been taken from the basement of the
City Hall by the Continental Army in 1775; the Corporation
petitioned Congress to pay for them. Inventors came forth to
help; one submitted plans for a device "for heating shot red hot
in one-half the usual time." It became fashionable for patriots
to contribute their services in erecting the wooden and sand
barricades on Bedloe's Island. Every day for more than three
weeks the patriotic citizens in numbers of fifty to a hundred
contributed their services with shovel and wheelbarrow. Groups
and societies appointed a special day for their joint labors: the
cartmen, Tammany Society, Democratic Society, the English
Republicans, the professors and students of Columbia College,
the Republican Ship Carpenters, Journeymen Hatters, the St.
Andrew's Society, the cordwainers, the Patriotic Grocers, the
lawyers, and the Peruke Makers and Hair Dressers. One John
Hillyer had secured the rights to the only ferry to the island just
as the procession began; he had a tremendous business but no
profit, since his franchise provided that all "fatigue Parties" be
carried "gratis."
There came a lull in preparations, and it was not until the
"X Y Z Affair" and our undeclared war with France that the war
fever again seized the city. Young men were trained on the
military drillground on the Battery three days a week from five
until eight in the evening. Citizens again volunteered their
services. Cannons were mounted on the Battery; breastworks
of planks and masonry were built in spite of the protests of some
citizens that the fashionable promenade on the Battery was being
destroyed.
Against Foreign Enemies 237
Congress at last authorized the beginnings of an adequate
army. Washington emerged from his retirement as commander
in chief, and Alexander Hamilton became second in rank. A
marine corps was organized and the Navy Department created
in 1798. By that year the navy possessed three new frigates,
each destined to become famous in history: the United States,
the Constitution, and the Constellation. This was so serious a
beginning that some Britons became alarmed. The Duke of
Gloucester quickly proposed that Great Britain "lend" the United
States some line-of -battle ships, frigates, and other vessels.* Amer-
ica was to pay a subsidy, man the ships, and agree to build no
more war vessels. This suggestion was never consummated, but
in the autumn of 1798 the British did lend the United States
the guns of a captured French ship together with eighteen hun-
dred shot. It would seem that Great Britain also offered to pro-
vide convoys for American ships.
Because of the British navy and because of President Adams'
determination to avoid an open war with France, no hostile fleets
appeared to bombard American cities and there was no attempted
invasion. %
Once the danger of war seemed past, all interest in defense
lapsed hardly to be revived until the country was in the midst
of the next crisis.
The winter of 1804 was bitter cold. Fuel was scarce in New
York. So it was ordered that all the wood from the forts be taken
and converted into firewood for the destitute.
Though this suggestion was never carried out, it might well be noted
that the Duke of Gloucester was the first to suggest a "lend" if not "lease"
arrangement between Great Britain and the United States. In substance his
idea was a "lend-lease" arrangement.
CHAPTER XVIII
Municipal and Social Services
XHE New Yorker of August 1940, casually reading his news-
paper, possibly found a temporary distraction from the summer
heat in a headline of a news story such as appeared in the World-
Telegram:
JENNINGS WANTS ZOO ANIMALS
TO HAVE COMFORTS OF HOME
And beneath it the reader discovered that Allyn R. Jennings,
the progressive director of the New York Zoological Society, was
asking Robert Moses, the eminent park commissioner of the city,
for funds to eliminate many cages from the Bronx Park Zoo so
that animals might be viewed in surroundings closely resembling
their native habitat. No longer would the animals be separated
from the visiting public by iron bars; moats would take their
place. The society was asking the taxpayers of the city for the
sum of $135,000 for the 1941 program, of which $72,000 was
to be spent for "barless bear dens." For the 1942 program more
funds were asked, and of these it was proposed that $28,000
be spent for a model farmyard "to satisfy the curiosity of children
and the nostalgia of adults."
Messrs. Jennings and Moses were men of vision and of action.
Presently moats were dug and iron bars were ripped out. Both
lions and bears should have exulted in what was apparently a
new measure of freedom. The expenditure brought forth no public
protest; on the contrary, it was regarded as a wise and humane
measure.
238
Municipal and Social Services 239
Several weeks after the report of Mr. Jennings' letter the
same newspaper reader might have observed in the Herald Trib-
une the summary of a routine report by the Citizens Budget
Commission thus captioned:
PER CAPITA DEBT
OF CITY UP $135
IN LAST 20 YEARS
The commission cited an increase of New York City's per-
capita debt of $180.87 m I 9 1 9 by approximately $135 in 1940;
one of the report's fifty-six statistical tables showed an increase
in the city's per-capita disbursements from $46.79 in 1919 to
$107.70 in 1939. The commission did not specifically object to
"barless bear dens" (possibly Mr. Jennings' request was too re-
cent ) , but it did ask for some curb upon municipal improvements,
because the net debt of the city had mounted to the sum of
$2,024,214,925, including $300,000,000 of transit-unification
bonds.*
The members of the Budget Commission were men of vision
and also of caution. Between the lines of the printed pamphlet
of their report loomed the specter of impending bankruptcy of
the world's greatest city. With the release of this report came
a few lugubrious editorials, but there is no record of any riot of
taxpayers. Although its information touched the vital interests
of hundreds of thousands it never became a best seller. Perhaps
the average taxpayer had been so beaten down through the years
that he had lost the stamina and the will either to protest or to
resist.
These and other similar clippings are available for the con-
templation of modern readers. But what would be the reflections
of any well-informed city father of the late eighteenth century
upon these two random items?
*By June 30, 1942, the net long-term debt of the city had risen to the
sum of $2,443,856,715. For 1941-49 the per-capita debt had increased to
240 This Was New York
In the first place he would be greatly puzzled to know just
what a "zoo" might be, why any animal should be exhibited at
the public expense and why any exhibition of any kind should
be housed in the Bronx, then relatively a wilderness perhaps
not completely a wilderness, but the long journey would certainly
be prohibitive to the great majority. And was not this business
of exhibiting strange animals a matter for cheap theatrical pro-
moters certainly not a problem for the sedate city fathers!
He might well gaze in astonishment upon the magnitude of
the sum of $135,000 for the 1941 program of the Zoological
Society; from any point of view this was a vast amount of money.
The per-capita expenditures of the city for 1790 were approxi-
mately $1.87. Even with a population of approximately 30,000
souls, this meant that some official was proposing to spend more
than twice the total expenditures of the city of 1790 to support
and improve a "zoo," an institution of which he had never
heard. As for the sum of $72,000 for a new kind of bear dens
this one item was still more than the usual total annual ex-
penditure of the city. Certainly there was still a bounty for the
killing of wolves, if not bears, in the northern regions of the
state. They were a menace, not a curiosity.
The good city father would be completely puzzled to under-
stand this expensive solicitude for a collection of wild animals
that had no practical value anyway. He would recall that his
own era threw petty debtors (thousands of them) into jail to
fend for themselves or to rot, while the insane were locked up
as a penalty for their perversity. There were no adequate funds
to care for the sick and the lame; not enough funds to provide
food and clothing for the poor. How many thousands discovered
how simple it was to find themselves in an eighteenth-century
jail; how very few thought or cared about the squalor or misery
those jails contained ! Certainly our city father of Washington's
day would be bewildered by this manifestation of a later and
more curious era in which vast sums of money and some of the
Municipal and Social Services 241
best talents are devoted to the problem of concealing from the
animals the hard fact of their imprisonment.
For the $28,000 item for a model farmyard our city father
would have had no answer whatever. He would have been
speechless. Many New Yorkers had yards and gardens and horses
and cows and stables. And for those who did not possess them
there was a stream of cows and horses and pigs through the
streets of New York. Much of the extent of the city was rural;
certainly there was no nostalgic desire or any great curiosity
to see a farm.
He would neither understand nor believe the reading of the
figures of the Budget Commission. A per-capita debt of $316.57 !
Within his memory that per-capita debt had never exceeded
three or four dollars. Annual per-capita disbursements of $107.70 !
He might well remember that for 1790 they were approximately
$1.87, which caused some citizens to carp about the extravagance
of the city officials.
There is a striking disparity between the New Yorkers of 1789
and those of today in both per-capita debt and per-capita an-
nual expenditures. Roughly calculated, the average New Yorker
of 1941 owes and spends (through his city government) at least
one hundred and seventy times more than his frugal ancestor of
1789. What explains this great difference? There are several
good explanations.
The thrifty citizen of the eighteenth century paid very little
in taxes and received very little in municipal services. Some
contemporaries said that he received even less than that for
which he grudgingly paid, but this type of taxpayer we have
with us always. The average New Yorker had a very limited
vision of what the city government ought to and might do for
him. Many believed in the Jeffersonian theory that society was
best served by as little government as possible. Whole fields of
activities (present and needful to the civic well-being even in
the age of Washington) were left entirely to the benevolence or
242 This Was New York
the enterprise of individuals and institutions supported by charity.
A century and a half of change has created municipal problems
undreamed of by Mayor Duane or by Mayor Varick.
Even if there had been any group of New Yorkers who foresaw
a few of the needs that were to arise and who wished, by mu-
nicipal improvements, to anticipate some of the problems of the
immediate future, little could have been accomplished. Such
improvements require both imagination and money. There was
little imagination and there was no money. The city fathers
entertained a belief (odd as it may seem to the twentieth century)
that you should pay as you go; the citizenry generally agreed
that expenditures should be restricted to the approximate rev-
enues. Those revenues came from several sources: rents from
ferries, docks, water lots, a few houses, the public slaughterhouse,
and the public powder magazine. Added to these were market
fees, court fines, tavern licenses. When a deficit threatened they
sold more city property in the form of building lots. For special
expenditures the city fathers were sometimes empowered to hold
a public lottery. But these sources did not provide enough for
growing needs.
The city had no authority, without a special act of the legis-
lature, to levy any real or personal property taxes. And each
such concession by the legislature was reluctantly given and
for but a single year. For the fiscal year 1788-89 the city was
given authority to levy a property tax of about $25,000; for
the following year permission was granted to raise a similar sum.
The city sought unsuccessfully to avoid the necessity of an an-
nual appeal to the legislature for the right to levy a property
tax; by 1794 it was permitted a yearly tax of approximately
$50,000 on property within the city and county.
The taxpayers paid little. What did they get in return? Pos-
sibly even probably they got what they paid for; surely no
more.
Certainly the taxpayer received no free public schooling for
his children. We have already discovered that the only ele-
Municipal and Social Services 243
mentary school in 1789 supported by taxes was for the youthful
inmates of the Almshouse. How large it was is not known, but
three years later we glimpse a dim picture of one schoolmaster,
one schoolmistress, and some sixty-five pupils. These children
were given some rudimentary training not because education in
itself was a good thing. A little of it would increase their later
chances of self-support and thus lighten the taxpayer's burden.
Otherwise the municipal government spent no money for educa-
tion. Today education commands millions of every New York
City budget; then it cost virtually nothing.
We know, too, that the New Yorker of 1789 enjoyed little
effective police service. True, indeed, there were constables,
watchmen, marshals, and sheriff sometimes picturesque, many
times desultory. A special criminal might arouse extraordinary
activity. In grave emergencies there was the militia of the state.
But day in and night out the citizen received a meager, spasmodic
protection against those who aimed to pilfer his purse, his house,
or his tratiquillity.
Thieves and disturbers of the peace were troublesome enough,
but fire was a danger more insidious, constant, and complete. A
few dwellings might be burglariz^i during a night, but a single
good fire might consume a block of buildings or even a third of
the city. Omnipresent were stories and memories of the holo-
causts of 1776 and 1778. Even in 1789 some of the blackened
remnants remained a reminder and a warning.
To prevent fires and to reduce their possible spread, the state
legislature had passed many building regulations, but many
structures continued to be built of wood because it was far
cheaper than brick or stone. City ordinances attempted to regulate
the erection and repair of stoves, fireplaces, pipes, and chimneys.
Fines were established for failure to have chimneys properly
cleaned or the lack of the proper number of fire buckets. Each
householder had to provide from two to six of these buckets,
depending upon the number of chimneys in his house. When
the church bells rang to give the alarm, the householder threw
244 This Was New York
his buckets into the street to be picked up by the volunteer fire
fighters. When the fire was over, the chief engineer supervised
the collection of buckets and their removal to City Hall, where
they might be reclaimed. But there was much confusion in
buckets. Some were never thrown out for the volunteers, others
were lost in the confusion, and many were never retrieved by
their rightful owners.
The city passed many regulations but spent very little money
in fighting the menace of fire. The firemen were volunteers and
were paid nothing, except by infrequent cash rewards for bravery
and exceptional service. By 1790 there were some three hundred
men who had been appointed by the Common Council from
among the freeholders or freemen of New York. They received
no wages, but they were exempted from constable, jury, and
militia duty; they basked in the knowledge that they were per-
forming an important civic duty. The firemen, directed by a
fire engineer and several assistants, were organized into seventeen
companies and two hook-and-ladder brigades.
A fire in New York was a resounding and picturesque event.
The church sextons rang bells and watchmen cried with mega-
phones to alarm both firemen and householders. The aroused citi-
zenry tossed fire buckets from doors and windows. Some of the
firemen rushed forward to tug their primitive engines to the scene
of the blaze; others began to collect buckets and to form the
citizens into bucket lines. The sheriff and other law officers ap-
peared to protect property and to control the activities of nu-
merous thieves who had arrived as early as the first firemen.
The mayor, the recorder, and the aldermen were there to direct
the volunteer firemen; for this purpose they were equipped with
five-foot white wands topped by a gilded flame. Also present
were the members of the Hand in Hand Company, a voluntary
organization formed in 1780 to remove valuables from burning
buildings.
The fire engines, pumped by hand, had a capacity of less
than two hundred gallons of water; the little streams they
Municipal and Social Services 245
squirted were more symbolic than effective. Water was supplied
by bucket lines of citizens which extended from the engine to
the nearest well, pump, or even down to the river's edge. The
buckets of water were passed frantically from hand to hand, the
contents finally poured into the engine and then pumped at the
fire. Sometimes there were not enough buckets, at other times
not enough citizens to pass them. The engines were so clumsy
and inefficient they could cope with nothing beyond a minor
blaze. It was not until several decades later that the city began
to acquire a reasonably effective force to fight fires. An irreverent
critic of all this was said to have declared that God must have
been a member of the volunteer fire companies of 1 789 other-
wise the city would have burned down many times over.
For all their tugging and pushing, the "brave fire laddies"
sometimes found difficulty in making their way through the
narrow, winding streets. It was especially irksome when winter
snows clogged the passage. During one fire in the winter of 1786
the householders had to come forward to remove the accumulated
snow in front of their properties.
This little incident was typical of the entire traffic situation
in 1789. Every modern city assumes the responsibility for the
building and maintenance of clear traffic lanes; indeed New York
goes further and builds tunnels, subways, and superhighways to
guarantee adequate transportation facilities. But the maxim of
the city fathers of 1789 was: "We will do nothing which costs
money; let the property owner do it directly; in fact, make him
do it."
The city controlled several ferries, but these were leased at
a profit. Many of New York's streets needed widening or paving;
these things were done at the expense of the owners whose
property fronted on the improvement. Any repairs were made
directly by and at the expense of the same persons. There was
one exception: the improvements to Broadway were made by
the city.
Sewage problems were essentially private problems. The city
246 This Was New York
was concerned about the question of sanitation, but did little
about it beyond establishing detailed regulations for the citizenry.
Along some of the streets were "open sewers," but these merely
carried off surface water. In 1789 there were six official "scav-
engers" and one superintendent (at $62.50 a year) to keep the
streets clean. But the appetite of numerous hogs was considered
by some the cheapest solution to the problem of disposing of the
garbage and the filth; although one group of the city fathers
maintained that the hogs did not dispose of this refuse, but merely
scattered it. The latter school of thought prevailed by a vote of
six to five, and hogs were formally relieved of their civic duties
and were forbidden the freedom of highways and lanes. The
goats were untouched by any ordinance; and the hogs were not
perturbed by this official discrimination.
To clean up the city for the inauguration the Common Council
decreed in April that each householder or property owner shall
"before the hour of ten in each day, cause all the dirt and filth
in their respective cellars and yards, and in the street, opposite
to each of their respective buildings and lots, and between such
buildings and lots in the middle of the street, to be swept or
collected together and laid in heaps near the gutter, in order
that the same may be removed. And it shall be the duty of such
respective inhabitants to cause such dirt or filth to be removed
and carried away before the hour of twelve on the next day."
The penalty for failure to have the heaps removed was five
shillings a heap. This was only one of many ineffectual regula-
tions. Worse, perhaps, was the condition of the docks and slips:
no traveler could pass by these without nausea.
If the city did not seriously try to clean the streets, it did
make some effort to light them. This item was one of the largest
of all municipal expenditures. Before the Revolution whale-oil
lamps on street posts had been introduced, but many years were
to elapse before any satisfactory improvement was effected. One
of numerous irate citizens complained in a letter to the news-
papers that the street lamps are "so poorly trimmed and cleaned
Municipal and Social Services 247
that instead of a full body of light, they exhibit the somnified
gloom of a sepulchral taper; but even this little nocturnal com-
fort is abridged, if the moon is expected to appear." When these
flickering sentinels of the night were absent there was grave
danger of falling over a pig, knocking yourself out against a
pump handle, colliding with a post, or being pilfered by nocturnal
bandits. From the numerous complaints it would seem that
when the city fathers did spend money it did not produce any
general satisfaction.
Perhaps no situation better illustrates the melancholy state of
municipal service in 1789 than the problem of the water supply.
Water? A modern person might easily assume that there could
hardly have been a long period of time in the history of New
York when the water supply was a critical issue. Yet there was
a constant shortage of water, and almost a total lack of good
water, during the closing decades of the eighteenth century.
There was no running water in houses or buildings; there was
no system by which it might be piped through the city. There
were numerous wells, both public and private; a few were
operated by windmills, others by pumps or by the simple dipping
of buckets. But this water was generally inferior. The majority
of New Yorkers bought their water from "tea-water men" who
hawked it through the streets or who delivered it regularly under
contract. "Tea-water" was good superior water and was so
termed because a satisfactory tea might be brewed from it. The
best and most famous source of supply was "The Tea Water
Pump" on Chatham Street, a short distance from the Collect
(or Fresh Water Pond). The owner or lessee sold this water to
the dealers at threepence a hogshead of 130 gallons, and they
peddled it about the city at a penny a gallon. Between one hun-
dred and two hundred hogsheads were drawn each day from this
well which never went dry. There was a good reason why it did
not. The well, located about a hundred yards south of the Collect,
had originally been a spring which was fed by the waters of the
near-by pond.
248 This Was New York
After its conversion into a well the same waters continued to
supply it. As the Fresh Water Pond became polluted, the "tea-
water" became worse, although it long remained the best in
the city.
The city fathers realized the need of an adequate water supply,
but they felt helpless in the solution. The grand scheme of
Christopher Colles had been interrupted by the Revolution and
was never revived. The city took steps to repair and protect
the old wells and pumps and offered a small subsidy for the
sinking of new ones. But these were not the answers, and the
shortage continued. Official "scavengers" could not have found
the necessary water, even if they might have desired to wash
the streets with regularity; firemen sometimes had difficulty in
finding enough water to fight a fire, especially when far removed
from a river. With little knowledge of the causes of diseases
and with no knowledge of how to purify or sterilize his water,
the New Yorker sipped or gulped his glass and invited disaster.
Equally ignorant, but unconsciously wiser, was the citizen who
slaked his thirst with wine or something stronger.
The lack of sanitation, the scarcity of good water, and the
medical ignorance of the times made the population easy prey
to illness and epidemics. A wave of influenza (said to have been
the first in America) struck the city in 1789 and again the
following year. But yellow fever was more destructive than in-
fluenza, smallpox, diphtheria, or typhoid in a city which had
many swamps and hordes of mosquitoes. No one then suspected
the cause of yellow fever; it was more than a century later that
Walter Reed and others finally ended the scourge. The mild
epidemic of 1791 claimed only a few victims; the city established
an emergency committee and isolated patients on Governors
Island (then known as Nutten Island). The scare in 1793 led
to preparatory measures the following year. These were of no
avail when yellow fever paralyzed New York in July 1795.
Thousands fled the city; until their return with the coming of
cold weather the city seemed deserted. Many of those who re-
Municipal and Social Services 249
mained smoked tobacco, took garlic and vinegar, or burned tar
and gunpowder to ward off the plague; others merely prayed.
The dead numbered 732 in 1795. Three years later, in spite
of all additional precautions, the yellow fever returned and
killed more than two thousand persons. Several of the health
commissioners, feeling that their first duty was to preserve
their own health, fled with thousands of other New Yorkers to
neighboring towns and to the country.
It is not difficult to understand the panicky and often futile
activities of the public officials when epidemics so quickly be-
came dread calamities, as in the 17905. During this period notable
progress was made: hospitals were established, health boards
reorganized, and quarantine regulations made more effective.
In 1789 there was not a hospital in the entire city. The Society
of the Hospital in the City of New York (the New York Hospital)
had been founded in 1771 and two years later began the erec-
tion of a building. Completed in 1775, the interior was quickly
gutted by fire. It was rebuilt but not used according to plan,
for it served as a barracks during the Revolution. Lack of funds
hampered the work of the directors after the war. By 1788 a
part of the building was being usetl as a dissecting room, but
during the "Doctors' Riot" the mob stormed and stripped it. In
1789 the building was offered as a possible meeting place for
either the legislature or the courts; it was not until two years
later that it was opened as a hospital. It was a semipublic in-
stitution. Beginning in 1788 the state made an annual grant
of 800, increased to 2,000 in 1792. Less than a month after
the New York Hospital admitted its first patients, another non-
profit medical institution began its services. This was the New
York Dispensary, under the presidency of Isaac Roosevelt. Its
purpose was to minister to the sick poor "unable to procure
medical aid at their own dwellings" and "so circumstanced as
not to be proper objects for the Alms House or New York Hos-
pital." In 1798 Dr. David Hosack began a public subscription
for a lying-in hospital, but this project was later made a part
250 This Was New York
of the New York Hospital. Work was begun in 1794 on the
buildings for "the hospital at Belle Vue" for the treatment of
fever patients. Out of these meager beginnings has grown the
most extensive municipal hospital system in the world.
For those who suffered from mental disorders there was no
treatment beyond simple confinement. The insane were merely
apprehended and locked up; if unruly or violent, they were
securely chained in "strong-rooms" in either the jail or the poor-
house. The New York Hospital admitted its first mental patient
in 1792; these cases became so numerous that another building,
known as the Insane Asylum, was opened in 1808 for the treat-
ment of those who gave some promise of recovery. For the deaf,
the dumb, and the blind there were no separate institutions
either attempting to alleviate their afflictions or to teach them
useful occupations.
CHAPTER XIX
Inaugurating a Nation
WHEN John Adams was on his way from Massachusetts to
Philadelphia to attend the first meeting of the Continental Con-
gress he stopped off in New York. He had never before visited the
city. He tried to get some understanding of the politics of New
York, but after a time he concluded that they were u the devil's
own incomprehensibles." The visitor of 1789 one with vastly
less perspicacity than the first Vice-President would have had
no similar difficulty. There were conservatives and there were
mild radicals; there were men of property and others of no
property. But, in 1789, they were not aligned in political parties.
And since the struggle for the ratification of the Constitution had
been ended the previous July there* were no burning political is-
sues to stir either curiosity or excitement.
Municipal elections were not calculated to stir the passions of
the electorate. The most important city officials the mayor, re-
corder, clerk, and sheriff were not selected by ballot, but were
nominated by the governor and formally confirmed by the state
Council of Appointment. The governor had been remarkably non-
partisan in the filling of these appointive offices especially the
mayoralty. In 1784 the Common Council had urged the appoint-
ment of the conservative James Duane upon the governor; Clin-
ton agreed in this recommendation and Duane served until late in
1 789 when he was succeeded by the even more conservative Rich-
ard Varick. During this period municipal politics were controlled
by the merchant-lawyer-Federalist group. By a series of restric-
tions and property qualifications only about 10 per cent of the
251
252 This Was New York
adult male population was entitled to vote for the few city officials
who were elective. Many of the qualified voters were apathetic, so
that municipal elections tended to be unimportant and dull. The
Tammany Society was still a social club; Aaron Burr had some
plans, but he had not yet turned the society into an effective po-
litical machine. Municipal politics gradually became de-
mocratized toward the end of the century, but it was a slow
process. The mayor of New York was not elected by popular vote
until 1834.
Nor did any great issues disturb the state politics of 1 789. There
had been a bitter struggle over the re-admission of former Tories
to political life. This battle Alexander Hamilton and his friends
had won; the Tory issue was now a dead issue. While the
merchants effectively controlled city politics it was rugged George
Clinton and his agrarian followers who controlled the state gov-
ernment. Clinton had been elected the first governor of the state
and he had been governor ever since. It had almost ceased to be
an honor and had become a habit. There would be no serious op-
position to Clinton until the election of 1792, when the candidacy
of John Jay became so threatening that Clinton and his followers
had to resort to technical trickery to filch the governorship from
the man who really won the office.
National issues overshadowed both state and city issues. Ham-
ilton and Jay had been instrumental in the creation of sentiment
for the calling of a Constitutional Convention, but once it had
assembled in Philadelphia neither New Yorkers nor the New York
delegation played a vital role in the deliberations. Yates and Lan-
sing, Clinton's men, were aghast when they discovered that the
Convention was determined to write a new constitution rather
than merely patch up the Articles of Confederation. So they left
the Convention and returned to New York. Hamilton alone re-
mained to represent New York State and sign the finished docu-
ment.
The Fathers of the Constitution were conservative men, but
they were persuaded of the imperative need for action. And in
Inaugurating a Nation 253
taking that action they became the radicals of the day. They
calmly and deliberately prepared to destroy the government of the
United States under the Confederation and to substitute a new
government under the Federal Constitution. The Founding
Fathers were the true radicals of 1787.
The Convention had been called "for the sole and express pur-
pose of revising the Articles of Confederation" so that an adequate
national government might be secured for the nation. The Con-
vention did not revise the Articles; it provided a plan for a new
government. The Articles of Confederation providing for a per-
petual union could not be altered or amended without the unani-
mous consent of all the states. But the framers of the Constitution
provided that when only nine states had ratified the Constitution
it would go into effect among those states which had ratified it.
In a word, the nine states would secede from the existing national
government and form a new one.
This was not a mere technicality or quibble. Mr. Madison was
so concerned about it that he devoted a considerable part of
Number 43 of the Federalist Papers to its consideration. He states
that "to have required the unanimous ratification of the thirteen
States, would have subjected the Essential interests of the whole
to the caprice or corruption of a single member." Then he con-
tinued :
Two questions of a very delicate nature present themselves on
this occasion: i. On what principle the Confederation, which
stands in the solemn form of a compact among the States, can be
superseded without the unanimous consent of the parties to it? 2.
What relation is to subsist between the nine or more States rati-
fying the Constitution, and the remaining few who do not become
parties to it? The first question is answered at once by recurring
to the absolute necessity of the case; to the great principle of self-
preservation; to the transcendent law of nature and of nature's
God, which declares that the safety and happiness of society
are the objects at which all political institutions aim, and to which
all such institutions must be sacrificed, . , ,
254 This Was New York
Mr. Madison said but little more on this point. One need reflect
but a moment on his justification to observe that this reasoning is
one that might justify any revolution, violent or otherwise, any-
where. To the second question Mr. Madison merely replied that
"it is one of those cases which must be left to provide for itself."
Rhode Island, with that independence of judgment and that
charming perversity which have distinguished so many of her ac-
tions, declared that she would never ratify the Constitution. She
announced that she alone was the United States, because every
other state had seceded from the original United States and left
her in full control. She had logic on her side, but she was forced
into the new union when the other states threatened to exclude
her from all commercial intercourse with themselves. But she did
not ratify until a year after Washington had been inaugurated.
If the conservative interests of the nation scored a triumph in
the writing of the Constitution they scored a more important
victory in the struggle which brought about its adoption. It seems
certain that if the debated document had been submitted to a
popular referendum it would have been rejected. As in the writ-
ing so it was in the ratification : New York State did not play a
conspicuous part. The Poughkeepsie Convention ratified the Con-
stitution only after nine other states had indicated their approval.
New York could not afford to remain aloof from the new govern-
ment after it had become a certainty. New York City and the
southern regions of the state had threatened to secede from the
state if the Convention did not vote its approval. While the Con-
vention was debating at Poughkeepsie there were turbulent pro-
tests and a great victory parade in New York City. When the news
of New York's ratification reached the city a mob marched to the
office of Greenleaf s New York Journal and joyously wrecked the
press that had opposed the Federalists.
Even those who had fought the adoption of the Constitution
were flattered when New York City was chosen as the first capital
of the new government. It was a matter of great prestige; it was
also a matter of good business.
Inaugurating a Nation 255
There was no doubt in the mind of any with the exception
of John Adams, who was somewhat partial to John Adams, that
George Washington was the man ideally fitted to lead the new
republic through the difficult years of its new beginning. The
only doubt was whether or not he would accept the responsibility.
When the nation had won its independence on the field of battle
and at the tables of diplomacy, he had gladly retired to Mount
Vernon to take up again the life of a country squire. He was
singularly without personal ambition in the field of politics. His
one ambition was to spend the closing years of a full life in
simple family life and rural retirement. But the voice of duty
to country (a note which rang clear to an eighteenth-century
gentleman) could not be denied. Alexander Hamilton, John
Jay, and a host of other intimate friends had written him, in
tones of flattery and of desperation, that he was the single,
greatest hope of the new government. And he had reconciled
himself to a series of fresh responsibilities for which he freely
admitted he had almost no qualifications.
Across the wind-tossed waters of New York Bay the guns of
the Fort in lower Manhattan boomed out on the sunset of March
3, 1789. They sounded the end of the government of the United
States under the Articles of Confederation, the instrument of
government devised and adopted during the Revolution and
since found sadly wanting. On the following day the lingering
echoes of that salute were answered by the thunderous peals of
eleven guns that announced to an expectant world that a new
government was about to take its place in the family of nations.
Eleven states of the old Confederation had ratified the new Union.
On April 6, 1789, it was announced that George Washington
had been elected President of the United States of America.
Charles Thomson, long the faithful secretary of the Continental
Congress, was selected to carry the formal notification to Mount
Vernon. The next day, a Tuesday, he left New York and traveled
as fast as a thundering horse would carry him. Two days later
he was in Philadelphia, by Sunday in Baltimore, and at half past
256 This Was New York
twelve on Tuesday at Mount Vernon. There was no formal
ceremony. Thomson merely greeted General Washington, ex-
changed a few pleasantries, and handed him the notification of
election. Washington sat down and sent to the president pro-
tern of Congress a note saying that he would leave as quickly
as possible.
But a few things had to be done. A few letters had to be
written. And he had to borrow a little money to pay the expenses
of the journey and to take care of a few bills. He wrote to
General Knox:
In confidence I tell you (with the world it would obtain little
credit) that my movements to the chair of government will be
accompanied by feelings not unlike those of a culprit, who is go-
ing to the place of his execution ; so unwilling am I, in the evening
of a life nearly consumed in public cares, to quit a peaceful abode
for an ocean of difficulties, without that competency of political
skill, abilities, and inclination which are necessary to manage the
helm. I am sensible that I am embarking by the voice of the peo-
ple, and a good name of my own, on this voyage; but what re-
turns will be made for them, Heaven alone can foretell. Integrity
and firmness are all I can promise. These, shall the voyage be long
or short, shall never forsake me, although I may be deserted by all
men. For of the consolations which are to be derived from these,
under any circumstances, the world cannot deprive me.
A month earlier he had visited Fredericksburg and paid his
respects to his mother; for her he had only a polite and formal
affection. So there was no need of returning there. But he did
visit his banker and arrange for a loan. And on Thursday, April
1 6, at about ten o'clock, he kissed his wife and waved to his
servants a fond farewell. Secretary Thomson and Colonel Hum-
phreys and Washington left Mount Vernon for a voyage into
the future. As the party neared Alexandria he was met by a
delegation of friends who escorted them to Mr. Wise's tavern
(and a right good tavern it was). Among the thirteen toasts
there presented and drunk, the twelfth was to "The American
Inaugurating a Nation 257
ladies; may their manners accord with the spirit of the present
Government." Just what this meant was never exactly defined,
and there is no extant testimony by the ladies of Alexandria.
But to any who knew Washington this must have been toasted
with a significant twinkle in the eye of the President-elect. And
then the chairman said, among a dozen other admonitions:
"Farewell! Go, and make a grateful people happy."
There were other celebrations, other dinners, other speeches.
In our history there has never been any lack of them. Grateful
throngs lined the roads and hailed the new leader and the
old hero. From Alexandria to Georgetown to Baltimore to Havre
de Grace and to Wilmington. Then, after a tedious experience
in Wilmington, the party went on to Chester and to Philadelphia.
Here the city went wild. There were processions and wreaths and
banquets and speeches and the mounting and parading of all
the local military units. It was a fine evening so fine that
Washington was not prepared to get under way until almost
ten the next morning an extremely late hour for a person who
usually arose at six. More troops, more escorts, more uniformed
dandies and old warriors too. But it was raining, and Wash-
ington sent them back. Then came Trenton, with triumphal
arches and little singing girls, ladies and dignitaries, and punch
and food. There was even poetry in Trenton on this day. It has
never happened before; it may never happen again. And General
Washington thanked them, among many things (including the
insidious fish-house punch), for "the innocent appearance of the
white-robed Choir who met me with the gratulatory song."
Then came Brunswick and Woodbridge and Elizabeth Town.
General Washington breakfasted at the hotel of Samuel Smith
(later a part of the Sheridan House), where he held a brief
reception for the citizens of Elizabeth Town. At the tavern he
partook of a repast provided by the good people of the town,
and he then proceeded to the elegant mansion of the Hon.
Elias Boudinot, where he met the Committee of Congress. This
committee consisted of John Langdon of New Hampshire;
258 This Was New York
Charles Carroll of Maryland; William S. Johnson of Connecticut,
of the Senate; Elias Boudinot of New Jersey; Egbert Benson
of New York; Theodorick Bland of Virginia; Thomas Tudor
Tucker of South Carolina; John Lawrence of New York, of the
House of Representatives.
After spending half an hour at Dr. Boudinot's residence, he
rode to Elizabeth Town Point, attended by a vast concourse of
people. He then reviewed the escorting troops and took leave
of his escort of Jerseymen.
With the committee, Colonel Humphreys, and Mr. Thomson,
about twelve o'clock noon, he entered a large boat elegantly
adorned, and manned by thirteen skillful pilots of the harbor,
all dressed in white sailor costume, Thomas Randall acting as
cockswain. The barge had a 47-foot keel and made a splendid
appearance as it came out of the Kill van Kull into the bay,
followed by other barges bearing the various members of Wash-
ington's suite and others of the committee of welcome. The craft
was rowed by thirteen master pilots of the harbor, carried two
flags astern, and was greeted as it proceeded up the bay with
salutes and every manifestation of joy. A sloop that ran out
from Elizabeth Town to join in the gala was filled with a collec-
tion of the fair daughters of Columbia, who enlivened the scene
by singing a variety of expressive and animated airs.
Passing Staten Island, Washington was saluted from the
shore, "when the oarsmen rowed half-minute strokes; a great
number of vessels were out to meet him, which all fell astern."
The passage from Elizabeth Town Point to Murray's Wharf
is described in a letter written by Elias Boudinot, chairman of the
Committee of Congress:
You must have observed with what a propitious gale we left
the shore. . . . The appearance of the troops we had left behind
and their regular firings added much to our pleasure. When we
drew near the mouth of the Kill a number of boats with various
flags came up with us and dropped in our wake. Soon after we
entered the Bay, General Knox and several other officers in a
Inaugurating a Nation 259
large barge presented themselves with their splendid colors. Boat
after boat and sloop after sloop, gayly dressed in all their naval
ornaments, added to our train and made a most splendid appear-
ance. Before we got to Bedloe's Island a large sloop came with
full sail on our starboard bow, when there stood up about twenty
gentlemen and ladies and sang an ode prepared for the purpose to
the tune of "God Save the King," welcoming their great Chief to
the seat of government. Another boatload sang a second ode. . . .
As we approached the harbor our train increased, and the huzza-
ing and shouts of joy seemed to add life to the brilliant scene. At
this moment a number of porpoises came playing amongst us,
as if they had risen up to know what was the cause of all this
happiness. We now discovered the shores to be crowded with
thousands of people. . . . From the Fort to the place of landing
. . . you could see little else along the shore, in the streets, and
on board every vessel, but heads standing as thick as ears of corn
before the harvest.
The vessels in the harbor made a superb appearance indeed,
dressed in all their pomp of attire. The Spanish ship of war, the
Galveston, in a moment on a signal given, discovered 27 or 28
different colors of all the nations on every part of the rigging,
and paid us the compliment of ttyrteen guns, with her yeards all
manned, as did also another vessel in the harbor, the North Caro-
lina. We had a like compliment from the battery of eighteen
pounders. We soon arrived at the ferry stairs where there were
many thousands of citizens, waiting with all the eagerness of ex-
pectation, to welcome our excellent patriot to that shore which he
regained from a powerful enemy by his valor and good conduct.
We found the stairs covered with carpeting and the rails hung
with crimson.
The President, being preceded by the Committee, was received
by the Governor and the citizens in a most brilliant manner.
As the presidential barge passed the Battery en route to
Murray's Wharf at the foot of Wall Street, a Federal salute was
fired. The salute was repeated as General Washington landed
near the City Coffee House, where he was greeted by Governor
George Clinton, Mayor James Duane, and the principal of-
260 This Was New York
ficers of the Corporation. A somber, dignified figure in the midst
of the elaborate festivities, Washington was simply dressed in a
plain suit consisting of blue coat, buff waistcoat, and breeches.
Forming the central figure in an impressive procession, he
moved between banks of cheering men, women, and children
to the Franklin House at No. 3 Cherry Street, which had been
elaborately prepared for his residence. The line of march was
as follows:
1. Troop of horse.
2. Artillery and residue of the Legion under arms.
3. The military officers in uniform who were off duty.
4. The President's guard, composed of the Grenadiers of the
First Regiment.
5. The President, the governor, and their suites.
6. The principal officers of the state.
7. The Mayor and Corporation.
8. The clergy.
9. The citizens.
As the parade moved through Queen Street, to the Franklin
House, bells were rung, colors were displayed from the Fort and
from the vessels in the harbor and from buildings in the city.
After being formally ensconced in his new home, General Wash-
ington was conducted to the house of Governor Clinton, where
he dined.
The city was brilliantly illuminated that night. The joy and
satisfaction universally expressed at the arrival of the new Presi-
dent clearly evidenced the high esteem and devoted affection in
which he was held by his countrymen.
If the inaugural journey was a triumphal progress from
Mount Vernon to the capital of the United States of America, it
only foreshadowed brilliant scenes to follow.
Reports coming into New York from towns along the route
told of Federal salutes and military parades, the ringing of bells,
and huzzas of the admiring throngs. New Yorkers were all agog.
The town was full of visitors taxing every available stopping
Inaugurating a Nation 261
place and tavern. Private mansions overflowed. One young
woman wrote as follows to a friend :
We shall remain here if we have to sleep in tents as many will
have to do. Mr. Williamson has promised to engage us rooms at
Frauncis's but that was jammed long ago, as was every other de-
cent public house; and now, while we were waiting at Mrs. Van-
dervoort's in Maiden Lane till after dinner, two of our beaux are
running about town determined to obtain the best places for us to
stay at which can be opened for love, money, or most persuasive
speeches.
New York had never before housed a gathering of such
magnitude. Everybody wanted to see Washington. The aged de-
clared their readiness to die if they could once behold his face.
The young described him as looking more grand and noble
than any human being they had ever seen.
On the day following his welcome in New York, Washington
was host to the members of the Senate and the House of Repre-
sentatives who congratulated him on his safe arrival at the seat
of the Government.
On Saturday, April 25, the Chamber of Commerce met at
the Coffee House about half after eleven o'clock, in consequence
of a special call from the President. From the Coffee House they
proceeded in form to the house of His Excellency the President
of the United States, headed by John Broome, Theophylact
Beach, and John Murray, Esquires.
On their arrival at the President's, they were conducted into
the audience room, and upon His Excellency's entering, Mr.
Broome, the president of the Chamber, addressed him to the
following effect: that he had the honor, in the name of that
Corporation, to congratulate His Excellency upon his safe arrival
in this city, under the dignified character of President of the
United States, and also to inform him that the members of the
Chamber felt a singular pleasure in having a gentleman of his
distinguished talents appointed to preside over the Union; and
further assured him, that it would be their uniform endeavor,
262 This Was New York
by every constitutional exertion in their power, to render His
Excellency's administration prosperous and happy.
To which His Excellency replied to the following effect : that
he was greatly obliged to the gentlemen of the Chamber for
that mark of their politeness and respect, and that he should be
happy at all times, as far as lay with him, to promote the in-
terest of commerce.
After His Excellency's reply, he was introduced by the president
of the Chamber to every member present.
During the week that elapsed between his arrival in New
York and his inauguration as President, Washington made many
new acquaintances, resumed a number of old ones, and was
ever the center of acclaim, admiration, and tribute. Senator
William Maclay of Pennsylvania was on the point of leaving
his room near the Bear Market one day when General Wash-
ington arrived to pay a call. So overwhelmed was the solon by
the visit that, in writing of it later in his Journal, he said :
I had dressed and was about to set out when General Washing-
ton, the greatest man in the world, paid me a visit. I met him at
the foot of the stairs. Mr. Wynkoop just came in. We asked him
(Washington) to take a seat. He excused himself on account of
the number of his visits. We accompanied him to the door. He
made us complaisant bows one before he mounted and the other
as he went away on horseback.
April 30 began with gunfire a salute at dawn from Fort
George, near Bowling Green. That salvo woke everyone but
the dead, and you at your tavern in John Street were rudely
cheated out of a dream that promised to be downright pleasant.
No matter. The dream of thousands is about to be realized, the
culmination of dreams, in fact. The hero of a hundred battles
is about to be made the guardian of their liberties and the visible
symbol of a new-found sovereignty.
You, a simple citizen, may be in the city for reasons of your
own. An office-seeker, or to put it baldly, hunting a job. You
Inaugurating a Nation 263
have buttonholed this or that member of the Congress, but
you have not yet stooped to join the company of those who
importune the President-elect before breakfast, as many are said
to be doing. That is going a bit too far. You may have had an
office in mind when you made this trek to New York, but there
is no gainsaying it what you really came to see was the in-
auguration of George Washington, now the day is at hand.
Thursday, the thirtieth of April 1789, broke bright and clear
on Manhattan a few clouds on the horizon, just threatening
enough to make the old folks shake their heads and the young
ones snap their fingers. What is a cloud or two on a day like
this? Nothing. The great event is scheduled for celebration, rain
or shine, and everyone within striking distance means to be
there. All up and down the island they harnessed in the plow
team and jogged to town, while Long Islanders (outlanders
really) came down in droves to Brooklyn ferry or by packet from
up the sound, as did the mainlanders, hundreds of them. They
filled the city.
But long before the great day people from all points had
converged on the metropolis. It w^s Mecca, the capital of the
United States of America (those words now begin to mean
something), the seat of Congress and of the government about
to be launched under the Constitution, and a President duly
elected and notified and now at home in the city was about to
take the oath of office.
To those who came from a distance, as many did, and even
to those who came from near-by hamlets, the city was a great
adventure. It was no sleepy country village, a few horses tied
in front of the courthouse, mail stage once a week, church on
Sunday, and petty politics. Not at all. Here in the busy port
a hundred seagoing ships were anchored; sailors and strangers
from all the world explored its shops and taverns; and foreign
legations flew the flags of kings. Here was romance and cere-
monial and all the pomp of place and parade of fashion of a
great city. Here was statecraft in action, government in opera-
264 This Was New York
tibn, a sovereign state expressing the declared intention of its
makers. To go to New York was indeed going on a journey,
and now that you are here your private affairs seem insignificant.
Tomorrow will serve. Today you will see the show the crowds,
the military, statesmen, clergy, and other dignitaries, and you
will hear the President swear to preserve the Constitution and
to faithfully perform the duties of that difficult office.
You are up betimes as custom prescribes, and on this mem-
orable morning the sound of cannonading speeds every move.
The whole city is early afoot, hurrying places, getting ready for
the day. The committee of arrangements has issued its final
orders. The master of ceremonies delivers instructions to his
assistants. Lackeys and stablemen put the finishing touches on
the coach of state, oil the harness, and polish its fittings. Grooms
rub down the horses with an extra flourish, make their coats
shine. The horses munch their oats.
Meanwhile you yourself are eating a hearty breakfast, a meat
pasty, rasher of bacon, a small fish or two, cheese, bread and
jam, and a pint of ale. Jam is said to be sovereign for all ailments
of the throat except thirst. The tavern gossip is confined to the
day's doings. Colonel Morgan Lewis is master of ceremonies
and makes a fine show in regimentals with a spirited horse under
him. And his assistants are every bit as fine: General Webb,
Colonel Smith, Colonel Fish, Colonel Franks, Major Bleecker,
and Mr. John R. Livingston gentlemen all. Major L'Enfant
it seems was also appointed an assistant to the master of cere-
monies but declined to serve in that capacity. Piqued. . . . The
argument over this incident would on any other day have ended
in blows. But not today. Mrs. Fortune, the tavernkeeper, brings
them around with a bit of good-natured blarney. If you have
not seen the grenadiers, she says, you've seen nothing at all. Every
last man of them seven feet high and a foot more, counting their
shakos. And the Highlanders now, in kilts, with jaunty air
and the bagpipes wailing, a martial music for all it is so sad,
and the troopers of Captain Stakes, she babbles, with ensigns
Inaugurating a Nation 265
streaming she knows all about the show and you, who have yet
to see the sights, must take her word for it.
The streets begin to be crowded at half past eight, and by
nine o'clock when the church bells are all set ringing it really
looks like a holiday. The sun comes out, and shortly the churches
themselves are filled with people gathered there to implore divine
guidance in behalf of their elected chief. If you are bent on not
missing any part of the celebration you make your way to
church or chapel and join in services appropriate to the occasion.
And afterwards, afraid of being late for some phase of the event,
you hurry around to Federal Hall, crowd your way into the
foyer, and watch for signs of a familiar figure. At ten-thirty they
begin to drift in, senators and representatives, members of the
Congress, the great men of the time.
They come from all over town. Vice-President Adams comes
down from Richmond Hill, and Richard Henry Lee comes all the
way from Greenwich. Most of them, however, live near by
in Maiden Lane, in Wall or Broad streets. Four of the Mas-
sachusetts delegation live at 15 Great Dock Street; two of the
New Jersey members at 47 Little Dock. Dr. Johnson of Con-
necticut has quarters at the college; James Madison and four
others live at 19 Maiden Lane; and the speaker of the house
is stopping with the Rev. Dr. Kunze at 24 Chatham Row. They
arrive in clusters, in groups of three or four. It is a great occasion,
and they have already discussed it unofficially overnight, and
one or two are visibly out of patience. It seems that they can
no more agree over the inauguration ceremony than they can
about the tariff, the debt, or any other issue that comes up. They
do agree, however, on the man for President, and even Maclay,
who terms the whole thing an empty, endless business, is not
immune from a show of veneration for the President-elect and
sincerely wishes him to be first in everything as he has already
proven himself to be in so many trying situations.
Through the foyer and into the vestibule of Federal Hall
these men of the first Congress pass, still arguing the question
*66 This Was New York
of a title for the chief executive which began again at the break-
fast table, a heritage from last night's caucus. Straight ahead
and under the dome of this rotunda they stand in groups for
a parting shot to clinch the argument, and then the senators,
as befits their dignity, mount by a private stairway on the left
to their own chamber, and the members of the Lower House
proceed on across the vestibule to the Hall of Representatives.
This building is much more impressive than you might have
imagined. Its renovating architect was Major Pierre Charles
L'Enfant, and he had done his fertile best at the task. Here
and there a cynic says that his best was not enough and within
several years Francis Baily will term it the "most clumsy, un-
couth building I ever saw." But he is only a haughty English
visitor, and we have already declared our independence from
England. If you took a vote of townsfolk and visitors and is
this not an incipient democracy? the majority would certainly
say that it is handsome and impressive. And if more be needed
to settle the question wdl, did it not cost a lot of money? It
did. The alterations cost almost $65,000 a figure more than
the total city budget only a few years ago and a figure twice
the estimated cost. Fortunately that expense is not a charge
against the Federal government, and the arrows of invective
that are sometimes said to fly in both House and Senate cannot
in this instance be leveled at the party of extravagance. The city
of New York itself has footed the bill, or will do so when the
money can be found. The state legislature has authorized the
city to raise the money by extra taxes and by a series of lotteries.
Meanwhile a group of public-spirited citizens has loaned the
city the money (at interest, of course, for this is a property-
minded century) to make the changes. All congressmen are
agreed that this is truly a splendid act on the part of New York
City.
The Hall of Representatives is almost square, and lopping
off the corners gives it an octangular appearance. The floor is
about fifty-eight by sixty-one, and the walls are thirty-six feet
Inaugurating a Nation 267
high. The effect is very lofty. The ceiling is arched and rises
in the center to a height of forty-six feet. It is all done on the
grand scale. Its windows are very large and are placed sixteen
feet from the floor, and below the windows a plain wainscot runs
round the room, and into it are set four fireplaces. The Speaker's
chair is on a platform opposite the main entrance. Over the
entrance are two galleries primarily for friends of members. The
public is admitted to an open space behind the rail. There is a
desk and chair for each member. The windows are curtained
in light blue damask and the chairs covered with the same
material. The floor is thickly carpeted. Into this impressive
chamber flock the honorable gentlemen from eleven states, the
roll is called, and the hour is come for them to mount the stairs
and knock at the door of the Senate chamber.
Into this room one hesitates to venture. It is not as large as
the other, but it is filled at the moment with the smoke of debate,
which makes it appear as wide as a battlefield and as dangerous
to cross. Mr. Adams has again asked for an opinion, and the
discussion which follows has raised the question of eclat, titles,
and correct form in a republic to a point which borders on
the absurd. Senators tell him how it is done at court, but, since
he too is familiar with parliaments and ceremony, he has a
definite opinion of his own. It threatens to become a serious
matter when onto the scene of action the clerk of the House
leads his legislative lambs; a temporary decision is then reached
that the head of the state is to be neither Highness nor Excellency
nor Mightiness, but plain Mr. President.
Were we able to gain admittance to the endless debate of the
Senate we might have heard many quaint and amusing discus-
sions. Senator Maclay carefully records one of them that would
compare favorably with some of the best passages in a later
Congressional Record:
The Vice-President, as usual, made us two or three speeches
from the Chair. I will endeavor to recollect one of them. It was
268 This Was New York
on the reading of a report which mentioned that the President
should be received in the Senate chamber and proceed thence to
the House of Representatives to be sworn : "Gentlemen, I do not
know whether the framers of the Constitution had in view the
two kings of Sparta or the two consuls of Rome when they formed
it; one to have all the power while he held it, and the other to be
nothing. Nor do I know whether the architect that formed our
room and the wide chair in it (to hold two, I suppose) had the
Constitution before him. Gentlemen, I feel great difficulty how to
act. I am possessed of two separate powers; the one in esse and
the other in posse. I am Vice-President. In this I am nothing, but
I may be everything. But I am president also of the Senate. When
the President comes into the Senate, what shall I be? I can not be
(president) then. No, gentlemen, I can not, I can not. I wish
gentlemen to think what I shall be."
Here, as if oppressed with a sense of his distressed situation, he
threw himself back in his chair. A solemn silence ensued. God
forgive me, for it was involuntary, but the profane muscles of my
face were in tune for laughter in spite of my indisposition. Els-
worth thumbed over the sheet Constitution and turned it for some
time. At length he rose and addressed the Chair with the utmost
gravity: "Mr. President, I have looked over the Constitution
(pause), and I find, sir, it is evident and clear, sir, that wherever
the Senate are to be, there, sir, you must be at the head of them.
But further, sir (here he looked aghast, as if some tremendous gulf
had yawned before him), I shall not pretend to say."
The Senate chamber is, like that of the House, a beautiful
room. You come to it through a long gallery overlooking the
rotunda and communicating with the galleries of the House.
The room itself is forty feet long, thirty feet wide, and twenty
feet high. There are three large windows at each end hung
with crimson damask, those toward the south opening into a
balcony overhanging Wall Street and looking down Broad. This
balcony is twelve feet deep and about thirty feet long, guarded
by an ornamental iron rail and grill, and on this spot the Presi-
dent is soon to take the oath of office. The president of the
Inaugurating a Nation 269
Senate sits on a high seat under a canopy of crimson damask.
His chair and those of the senators are covered with cloth of
the same rich hue. The ceiling is arched, blue like the sky, and
in its center is a sun and thirteen stars. The fireplaces are
marble, highly polished, and the floors are covered with rich
carpeting. Desks and chairs are arranged in semicircles facing
the dais on ordinary occasions, but today they are arranged for
company, in two rows right and left of the center aisle. On
these chairs the Congress of the United States awaits the ar-
rival of the nation's chief. There is a slight delay in the arrange-
ments, but you who are not a member need not wait in the
Senate chamber. You can and do make your way to Cherry Street.
Three Cherry Street is the Executive Mansion. To get there
you go down Wall to Queen Street, up Queen past the Fly
Market and on around Queen in a wide crescent to St. George's
Square. It is a good half-mile from Wall Street, and the way
is crowded with holiday-makers, troops with flying banners,
carriages and carts in indescribable confusion. Around the Fly
Market at the foot of Crown there is a traffic tangle which
promises to hold up the processiqp if not somehow straightened
out. A skittish old horse blind in one eye and with its head
cocked is about to leap into a cart. There are dogs and children
and stolid country folk and excited city belles, sailors, trades-
people, and the military, all in a jostle, going places, edging
their way, a typical crowd at a great public event. You yourself
are one of them and not by any means the least curious. Indeed
you intend to see everything that can be seen by a visitor who
is not wholly without friends in high places and is not squeamish
about elbowing his way into the press and into the very presence
of the great.
St. George's Square is lined with troops. There are coaches
and carriages and officers on horseback and afoot, dragoons
and grenadiers and Highlanders and a crowd of citizens in
Cherry Street. The committee of the House is already there,
and the Senate committee is expected momentarily. It is late
270 This Was New York
in fact, but it will come. These together constitute the joint
committee of arrangements appointed by the Congress. Their
chairman is Ralph Izard of South Carolina, and his colleagues
on the committees are Richard Henry Lee of Virginia and Dalton
of Massachusetts from the Senate; Benson, Carroll, and Ames
from the House. It is their business to inform the President-elect
that the Congress is ready to receive him.
The house in Cherry Street belongs to Samuel Osgood and
has been the residence of the presidents of the Continental
Congress. It is not by any means the finest house in the city,
and the neighborhood is hardly as fashionable as one would like,
but it has been thoroughly overhauled for the President's use.
A country squire wants a washhouse and other outbuildings where
the necessary work of the household can be efficiently handled;
and he wants room for servants. If his family is large, as the Presi-
dent's entourage is certain to be, he wants a big establishment. In
that respect this house is admirable. The rooms are large and well
arranged. A partition has been knocked out between two of them
to make a large reception room. The furnishings are plain,
dignified, and in good taste. When Mrs. Washington arrives
and has added a few personal belongings and her own presence
to this house it will make a very comfortable and convenient
Executive Mansion.
It is now past noon, the arrangements are complete, troops
and carriages and coach of state are all in line, the Senate
committee arrives, and at twelve-thirty George Washington of
Virginia is informed that the Congress of the United States
awaits his arrival. He is led to the coach, casts a weather eye over
the horses and their trappings, the grooms and lackeys and out-
riders, the gentlemen attendants, takes his place, and is ready
to obey that importunate summons. He bows deferentially to
the committee, and Colonel Morgan Lewis rides to the head of
the column, gives the order to advance, and the inaugural pro-
cession is under way.
It is a colorful parade. You take your station at the head of
Inaugurating a Nation 271
Queen Street where it debouches from St. George's Square and
take careful note of everything that goes on.
At the head of the column rides Colonel Lewis, the grand
marshal. He is in uniform, well mounted, and sits his horse like
a man who rides to hounds, debonair and gay. He rides alone.
Majors Van Home and Morton, his aides, follow on either
side and clear the way of those eager ones who press out too
far into the line of march. And now the dragoons are passing
with a great clatter of hoofs on the roadway, their banners
flying, the clank of swords and champing of bits. Captain Stakes
rides at their head, the troopers flaunt their colors, and the horses
toss their heads and shy at every passing shadow. After the
dragoons comes the artillery under Colonel Bauman, and here
come the grenadiers! They are indeed a fine-looking body of
men, and Mrs. Fortune was right : they do take everybody's eye.
She was wrong, however, when she said they wore shakos. They
wear the regulation three-cornered hat and brilliant uniforms
of blue cloth with red facings and gold lace ornaments, white
waistcoats and breeches, and white spatterdashes close-buttoned
from knee to shoe. They hardly need the white feather in their
cockades to make them look seven "feet tall. They step out to the
beat of the drum with all the assurance in the world. It is
Captain Scriba's company that wears the shakos. They too are
smartly dressed in blue coats, yellow waistcoats and breeches,
and black spatterdashes, and their tall hats covered with bear-
skin make them appear very formidable. Then come the kilties
swinging along, in gay plaids and jaunty tarns, the pipes wailing.
Feminine hearts beat fast and bosoms swell. Then the men of the
line, not quite so ornamental but thoroughly reliable, used to
gunfire and the ordeal of battle the light infantry led by
Major Bicker and the battalion under Major Chrystie. Then
another man on horseback, Robert Boyd, the sheriff of the city
and county of New York, and after him the committee of the
Senate in carriages, and then the coach of state, drawn by fours,
superb horses and bearing the President-elect of the United States.
272 This Was New York
The coach is a regal affair. There is a footman up behind,
a man on the box, and a lackey on one of the wheel horses. It
is resplendent in cream-colored paint, decorated panels, and
borderings of flowers and cupids supporting festoons. And the
man who is being greeted with cheers and applause by thousands
on this memorable day is not unworthy of cheers and adulation,
dresses quietly in plain dark clothes, doffs his hat and bows, and
rides in state like the leader of men he is. At his side on either
hand ride three mounted attendants, officers and gentlemen
who by look and bearing give every indication of appreciating
the high seriousness of the event. Five of them are old cam-
paigners, and the other is a brother of the chancellor, who will
shortly administer to their charge the oath of office. As a body-
guard, if he needed one, these men would know how to cut and
slash. General Webb has been to the wars. He is a man of
fashion, a social figure. Colonel Smith, like Lewis, is a Princeton
man, saw service at Yorktown, and is the Vice-President's son-in-
law. Colonel Fish was wounded at Saratoga, fought at Yorktown,
and is a dashing, gallant man. Major Bleecker is said to be a
personal friend of the President-elect. He too was with the army
at Yorktown. Livingston and Franks look capable of putting
up a good fight. All these men are young, in their early thirties,
and are sworn to protect the man in the coach who bows gravely
to the applause of crowds.
The coach with cupids passes, and those who do not mean
to miss any part of the spectacle hurry down by way of Water
Street to Hanover Square at Wall and Queen, arriving there
with a bit of luck in time to see the rest of the procession. Colonel
Humphries, aide, and Mr. Lear, secretary, ride past in their
chiefs own coach. The committee of the House passes. Mr. Jay,
General Knox, and Chancellor Livingston ride by. The French
minister and the Spanish charge d'affaires pass in carriages and
in formal state as befits their diplomatic rank. A line of carriages
follow with their distinguished guests. Crowds of eager, excited
people are now collecting at Wall and Broad. At that point you
Inaugurating a Nation 273
see the head of the procession turn up Broad from Great Dock
Street, the troops spread out and line both sides of the thorough-
fare that in old Dutch days was a canal, Colonel Lewis and the
sheriff dismount, the committee of the Senate get down from
their carriages, the President-elect descends from his coach, and
all proceed on foot up Broad to Federal Hall.
Within this impressive edifice the members of the Congress
have been sitting for an hour and ten minutes cooling their heels;
they await with some signs of impatience the coming of their
committee and in its wake the President-elect. They are relieved
therefore when the sergeant-at-arms of the Senate chamber an-
nounces that the moment of their arrival has come. Mr. Maclay
of Pennsylvania has been and still is visibly perturbed. He might
on a different occasion call Mr. Izard a dullard. He controls him-
self, however, the members rise, and Mr. Izard conducts their
distinguished guest to the spacious seat under its crimson canopy
and presents him formally to the president of the Senate. The
President-elect has bowed right and left to senators and repre-
sentatives as he came up the aisle, and he now bows to Mr.
Adams, who asks him to be seated. Standing on that elevated spot
he looks very tall, and seated aga&ist a background of crimson
damask he looks regal. His rich brown clothes, powdered hair,
and spotless linen, his own grave countenance against-that strik-
ing background make an unforgettable picture. There is an awk-
ward moment or two, and then Mr. Adams rises to the occasion.
Standing at the right hand of the nation's best-loved man, he an-
nounces that the members of the Congress are ready to witness
his oath of fealty to the Constitution and to faithfully perform
the duties of his office as President of the United States of
America.
The President-elect at once rises and states that he is ready to
take that oath, and with Mr. Otis, clerk of the Senate, leading
the way he proceeds immediately to the balcony opening out of
the Senate chamber, followed through the central door by Mr.
Adams and Chancellor Livingston, Governor Clinton, Roger
274 This Was New York
Sherman, Richard Henry Lee, Generals Knox and St. Glair and
Baron Steuben. Other senators and guests follow through the
door to the right while the representatives take that to the left.
Major Morton has been hastily dispatched for a Bible, which now
rests on a crimson cushion in the hands of Mr. Otis, its pages
open to a chapter of Genesis, and on this book the first President
of the United States lays his right hand and repeats after Chan-
cellor Livingston the oath which makes him the executive head of
the nation, the commander in chief of its military establishment
and the officer appointed by popular choice to maintain inviolate
its fundamental law. And kissing the Bible he adds in all humility
the plea: "So help me, God!"
It is an affecting scene. These men around the President are
not weaklings. They are inured to battle, to the thrust and parry
of debate, the chicanery of courts, and the wiles of political
intrigue, but they are not unmindful that this man has qualities
of mind and heart that make him eminently their chief. He is
grave, courteous, earnest. He is sincere. They know him to be
steadfast. And not one of them would presume to challenge his
right to stand there as the man best fitted to compose their own
political differences and to make the state endure. The simple and
stately modesty of a great man in a momentous hour of history
brings tears to the eyes of many.
When Washington has finished taking the oath of office,
Chancellor Livingston turns to the vast throng and says : "Long
live George Washington, President of the United States !" A signal
is given, and the flag of the new republic is raised over Federal
Hall. As it unfurls, cannon roar on the Battery and the Spanish
man-of-war Galveston booms a fifteen-gun salute in the harbor.
Church bells peal forth. The dense crowd in Wall and Broad
streets, in every doorway and window, on all the housetops, is
frenzied with cheering. Some are so profoundly moved that they
cannot speak or join the universal shouting: they merely wave
their hats. The President bows to the crowd and then is slowly
Inaugurating a Nation 275
escorted back into the Senate chamber. He takes his place under
the crimson canopy and, after a little nervous fumbling, finds a
manuscript and prepares to read his inaugural speech to the na-
tion's responsible lawmakers and their invited guests.
The President rises, and the whole company rises cere-
moniously. He is nervous. His hand shakes. Hardened debaters
who get on their legs in the heat of an argument and pour out a
torrent of withering scorn or neat and well-rounded cliches are
amazed and somewhat saddened by this lack of oratorical aplomb.
Their own facility in speech is the very opposite of this grave,
quiet, almost hesitant utterance. They hardly know what to make
of it.
Indeed it is not a lively speech. It is not declamatory. There
are no flights of fancy, no incriminations of slack or faithless
public servants, no loud and ringing declarations of futile and
known to be futile policy, no hollow flummery and empty words.
It is sincere. It is manfully brave. There is nothing from begin-
ning to end of this speech but a careful consideration of the facts
of the situation so far as the speaker understood them, together
with a statement of principles designed to effectuate a stable and
orderly and solvent government.
Senator Maclay is disappointed and hurt that Washington is
"not first in everything. ... I sincerely, for my part, wished all
set ceremony in the hands of the dancing-masters and that this
first of men had read off his address in the plainest manner, with-
out ever taking his eyes from the paper." The senator is a virulent
republican who likes neither ceremony nor dancing-masters. But
he does admire Washington, and it pains him to observe that
"this great man was agitated and embarrassed more than ever he
was by the levelled cannon or pointed musket. He trembled, and
several times could scarce make out to read, though it must be
supposed he had often read it before." If Maclay was not properly
impressed he was almost alone, for the other members of the
audience were deeply moved.
276 This Was New York
In the composition of his first speech to Congress it is clear that
Washington had no assistance such as he later received from Ham-
ilton, Madison, and Jay. It seemed to say but little, yet it said
much. For it came from the heart. He stated that he had been
called from the asylum of his declining years by the summons of
his country, "whose voice I can never hear but with veneration
and love." He confessed that he was peculiarly conscious of his
own deficiencies because he had inherited "inferior endowments
from nature" and was "unpracticed in the duties of civil admini-
stration." He asked that his fellow citizens forgive mistakes that he
might make and called for the blessings of the Almighty Being
who had thus far so graciously favored the establishment of
American independence. The most eloquent point of the speech
was reached when he declared that "the preservation of the
sacred fire of liberty and the destiny of the republican model of
government are justly considered, perhaps, as deeply, as finally,
staked on the experiment intrusted to the hands of the American
people." There was one small point that was appreciated by only
a few of his audience. He declared that from the early days of
the Revolution he had refused any pecuniary compensation for
his public services. He would not now depart from that fixed de-
termination. The government might pay his necessary expenses as
President, but he wished no salary. This came from a gentleman
who only a few short weeks before had been forced to borrow
some cash to pay his bills before leaving Mount Vernon for the
inauguration.
At the conclusion of this address the whole company proceeds
in order to St. Paul's Chapel at Broad Way and Chatham Row,
a dignified procession headed by Colonel Lewis and the sheriff
and the committee of arrangements, followed by the President
and his secretaries and bodyguard, members of the Congress, the
governor and other officials, the diplomatic and invited guests.
The streets are still lined with holiday crowds, windows are filled
with eager faces, and all along the way the President is greeted
with cheers and blessings.
Inaugurating a Nation 277
St. Paul's, a small church, can accommodate but a fraction of
those who would attend this service. It faces the river, and its
low tower rises above Broad Way. It is simple in design, said
to be in the manner of Christopher Wren, and it is now filled
with the company from Federal Hall and others especially in-
vited for the occasion. Bishop Provoost presides, the Anglican
service is read in its amended form, prayers are intoned, and one
special prayer addressed to the high and mighty Ruler of the uni-
verse comes home to the heart of everyone, for it asks that the
President be blessed with long life and the strength to meet his
arduous duties. He is sitting there halfway down the church on
the right hand of the bishop, a man in brown clothes, his hair
powdered and tied behind, silver buckles on his shoes, a sword
at his side. He may rest assured that this petition is endorsed and
repeated by uncounted thousands in every town and hamlet and
distant outpost of the United States.
The service is over, and out across St. Paul's churchyard,
threading through the headstones and at home among them, the
parishioners are streaming. The men of Congress and other
strangers walk tenderly in this spot, fearful where they step, but
those who are at home among these graves are not so careful.
They are hurrying to catch another glimpse of this man of des-
tiny as he climbs into the coach of state for the final stage of this
short, eventful journey. The military and carriages are in readi-
ness, the sheriff mounts his horse, six gentlemen of distinction
mount and range themselves beside the cream-colored coach, and
the President of the United States is escorted home to Cherry
Street. You may not yourself be moved to actual tears, but you
cannot help noting that many are, and certainly you will agree
that it has been an impressive ceremony.
Back at John Street where the ale is flowing you pick up an
item or two of gossip, give Mrs. Fortune the lie circumstantial as
to shakos, and she tells you (in strict confidence) that Captain
Scriba out of his own purse equips the grenadiers and offers them
to the President. But the President will have none of them he
278 This Was New York
being safe in any tavern in the city or on the highways even after
nightfall, since none could fail to recognize the gentleman he is
by his height and bearing. Nor would he be king, although there
are many tavern whisperings of that, and never a king has ruled
that took the people's eye as he does or was so fit to be one. Nor
tides either he would have none of them. And what a rare
volley of cannonading it was when the chancellor shouted, "Long
live George Washington!" It shook the windows, and there will
be damages to pay from shattered panes in the Broad Way where
the guns were firing. Ran up a flag they did on Federal Hall when
the oath was taken, and Captain Van Dyck has a match to his
guns before you can wink an eye. You will be taking in the fire-
works, Mrs. Fortune says (giving you the wink), and you assure
her that you do not mean to miss any part of this celebration.
It has been a thrilling, an unforgettable day, and when the
guns at sunset tell the end of it you set out once more to see the
town. For the night is just beginning.
You are aware the moment you step outside the door that this
is no ordinary night. Your own tavern is all lighted up, the theater
a step away is covered with transparencies, and everywhere
people are hurrying in carriages and afoot from one illuminated
scene to the next, gay and carefree and chattering.
Down at the foot of Maiden Lane the Fly Market is a blaze of
color; along Queen Street the windows of aristocracy and humble
alike are all aglow; Hanover Square, a fashionable spot, is flooded
with lights; and over on Broad Street some clever artist exhibits
over a taproom a lifelike and greatly applauded transparency of
the President. At the head of Broad the Federal Hall, the center
of the day's festivities, is brilliantly lighted and presents by night
an even more imposing appearance than by day.
The crowds are enthusiastic. They have never before seen such
a display of lights. They exclaim and compliment themselves on
recognizing some famous scene depicted, and if an allegory or
an allusion proves a little vague they hurry on to the next. For
although these decorations are part of the spectacle and not to
Inaugurating a Nation 279
be missed, the real attractions are at Bowling Green at the bottom
of Broad Way, where the fireworks are to be set off and where
some very mysterious activities have been going on at the Spanish
Legation. To that spot you hasten along as hundreds of others are
doing and as thousands, it seems, have already done an hour
earlier.
The crowd as you approach Bowling Green is denser than you
remember ever having seen. The whole city apparently is here,
high and low, as a tangle of carriages and coaches and pedestrians
makes plain. And if the fair occupants of these splendid vehicles
are more richly powdered and dressed than those beneath them
in the roadway, that too is part of the show. Indeed, carriage
traffic at this point becomes impossible, and lackeys who have
never been caught in a jam like this are at a loss to know how to
cope with it. Great and small are soon on the same footing and
practice the same elbowing.
This seems to be the very center of the stage: it is the house of
the Spanish minister.
The chancellor's house is a few doors away. The French
Legation is across the street. Senator Izard, chairman of the com-
mittee of arrangements, lives next door. Every way you look there
is something to take the eye.
The Spanish minister has done himself and his king proud.
His residence presents a riot of color, gardens of flowers, foliage,
vases and statuary, marble columns and pots with plants in blos-
som. And not content with picturing this bower enshrining as it
seems all the virtues of man, he has placed over it a sky with
shining stars, the sun also shining, and clouds, and in the clouds
a figure with a trumpet in one hand and a flag in the other.
How all this could possibly have been conceived and executed,
many wonder but no one attempts to explain. All are loud with
praise and exclamations of wonder. Some spectator counts eleven
stars, but others correct him. The number is thirteen, of course,
and if two of them are dim, that too is reasonable, since two states
have not yet ratified the Constitution. There is music and inside
s>8o This Was New York
there must be food and drink and entertainment. But these are
reserved for the dignitaries of the nation and for their ladies. This
is a show in itself for the humble little folk who push and shove
and jostle for vantage ground.
If the minister of the King of Spain has deemed it appropriate
and wise to open his purse for the great event, the minister of the
King of France, our faithful ally in the war for freedom, could do
no less.
The Comte de Moustier is said to be very rich in his own right
and even more closefisted than rich. He is said to be so stingy that
he is economical in spending other people's money. But he had
not been uninformed of the preparations that have been arranged
by his friendly rival, so he has instructed his servants to make it a
memorable event.
They have done so, and the result is a lively pictorial display
of scenes in which the President figures, and a Latin tag which
compliments the nation's hero with a delicacy truly French. A
swarm of bees is pictured buzzing around their queen, and the
implication seems to be that this guardian of their happiness is
attended by a noisy and admiring throng. A little less attention
to Horace and more to Vergil might have helped you here, but
since those around you are no more wise your word explains it all.
This is really a very fine illumination, and the President himself
is said to have remarked about it.
But it is now eight o'clock, and Colonel Bauman with a
punctuality which the military always display sets off his cannon
and the fireworks get under way. Thirteen guns are fired and
thirteen rockets pierce the sky, and the two succeeding hours are
packed with thrills, splendor, star clusters, and the thunder of
wild applause. A spectacle like this was never before seen by any
but a few of these enthusiastic citizens of the republic lately born
and today consolidated, and it is doubtful if any had seen so fitting
a climax to an event so significant and so fraught with meaning.
For two hours there is a constant stream of cascades, rockets,
tourbillions, fountains of fire, serpents, fire trees, fire letters, Italian
Inaugurating a Nation 281
candles, paper shells, crackers, and exclamations of delight and
wonder from a thousand throats, and when at the end of the dis-
play the cannons again are fired and thirteen rockets break into
clusters of kaleidoscopic beauty no one who is there denies that
this night goes down in the book as one long to be remembered.
It is the first night of the United States of America under the
Federal Constitution. It has never happened before; it will never
happen again. It has been the President's day, and yours. It is
everybody's night. And all along the way to John Street you, and
they, make the most of it.
But Senator Maclay does not join these nocturnal celebrants.
Since early afternoon he has been suffering from rheumatism and
an aggravated attack of republican acidity (an even older ailment
with the senator). He remains confined to his lodgings.
But on the morrow he would be back in his Senate chair ob-
jecting to and correcting the many blunders made by Secretary
Otis in the Senate journal, listening to "the vacant, silly laugh of
the Vice-President," debating and working on a mass of bills and
measures. For in spite of delays and obstructions both the Senate
and the House did make progress in the establishment of the work-
ing machinery of government. Washington was occupied with the
appointment of a cabinet and later with the appointment of the
Federal justices and judges. Hamilton toiled late into the nights
on his financial measures. And even when Jefferson later returned
from his French mission to take up his duties as Secretary of
State there was no conflict between them. The French Revolution
had not yet progressed far enough to alarm and divide political
sentiment in the United States; Jefferson had not yet seen enough
of Federalist measures to rally his friends in a party of the oppo-
sition. Indeed they were friendly enough to come to an agreement
on the removal of the Federal capital from New York to the banks
of the Potomac in a region to be called the District of Columbia.
Jefferson pledged Hamilton enough votes to pass the bill for the
assumption of state debts; in return Hamilton promised sufficient
votes for the Potomac site. By a majority of one vote the Senate
282 This Was New York
on June 28, 1790, voted to move the capital to Philadelphia for
ten years and then on to the permanent location on the Potomac.
New Yorkers were gloomy at the prospect of losing the national
capital. But one observer was somewhat more philosophical:
So Congress has at last determined to leave this city. And what
then: all public improvements must stop, no more streets will be
new paved, the new government house must be contracted to a
smaller scale, the Battery never can be finished, the Lottery never
will be filled, and we shall not know what to do with Federal
Hall; there will be no more Levee days and nights, no more danc-
ing parties out of town thro' the summer, no more assemblies in
town thro' the winter; the Company of Players will never return
here again; in short, mirth and sociability and everything worth
living for, will soon be fled to the banks of the Delaware, our city
will be deserted and become "a wilderness again, peopled with
wolves, its old inhabitants."
Well, mused the writer, it's done and now that it is done per-
haps it might be a good thing.
House rents to be sure will fall, the same cause will render our
markets proportionately cheaper. The loss of the support afforded
to many whose employments depended on Congress, will be coun-
terbalanced by the saving in the expences of entertainments,
which have perhaps exceeded the abilities of many a host. . . .
We shall revert once more to our old principles of honest Dutch
oeconomy and plain New York hospitality. . . . The plain citi-
zen will once more stand a chance of being noticed by the fair fe-
male, no longer allured by the superior grace and venerable dig-
nity of a superannuated legislator of the federal government.
... As long as Congress allows old Hudson to roll and empty
itself into the ocean, I see no reason why we should be in such a
mighty fever about their going away. . . .
And with the close of the second session of the First Congress
on August 12, 1790, New York City ceased to be the first Fed-
eral capital under the Constitution. Its career had been exciting,
however brief. And during those busy months New Yorkers had
Inaugurating a Nation 283
witnessed a miracle. The new Federal government was no longer
a simple aspiration; it was an actuality. It was no longer merely
an idea; it was an operating fact. And if New York regretted that
it could not retain the government it was proud to have been the
scene of its auspicious beginnings.
Acknowledgments
lli VERY good historian builds upon the work of those who have
gone before him. And many who never pictured themselves as
chroniclers of their time now rightly appear in the esteemed and
honorific role of historians. How shall we rightly thank the humble
scribblers and the honest printers of an event or an issue long ago?
How shall we express our gratitude to the persons of high and
medium estate who took the trouble to sit down and record their
impressions of things seen, felt, heard, or yearned for? If the ma-
jority of the population the simple tradesmen, the mechanics, the
farmers, the tavernkeepers, the housewives : the little folk had been
literate or posterity-minded enough, our chronicle would have been
immensely richer. But we are grateful for the abundance that we
have.
To those who had the wisdom to preserve the records of the early
years of the Republic we render tribute. That tribute goes forth to
the descendants of the men and women of 1 789. They are numerous
and are highly appreciated by all who treasure our past. Chief
among these guardians of our knowledge of our rich heritage are
the libraries and historical societies. We are deeply indebted to the
New York Society Library, the New York Public Library, the New-
York Historical Society, the Sterling Memorial Library of Yale Uni-
versity, the Library of Congress and their directors and staffs.
A number of individuals have rendered special services: Miss
Edith Crowell, librarian, and Miss Marjorie Watkins, curator of
rare books and manuscripts, of the New York Society Library; Hon-
orable Edward R. Carroll, clerk of the Court of General Sessions;
Mrs. Arthur Iselin of Bedford House, Katonah, New York; Mr.
Crosby Gaige; Mr. Milton Halsey Thomas, curator of Columbiana
285
286 Appendix
at Columbia University; Mr. Stewart Riddell; Mr. Arthur W. Dan-
ziger; Dr. John A. Bryson, Director of Research of the Citizens
Budget Commission; Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt; and
the members of the editorial staff of Doubleday, Doran who have pa-
tiently persisted through delays typical of a more leisurely century.
Our grateful thanks to them all.
THE AUTHORS
The Sources
THE printed materials on the history of New York City are volu-
minous enough to crowd a small library; a critical bibliography of
them would fill a large volume. The following pages contain no
effort in this direction. A general bibliography will be found in the
monumental work of Stokes; a more restricted one is contained in
the excellent volume by Pomerantz. Greene and Morris have pub-
lished a highly useful guide to the manuscript collections for New
York City history. The following list contains merely those volumes
most useful in the present study. Additional sources for special sub-
jects are indicated in the brief notes relating to each of the chapters.
The present volume represents our joint labors during a period of
more than four years. We have diligently searched for every detail
that would contribute to our picture of New York life a century and
a half ago, and in our pursuit we have ransacked the many travel
accounts, the biographies, memoirs and correspondence of contem-
poraries, the newspapers and magazines, and the many monographs
and special studies devoted to the period. We have constantly sought
to utilize the original sources as much as possible. The chapter on
the courts is based upon an exhaustive study of the many surviving
manuscript minutes. The remarks upon the reading habits of New
Yorkers in 1789 are a result of a thorough investigation of the manu-
script charging-out book preserved in the New York Society Library.
More than nine thousand titles were tabulated and analyzed; the
detailed findings, of which this volume presents a summary, will
later be published as a monograph* Other studies among manu-
scripts have yielded up materials for our text.
We have minimized the usual footnotes. The original draft of the
manuscript contained (and still contains) hundreds of them, but
287
*88 Appendix
they fell by the wayside before reaching the printer. No antiquarian
surpasses the authors in their admiration for a well-turned and
pointed footnote, but for our present purposes footnotes seemed
rather like the scaffolding erected to assist in the construction of a
building: of immense temporary use, but hardly an ornament for the
completed structure. Also we were in no mood to spend time and
space in pointing out errors of fact and interpretation as well as
typographical lapses committed by previous writers in the field. We
hope that those who lament the academic and voluminous footnotes
will find some small consolation in the brief remarks which follow
the bibliographical list.
THE AUTHORS
Bibliography
(The following books represent only a selected general bibliog-
raphy of works frequently used; for specialized publications see
the bibliographical notes relating to each chapter.)
ALEXANDER, EDWARD P. A Revolutionary Conservative: James
Duane of New York (New York, 1938).
ANDREWS, WILLIAM LORING. New Tork as Washington Knew It
After the Revolution (New York, 1905).
ASBURY, HERBERT. Ye Olde Fire Laddies (New York, 1930).
BAYLES, W. HARRISON. Old Taverns of New York (New York,
BEARD, CHARLES A. An Economic Interpretation of the Constitu-
tion of the United States (New York, 1935).
BOOTH, MARY L. History of the City of New York (New York,
1860).
BOWEN, CLARENCE WINTHROP (editor). The History of the Cen-
tennial Celebration of the Inauguration of George Washington
as First President of the United States (New York, 1892).
BOWERS, CLAUDE C. Jefferson and Hamilton The Struggle for
Democracy in America (Boston, 1925).
BOYNTON, HENRY WALGOTT. Annals of American Bookselling,
1638-1850 (New York, 1932).
BRISSOT DE WARVILLE, JACQUES PIERRE. Nouveau Voyage dans les
Etats-Unis. . . . fatten 1788 (3 vols., Paris, 1791). The abridged
English translation (2 vols., London, 1792) omits many piquant
details of the original.
BROWN, HENRY COLLINS. The Story of Old New York (New York,
1934)-
289
290 Appendix
BROWN, HENRY COLLINS (editor) . Valentine's Manual of Old New
fork (New York, 1920).
BROWN, HERBERT Ross. The Sentimental Novel in America, 1789-
1860 (Durham, 1940).
BURNETT, EDMUND CODY. The Continental Congress (New York,
1940-
CHANNING, EDWARD. A History of the United States. Vol. Ill
covers the period 1761-1789 (New York, 1912). Vol. IV treats
the period 1789-1815 (New York, 1917).
DAVIS, JOSEPH STANCLIFFE. Essays in the Earlier History of Ameri-
can Corporations (2 vols., Cambridge, 1917).
DUER, WILLIAM ALEXANDER. New Tork As It Was During the Latter
Part of the Last Century (New York, 1849) .
EAST, ROBERT A. Business Enterprise in the American Revolutionary
Era (New York, 1938).
FITZPATRICK, JOHN C. The Diaries of George Washington, 1748-
*799 (4 vols., Boston, 1925).
FLICK, ALEXANDER C. (editor). History of the State of New Tork
(10 vols., New York, 1933-37). Vols. IV ("The New State") and
V ("Conquering the Wilderness") are most relevant to the present
study.
FRANCIS, JOHN W. Old New Tork (New York, 1866).
GILDER, RODMAN. The Battery (Boston, 1936).
GRISWOLD, RUFUS WELMOT. The Republican Court or American
Society in the Days of Washington (New York, 1856).
HARLOW, ALVIN F. Old Bowery Days: The Chronicles of a Famous
Street (New York, 1931).
HART, SMITH. The New Torkers A Story of a People and Their
City (New York, 1938).
JANVIER, THOMAS A. In Old New Tork (New York, 1894).
KELLEY, FRANK BERGEN (editor). Historical Guide to the City of
New Tork (New York, 1909). Excellent for its maps and as a
practical guide to the old sites in the city.
MACLAY, WILLIAM. Journal of William Maclay . . . / 7^9- / 791.
Edited by Edgar S. Maclay (New York, 1890).
MCMASTER, JOHN BACH. A History of the People of the United
States from the Revolution to the Civil War (5 vols., New York,
Appendix 291
1885). Vols. I and II give details on social conditions from 1784
to 1795.
Minutes of the Common Council of the City of New Tork (New
York, 1917-30). Vols. I and II cover the period from 1784 to
*793 (New York, 1917). The splendid two-volume analytical
index (New York, 1930) was prepared by David M. Matteson.
MONAGHAN, FRANK. John Jay: Defender of Liberty (Indianapolis,
1935)-
MONAGHAN, FRANK. "The Results of the Revolution" in Vol. IV
of the History of the State of New Tork. Edited by A. C. Flick
( New York, 1933).
NEVINS, ALLAN. The American States During and After the Revo-
lution (New York, 1924).
POMERANTZ, SIDNEY I. New York: an American City, 17831803
(New York, 1938).
SMITH, THOMAS E. V. The City of New Tork in the Year of Wash-
ington's Inauguration, 1789 (New York, 1889).
SPAULDING, E. WILDER. His Excellency George Clinton: Critic of
the Constitution (New York, 1938).
STOKES, I. N. PHELPS. The Iconography of Manhattan Island (6
vols., New York, 1915-28). Vol. V contains a day-by-day
chronicle of events for the year 1789.
WATSON, JOHN FANNING. Annals and Occurrences of New Tork
City and State (New York, 1846).
WECTER, DDCON. The Saga of American Society: A Record of Social
Aspiration, 1607-1937 (New York, 1937).
WILSON, JAMES GRANT (editor) . The Memorial History of the
City of New York. Vols. Ill and IV (New York, 1893) contain
many details of life and institutions in New York in 1 789.
Notes
CHAPTER I
Off to New-York
General details of travel in the late eighteenth century will be
found abundantly in Seymour Dunbar, A History of Travel in
America (New York, 1937); Alice Morse Earle, Stage-coach and
Tavern Days (New York, 1900) ; Stephen Jenkins, The Old Boston
Post Road (New York, 1914) ; and McMaster and Smith. For per-
sonal accounts consult the Correspondence and Journals of Samuel
Blachley Webb (edited by W. C. Ford, 3 vols., New York, 1893-94) ;
Francois Jean, marquis de Ghastellux, Travels in North- America in
. . . 1780, 1781 and 1782 (London, 1787); Francois Alexandre
Frederic, due de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, Travels through the
United States (2 vols., London, 1799) ; Henry Wansay, The Journal
of an Excursion to the United States of North America in the sum-
mer of 1794 (Salisbury, 1796) ; John Davis, Travels of Four and a
Half Years in the United States of America during 1798, ijgg, 1800,
1801, and 1802 (New York, 1909) ; Thomas Fairfax, Journey from
Virginia to Salem, Mass. 1799 (London, 1936) ; and Brissot de
Warville. Curiously detailed maps of the main roads leading out of
New York may be seen in Christopher Colles, A Survey of the Roads
of the United States of America (New York, 1789).
CHAPTER H
Your Room and Board
Besides Smith, Dunbar, and Earle (Stage-coach and Tavern
Days) , rich details will be found in W. Harrison Bayles, Old Taverns
of New York (New York, 1915) and Elise Lathrop, Early American
293
Appendix 293
Inns and Taverns (New York, 1936) . For drinks consult Alice Morse
Earle, "Old Colonial Drinks and Drinkers," in the National Maga-
zine, XVI, 14.9-59 ( New York, 1892).
CHAPTER HI
The City on Show
Unfortunately the first guidebook to New York was not written
till 1807, a sorry little affair by S. L. Mitchell, entitled The Picture
of New Tork, or The Traveller's Guide through the Commercial
Metropolis of the United States. The present authors were therefore
compelled a little late in the day to create their own. Most of the
details were taken from Stokes, Smith, Wilson, Hart, Janvier,
Pomerantz, Brown, Kelley, and the several city directories. Many
details came from various essays in the Half Moon Series Papers
on Historic New York (edited by Maud W. Goodwin, Alice C.
Royce, and Ruth Putman, 2 vols., New York, 1898-99) .
CHAPTER IV
Fourteen Miles Round
Valuable information for this tour will be found in Janvier, espe-
cially the first two chapters, and in the papers contained in the Half
Moon Series. Alfred B. Mason and Mary M. Mason have described
Washington's favorite drive in detail, in Half Moon Series, I, No.
VI ; and Washington's own references will be found in his Diaries.
CHAPTER V
Shopping Round the Town in '89
Many writers have briefly commented upon shops and styles and
kindred subjects of this period, but they have usually been satisfied
with a paraphrase of the most convenient previous account. Smith
has done well within a few pages, because his quotations are directly
from the newspapers. Our remarks upon the merchants and their
shops are based upon detailed and somewhat exhaustive research
into that most relevant of sources, the newspapers. Photostatic copies
294 Appendix
of every page of each extant issue of all the New York newspapers
for April and May 1 789 were made. From these each advertisement
was cut out, classified, and filed. These thousands of clippings thus
present a detailed and systematic picture of the many things avail-
able to the shopper of 1 789. Various other facts have been taken from
letters and memoirs of the period. As far as possible the original
sources have been consulted. With the exception of the newspapers,
these sources are scattered and fragmentary. No contemporary felt
the need or saw a possible profit from a printed shopper's guide;
New Yorkers knew their shops well, and the transient population
was not yet large.
CHAPTER VI
The City at Work
The most comprehensive accounts of economic life in New York
during 1789 and thereabouts will be found in Smith and Pomerantz.
For maritime commerce consult Robert G. Albion and Jennie Barnes
Pope, The Rise of New York Port (New York, 1939) ; for real estate,
Arthur Pound, The Golden Earth The Story of Manhattan's Land
Wealth (New York, 1935) ; for occupations, the city directories and
the newspapers. The story of the good ship Experiment is best told
in Carl Carmer, The Hudson (New York, 1939).
CHAPTER VH
Medical Arts and Wiles
Much material on the state of the medical arts will be found in
Smith and in Pomerantz. For the wiles it is best to consult the ad-
vertisements in the daily press. Biographical materials concerning
the leading physicians have been assembled from contemporary
memoirs.
CHAPTER
The Woman's World
Excellent material covering the period has been gathered in Esther
Singleton, Social New Yoik Under the Georges (New York, 1902) ;
Appendix 295
William Chauncy Langdon, Everyday Things in American Life
7607-1776 (New York, 1937); Alice Morse Earle, Home Life in
Colonial Days (New York, 1898) and Child-Life in Colonial Days
(New York, 1899). The street cries were taken from The Cries of
New York (New York, 1931, a reprint of the 1808 edition with five
additional cries from the edition of 1814). Marketing is treated in
Thomas Farrington DeVoe, The Market Book of New York (New
York, 1862), and in Smith, Pomerantz, and Stokes. Details on
Washington's expenses while in New York will be found in Smith
and, for liquors, in Hewson L. Peeke, Americana Ebrietas (New
York, 1917). The description of the furnishings in the McCrea
home is taken from Mary de Peyster Rutgers McCrea Conger, New
York's Making (London, 1938).
CHAPTER IX
The Social Whirl
Griswold's Republican Court is the most authoritative of the early
accounts of social doings in the Inauguration Year; but in his as in
every similar case, once a historian undertakes to record gossip he is
in danger of becoming a gossip himself. Dixon Wecter, The Saga of
American Society (New York, 1937) ; Anne Hollingsworth Whar-
ton, Salons Colonial and Republican (Philadelphia, 1900) and
Martha Washington (New York, 1897), all give many details of
the social season of 1 789. Bowers gives the best picture in brief. For
an annotated copy of Mrs. Jay's "official" list for the 1787-88
season, see Wecter, pp. 199-204. Its catholicity should be noted:
merchants and doctors, lawyers and clergymen, statesmen and diplo-
mats, bankers and professors. It was a Who's Who rather than a
Social Register. What the ladies and gentlemen of importance in
that day looked like may be seen most conveniently in the portrait
reproductions in Bowen's Centennial. This work likewise contains
biographical sketches of all the members of Congress who attended
the first session. The origins of the Tammany Society are related in
Edwin P. Kilroe, St. Tammany and the Origin of the Society of
Tammany or Columbian Order in the City of New York (New
York, 1913). The account of the programs, anecdotes, and songs of
296 Appendix
the meetings in the Great Wigwam are taken from the manuscript
minutes in the New York Public Library.
CHAPTER X
Diversions and the Arts
Succinct accounts of the public amusements in 1789 are given by
Smith and Pomerantz. The theater is treated at length in the first
volume of George G. D. Odell, Annals of the New Tork Stage (New
York, 1927) ; William Dunlap's Diary (New York, 1930) has the
immediacy of a first-hand account and the defects arising from writ-
ing down whatever first comes to mind. Royall Tyler's play, The
Contrast^ was reprinted by the Dunlap Society (New York, 1887).
Details on painting, sculpture, and music will be found in Smith,
Pomerantz, and Griswold and in many special monographs and
articles.
CHAPTER XI
News and Reviews
Frank Luther Mott has done an excellent history of American
newspapers in his American Journalism . . . 1690 to 1940 (1941) ;
for the periodical press the same author's History of American
Magazines, 1741-1850 (1938) is the authority in the field. A most
interesting work, The Sentimental Novel in America, 1789-1860,
was published by Herbert Ross Brown in 1940. It is indicative of
the general lack of knowledge of the reading habits of the men and
women of the early years of the Republic when one of the best-
informed scholars in the field does not even mention the name of
the author of Female Stability, which ranked so high in the esteem
of New Yorkers.
No secondary works can take the place of a thorough examination
of the newspapers, magazines, and the books themselves. In this we
have tried to be accurate and thorough.
The discovery of the charging-out ledger of the New York Society
Library has enabled us to make a pertinent and valuable contribu-
tion to our knowledge of the period. It is unique in the knowledge
that it supplies, for publishers' records for this period are rare. The
Appendix 297
study and the tabulation of the entries in this great manuscript
volume at the New York Society Library required more than three
hundred hours of concentrated effort. We believe that the results
provide us with the most realistic and satisfactory approach to the
question of what the best read books of 1789 really were. But our
answers are neither final nor conclusive. We cannot demonstrate
that every book that was borrowed was actually read, or that it was
half read, or that the potential reader ever got beyond the tenth
page. It is safe to assume that most of the books that were taken
from the library were read. These figures are as valid as those for
the best sellers of today, for who would venture to demonstrate that
every book that is bought is actually read? So we have ventured to
call our discoveries the "best read" books of 1789. They were not the
"best sellers," because they were borrowed and not sold. But to give
high prominence to the "best borrowed" books of any period would
be too discouraging to authors and publishers, here and hereafter.
The lists of books borrowed by several readers of the New York
Society Library may be of interest. In the charging-out ledger of the
library each book is given a separate line. To save space we have
run them together, but otherwise they are simply transcriptions of
the pages of the manuscript volume. John Jay was Acting Secretary
of State and later chief justice of the Supreme Court; James Roose-
velt was a prominent merchant of the city; and the Rev. Dr. Linn
was the chaplain of Congress.
MR. JAY'S LIST:
Fielding; ditto; Anson's Voyage round the world; Animated
nature; Peregrine Pickle v. i, 2, 3; Sully's memoirs v. i, 2, 3, 4, 5;
Irwin's adventure; Bruce's memoirs (travels) ; Baron de Tott's
memoirs v. i, 2, 3 (travels) ; Grose's voyage to the East Indies
v. i, 2; Henry Swinburne's travels in the two Sicilies v. i, 2; Cook's
voyage around the world v. i, 2; Ramsay's Revolution in South
Carolina; Plutarch v. i ; Chrysal, the adventures of a Guinea v. 1,2,
3; Children's friend v. 2; Lady's encyclopedia; Children's friend
v. 3; Rollin's Ancient history v. 4; Children's friend v. 4; Mar-
montel's tales v. i ; Brydone's tour through Sicily and Malta; Sale
of authors; Rollin's Ancient history v. 7; Buff on v. 6, 7; Plutarch
298 Appendix
v *> 2, 3, 4, 5; Life of Putnam; Enfield's speaker; Wilson's Pelew
Islands; Hawkesworth's voyages v. i, 2; Carver's (or Garter's)
travels; Independent, a novel; Candide; Arpasia v. i, 2; Historical
miscellanies; Fair Syrian v. i, 2; Boyle's voyages and adventures,
with the story of Mrs. Villars; Fool of quality; Irwin's adventure;
Le Bruyn's travels; Campbell's Lives of the admirals; Adelaide and
Theodore v. i; Children's friend v. 3; Adelaide and Theodore v. 2;
Children's friend v. 4.
MR. JAMES ROOSEVELT'S LIST:
Gordon's History of the American War, three volumes; Tour
through France; Bachelor of Salamancha, two volumes; Smyth's
Tour in the United States, two volumes; Hayley's plays; Hume's
History of England, eight volumes; Smollett's History of England,
seven volumes; Cotton Mather's works; Emmeline, two volumes;
Arundel, two volumes; Brydone's Tour through Sicily and Malta;
Political magazine, five volumes; Fair Syrian, two volumes; Caro-
line of Litchfield, two volumes; Modern times, or Gabriel outcast;
Cook's Voyages, four volumes; Life of Putnam; Hawkesworth's
Voyages, two volumes; Johnson's Anecdotes; Henriade; Zoriada;
Lady Luxborough's letters to Shenstone; Beauties of magazines;
Pliny's Epistles; Emma Corbett; Temple's works; Wilson's Pelew
Islands; Herring's letters; Power of Sympathy, two volumes; Mar-
riage Act, two volumes; Rowe's Callipaedia; Cotton's works; Smith's
Universalist.
REV. DR. LINN'S LIST:
Goldsmith's Animated Nature (6 volumes) ; Sheridan's Art of
Reading; Reid's essays; Brydone's Tour through Sicily and Malta;
Derham's Physico Theology; Clarissa (four volumes) ; Alexander's
History of Women; Robertson's History of America; Peregrine
Pickle (two volumes) ; Beauties of magazines; Chastellux, Travels
in America; Moore's Fables for the female sex; Recess, a novel (3
times) ; Kames's Art of thinking; Chapone's (Mrs.) Letters on the
improvement of the mind; Zelucca (2 volumes) ; Ela, or the de-
lusions of the heart; Arpasia, or the Wanderer (2 volumes) ; Fairy
tales; Children's friend (3 volumes) ; Persian tales; Plutarch (3
Appendix 299
volumes) ; Clio, an essay on Taste; Beauties of Genlis; Anna, or the
memoirs of a Welsh heiress (2 volumes) ; Louisa, or the sisters, by
Miss Seward; Fair Syrian; Fielding (2 volumes) ; Platonic Guardian,
history of an orphan, by a lady; George Bateman (2 volumes) ;
Zoriada, or village annals; Parental solicitude; Vicar of Bray;
Beauties of history (2 volumes) ; Matilda, or the efforts of Virtue
(3 volumes) ; Lyttelton's History of England; Fingal, a poem; Baron
Trenck's memoirs; Burgh's Dignity of human nature.
CHAPTER XH
To School?
No one can write seriously of Columbia College (formerly King's
College and, in this period, designated either as Columbia College
or the "College of New- York") without recourse to the erudition
and generous co-operation of Milton Halsey Thomas, curator of
Columbiana. There are already a number of volumes on the history
of Columbia; none of them is adequate. A History of Columbia
University, 1754-2 904 (New York, 1904) is pleasant, cursory, and
woefully inadequate. High attention awaits the forthcoming volume
on the beginnings of King's College by Dr. Beverly McAnear. But
Columbia deserves a history % of the scope and excellence of those
published or now being written for Harvard, Yale, and Princeton.
An informative catalogue of the academic courses given at the
College in 1 794 is found in the mistitled pamphlet by Dr. Samuel L.
Mitchill : The Present State of Learning in the College of New York
(New York, 1794). A fragmentary but interesting insight into the
life of a Columbia student of 1 789 is given in the unpublished diary
of John B. Johnson (Columbiana Collection) .
Harry R. Warfel's Noah Webster: Schoolmaster to America (New
York, 1936) is an excellent contribution to the general picture of
American education of the period after the Revolution. Mary
Sumner Benson's Women in Eighteenth-Century America: A Study
of Opinion and Social Usage (New York, 1935) gives an under-
standing of the neglect of formal education for females. There were
no schools for education in the professions of law or medicine until
the nineteenth century, but an indispensable volume for the under-
standing of the preparation of lawyers for their careers is Paul M.
300 Appendix
Hamlin's Legal Education in Colonial New York (New York, 1939) ,
for the colonial practices prevailed long after the Revolution.
Other volumes that make minor but useful contributions to the
general picture of education in the New York City of 1789 are:
Thomas Boese, Public Education in City of New Tork (New York,
1869) ; Robert Francis Seybolt, The Evening Schools of Colonial
New York City (Albany, 1921) ; Archie E. Palmer, The New York
Public School, being a History of Free Education in the City of New
Tork (New York, 1905) and Elsie Garland Hobson, Educational
Legislation and Administration in the State of New Tork from 1777
to 1850 (Chicago, 1918).
There is no one volume (or even several volumes) to which the
reader can be referred for a satisfactory view of education in 1789.
Smith and Pomerantz present brief treatments, but the materials
must be searched in the memoirs, biographies, family histories, news-
papers, and periodicals. This chapter covers only the formal educa-
tional institutions of the time; for others see Chapter XI: "News
and Reviews."
CHAPTER
The City at Prayer
The best general sketches of the churches are given by Smith,
Pomerantz, and Booth. The general background will be found in
Ernest Sutherland Bates, American Faith (New York, 1940). Por-
traits of many of the leading clergymen are painted by Gris-
wold, Mathews, Francis, and Duer. Herbert M. Morals, Deism in
Eighteenth-Century America (New York, 1934) may be profitably
consulted for not only deism but its kindred faiths. Histories of the
various Christian denominations and of Judaism in early America
are too numerous and well known to require listing here.
CHAPTER XIV
Preserving the Peace
See the Minutes of the Common Council, the contemporary news-
papers, Smith, Stokes, Pomerantz, and Augustine E. Costello, Our
Police Protectors (New York, 1885).
Appendix t 301
CHAPTER xv
Be It Enacted by the People . . .
Thomas Greenleaf of New York City printed a two-volume collec-
tion of the Laws of the State of New-York ... in 1792 and added
a third volume in 1797. This should be supplemented by the printed
Proceedings of the state Assembly and Senate. James Parker's Con-
ductor Generalis: or the Office, Duty and Authority of Justices of
the Peace . . . (New York, 1788) was a convenient handbook for
judicial officers and for state and city officials. The Minutes of the
Common Council do not always give the details of municipal
ordinances, but the complete texts were frequently published in the
newspapers.
CHAPTER XVI
OyezlOyez!
Much of this chapter is based upon a detailed study of the sur-
viving manuscript records. The minutes are available in the office
of the clerk of the Court of General Sessions in the Criminal Courts
Building and in the New York Public Library. In addition to Smith
and Pomerantz see also James? W. Brooks, History of the Court of
Common Pleas of the City and County of New Tork (New York,
1896) ; Alden Chester, editor, Legal and Judicial History of New
Tork (3 vols., New York, 1911) ; Charles P. Daly, Historical Sketch
of the Judicial Tribunals of New York, 1623-1846 (New York,
1855) ; David M. Schneider, The History of Public Welfare in New
York State, 1609-1866 (Chicago, 1938) ; and the notes for Chapters
XIV and XV. It should be remarked that the criminal statistics
presented by Henry B. Dawson in the Historical Magazine (March
1871, pp. 172-73) are inaccurate and misleading.
CHAPTER XVH
Against Foreign Enemies
There is no detailed history of the United States Army or of the
various state militia. Good general summaries are William A. Ganoe,
302 Appendix
History of the United States Army (New York, 1924) and Oliver L.
Spaulding, The United States Army in War and Peace (New York,
1937). For the Navy see Gardner W. Allen, Our Naval War with
France (Boston, 1909). Samuel L. Mitchill published a brief but
interesting pamphlet in 1812 : An Historical Summary of the Several
Attacks that have been made upon the City of New- York . . . and
of the Measures ... /or its defense. The official records of both
city and state, together with the newspapers and private correspond-
ence, supply abundant details.
CHAPTER XVm
Municipal and Social Services
Smith has many relevant passages, but they are brief and scattered.
Pomerantz is far more detailed; his Chapter VII on "The Finances
of a Growing City" is chiefly concerned with the sources of municipal
revenues. The various ordinances of the Common Council do not
appear in the published Minutes, but they are usually given in full
in the newspapers. A spirited and informing history of fire fighting
in New York City is Herbert Asbury, Ye Olde Fire Laddies ( 1930) ;
this also contains a good discussion of the city water supply of the
period. The treatment of the insane can be gathered from the state
laws under the chapters dealing with "disorderly persons"; see also
Vol. I of The Institutional Care of the Insane . . . , edited by
Henry M. Kurd (1916). Allan Nevins has a number of pertinent
general remarks on public welfare in his American States . . . , but
by far the best in this field is David M. Schneider, The History of
Public Welfare in New York State, 1609-1866 (1938).
CHAPTER XDC
Inaugurating a Nation
There is no volume which treats with satisfactory detail municipal
and state politics of the decade after the Revolution. There are
accounts of the fight for the adoption of the Federal Constitution.
Then there is a lapse until the closing years of the century when
the growing power of the JefTersonians successfully challenges the
Appendix 303
Federalists. For a brief picture of the municipal government
Pomerantz is excellent. Burr and Tammany have not yet become
potent political forces. Spaulding provides a concise picture of
George Clinton's role as governor of the state; Alexander gives an
all too brief picture of James Duane's activities as mayor of the
city. The energetic and vitriolic Richard Varick, the city's second
mayor during our period, has never found a competent biographer.
Is this neglect partly explained by his miserable handwriting? His
voluminous unpublished correspondence, filled with rich, pungent
details, is fascinating.
National politics, a predominant interest until local political
movements could once more get under way, has claimed the atten-
tion of many writers: McMaster, Channing, Bowers, and a host of
others. Here, again, Maclay's Journal is an indispensable original
source of materials.
The events of the inauguration are well treated in T. E. V. Smith
and in the massive volume edited by Clarence Bowen. But each of
these was published more than fifty years ago, and since that time
many new materials, both printed and in manuscript, have been
made available. A detailed presentation of these materials was made
by Frank Monaghan in The Inaugural Journey and the Inaugural
Ceremonies of George Washington and a supplementary compila-
tion (both printed, but not published, in 1939). These several hun-
dred pages of research materials were made available to the com-
mittees and groups who participated in the re-enactment of Wash-
ington's inaugural journey from Mount Vernon to New York City
(under the executive direction of Dr. Monaghan) . This re-
enactment, the first success in several attempts, laid the historical
background for the opening of the New York World's Fair on April
3> *939 ^e i5Oth anniversary of Washington's inauguration in
New York City.
Index
Account of the Pelew Islands (Wil-
son), 154
Adams, John, 34, 43, 103, 113, 116,
125, 153, 156, 178, 237, 251, 255,
265, 267, 273, 281
Adams, Mrs. John, 34, 43, 108, 112,
H3, 132
Adventures of Gil Bias, 165
Advertising, 47, 48, 51, 52, 54, 64, 70,
81, 90, 123, 141
Albany, i, 4, 13, 46, 53
Algarotti, Count, 158
Almanacs, 142-3
Almshouse, 24, 35, 168, 198, 201, 213,
226, 243, 249
Amours of Count Palviano and Elea-
nor a, 153
An Account of the Voyages . . . , 153
Animated Nature , 151, 157, 158
Apology for the Life of George-Ann
Bellamy . . . , 159, 160
Arabian Nights, 165
Arpasia, or the Wanderer, 161
Art, 132, 133, 134, 195
Articles of Confederation, 252, 253, 255
Astor, Jacob, 20, 48, 65, 69, 72, 73,
130, 190
Arundel, 161, 164
Balloon, Mr. Decker's, 129
Bardin, Edward, 16, 219
Barlow, Joel, 167
Beauties of History, 156
Bedlow, William, 21, 22
Bell, John, 155
Bellamy, George- Ann, 152, 159, 160
Betsy Thoughtless, 153
Bleecker, Anthony L., 47, 55, 70, 71,
264, 272
Boardinghouses, 18, 19, 20
Bold Stroke for a Wife, A, 166
Boston, i, 8, 10-14, 1 6
Boudinot, Elias, 117-18, 257, 258, 259
Brickwell, Alexander, 159, 160
Bridewell, 24, 35, 79, 198, 204, 215,
221, 226, 227
Brissot de Warville, Jacques Pierre, 5,
6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12, 14, 45, 58, 70, 74,
81,85,89,99, 105, 210
Buff on, G. L. Leclerc, Comte de, 158
Burns, Robert, 167
Burr, Aaron, 20, 68, 74, 75, 119, 148,
153, 156, 215, 252
Busybody, The, 166
Butler, Pierce, 31
Candide, 153
Centlivre, Mrs. Susannah, 166
Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de, 165
Chastellux, Marquis de, in, 131, 153,
156
Children, 100, 101, 215, 216, 242,
chap, xii passim
Children's Friend, The, 153
Childs, Francis, 33, 138
Chinese Traveller, 154
Chrysal, 151, 164, 166
Churches: Baptist, 180, 190; French
Huguenot, 180, 187; German Cal-
vinist Reformed, 180, 190; Inde-
pendent Congregational, 180, 192;
Jewish, 1 80, 184; Lutheran, 180,
187; Methodist, 180, 191; Mora-
vian, 1 80, 190; Presbyterian, 180,
185, 1 88, 189; Protestant Episcopal,
1 80, 185, 1 86, 187; Quaker, 180,
187; Reformed, Dutch, 180, 182,
183, 187; Roman Catholic, 180,
191; Universalist, 1 94
Cincinnati, Order of the, 118-19
Clinton, George, 105, 108, 113, 117,
125, 133, 134, 178, 200, 201, 251,
252, 259, 260
Colden, Cadwallader, 156
Collect Pond, 28, 30, 36, 37, 68, 82,
101, 225, 247, 248
304
Index
305
Colles, Christopher, 2, 83, 84, 129
Columbia College, 170, 171, 173, 174,
176-9, 184, 188, 219, 231, 236
Common Council, 32, 82, 192, 199,
200, 211, 212, 244, 246, 251
Commons Debates, 148
Congress (Continental), 106, 229-31
Congress (Federal), 183, 236-7, chap.
xix passim
Congreve, William, 166
Connections (Prideaux), 159
Conquest of Canaan, 167
Constitution (U.S.), 85, 192, 225,
251, 253, 254, 282
Cook, Captain James, 154
Courts: Admiralty, 223; District
(U.S.), 223; General Sessions, 198,
217, 222; Impeachment and Errors,
223-4; Mayor's, 198, 217, 222;
Oyer and Terminer, 204, 222; Pro-
bates, 223; Special Sessions, 217;
Supreme (N.Y.), 217, 222-3, 224;
Supreme (U.S.), 223
Coxe, William, 155
Crime, 35, 36, 195, 198-202, 204, 214,
216, 224, 225, 226
Currency (and coins), 3-4; 48-9
Dafoe, Daniel, 164
Daily Advertiser, 13, 15, 33, 77, 87,
105, 119, 123, 124, 125, 127, 136,
138, 140, 141, 192
Daily Gazette, 115, 131, 136, 138, 140,
142
Dancing Schools, 131, 132, 141
Debtors, 76, 77, 78, 131, 208-210,
226-7, 240
Declaration of Independence, 183, 192
Decline and Fall of the Roman Em-
pire, 153, 154
Defence of the Constitution . . .
(Adams), 156
Deists, 1 80, 192, 194
DeLancey, James, 15
Dentists, 88, 89
Description of China (Grosier), 154
Dialogues of the Dead, 153, 156
Diderot, Denis, 149
Directory (N.Y.C.), 143-6
Disease, 85-91, 248, 249
Doctors, 85, 86, 87-8, 90, 91, 200
Domestic Memoirs of a Pennsylvanian
Family, 156
Don Quixote, 165.
Dow, Alexander (translator), 154
Drinking, 4, 5, 6, 8, 16, 18, 22, 24-26,
44, 45, 46, 48, 65, 66, 71, 99, 102,
in, 112, 114, 118, 119, 120, 205,
209
Dryden, John, 153, 166
Duane, James, 145, 214, 217, 223, 242,
251, 259
D wight, Timothy, 167
Edwin Mortimer, 153
Elements of Criticism, 153
Elizabethtown, 13, 257, 258
Emmeline, or the Orphan of the
Castle, 161-4
Empire of Morocco (Chenier), 155
Entertainments, 104-30, 279-81
Essai sur les moeurs, 156
Essay on Man, 159
Essay on Old Maids, 1 59
Fair Syrian, The, 153
Fairfax, Thomas, 7, 13
Farquhar, George, 166
Fashions, 46-67; Men's, 3, 53, 55, 57,
58, 61, 62, 63, 102, 109, in, 133,
232, 271, 277; Women's, 55, 56, 57,
58,59,60,61,63, 102, 124
Federal Hall, 10, 33, 94, 125, 135,
148, 186, 265, 277, 278, 282
Female Stability, 160, 161-4, 166
Fielding, Henry, 149, 152, 153, 161
Fires, 197, 214, 243-5
Food, 6, 7, 8, 12, 16, 18, 22, 23, 71,
98-102, in, 112-14, u8, 264
Franklin, Benjamin, 4, 16, 98, 138,
192
Fraunces, Samuel (Black Sam), 15,
76, 96, 98
Fraunces' Tavern, 8, 15, 119, 120,
132, 186, 233, 261
Fulton, Robert, 12
Furniture, 94-6
Games, 80, 8 1, 115, 177, 205
Gardoqui, Diego de, 34, 191, 214
Gazette of the United States, 139
Gibbon, Edward, 153, 154
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 161
306
Index
Goldsmith, Oliver, 151, 156, 157, 158
Gordon, William, 154, 155
Grandison, 161
Grose, John Henry, 154
Hamilton, Alexander, 20, 33, 74, 87,
106, 107, 119, 121, 134, 139, 145,
148, 153, 173, 189, 210, 215, 221,
252, 255, 276, 281
Hamilton, Mrs. Alexander, 108, 117
Harte, Walter, 155
Hawkesworth, John (comp.), 153
Hayley, William, 159
Helv6tius, Claude Adrien, 149, 159
Henriade, 153
Hindoostan (Dow), 154
History of China (Duhalde), 154
History of Greece, 153
History of Gustavus Adolphus, 155
History of the American War, 154,
155
History of the Five Nations, 156
History of the Herculean Straits, 155
History of the Late Revolution in Swe-
den, 155
History of the Province of New York,
156
Hitchcock, Enos, 165
Hooke, Nathaniel, 154
Hospitals, 249-50
House of Representatives, 183, 188,
281
Housing, 37, 80, 92, 93, 94, 95, 97,
IOI, IO2, 178
Humphreys, David, 156
Independent Journal, 90, no, 129,
138, 139, 1 86
Inns and taverns: Adams, 8; Adam-
son's, 42; Bardin's, 219; John Bat-
tins', 24; Bliss Tavern, 8; Brannan's,
44; Bull's Head, 40; City Tavern,
15, *7 '7; Cummings' Florida
Gardens, 39, 44; Dog and Duck, 41 ;
Dove Tavern, 42; John Francis, 15,
24; Fraunces', 8, 15, 119, 120, 132,
1 86, 233, 261; Halsey's, 10, 84;
Mrs. Haviland's, 10; Hitchcock's, 7;
Michael Huck, 19, 24; Hyatt's, 10;
Little's, 23; Merchant's Coffee
House, 20, 24; Montagnie's Gar-
dens, 24, 36; Zeno Parsons, 8;
Jonathan Pearsee's, 24; Ranelagh,
36; Rawson's, 24, 82; John Sim-
mons, 24; United States Arms, 6;
Vauxhall, 44; Williamson's, 44
Insane, treatment of, 227, 240, 250
Interesting Letters of Pope Clement
XIV, 159
Inventions, 12, 8 1, 82, 83, 84
Isle Inconnue . . . I/, 153
Izard, Ralph, 34, 270, 273, 279
Jail, 24, 35, 77, '97, 200, 201, 204,
2O8, 209, 211, 215, 225, 226, 227
Jay, John, 33, 50, 77, 104, 106, 107,
114, 119, 134, 135, 138, 145, 148,
151, 164, 200, 201, 221, 222, 252,
255, 272, 276, 299, 300
Jay, Mrs. John, 34, 35, 107, 113
Jefferson, Thomas, 8, 105, 116, 156,
166, 170, 192, 241, 281
Jews, 28, 175
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 142, 152, 154,
156, 159, 172, 174, 179, 265
Johnstone, Charles, 151, 164, 166
Journey to China and the East Indies,
(Osbeck), 154
Kames, Lord (Henry Home), 153
King's College, see Columbia College
Kissing Bridge, 10
Knights of Malta (Vertot), 155
Knox, Henry, 34, 60, 93, 108, 145,
230, 235, 256, 258, 272, 274
Knox, Mrs. Henry, 34, 35, 60, 6 1, 107,
1 08
Kunze, John Christopher, 18, 187-8,
190
Labor, 76, 77, 80
Lafayette, Marquis de, 1 1 8
Land values, 72, 73, 74
Law, 37, 203-27
Law of Nations, 135, 138, 147, 148
Lawyers, 68, 74, 75, 146, 203, 210
Lend-Lease (in 1798), 237
L'Enfant, Major Pierre Charles, 264,
266
Le Sage, Alain Ren6, 165
Libraries, 147-54, 156-67
Life of Cook (Jones), 154
Index
3<>7
Life of Putnam, 156
Linn, Rev. William, 150, 153, 180,
183, 184
Literature, 148-67
Lives of the Poets, 152
Livingston, Robert R., 112, 117, 272,
273, 274
Locke, John, 149
Lyttleton, George, 153, 156
Maclay, William, 18, 27, 32, 39, 43,
44, 78, 85, 94, 105, 109, no, 113,
118, 126, 174, 188, 193, 194, 235,
262, 265, 273, 275, 281
MacPherson, James, 167
Madison, James, 192, 253, 254, 265,
276
Magazines, 146, 147, 165, 169
Mante, Thomas, 156
Markets: Bear Market, 98; Catherine
Market, 98; Exchange Market, 98;
Fly Market, 10, 98; Old Swago
(Oswego), 35, 68, 98; Peck Slip,
10, 98
Marmontel, Jean Francois, 165
Marriage Acts, The, 164
McCormick, Daniel, 33, 34
McFingal, 167
Memoirs (of Sully), 159
Memoirs of the Bloomsgrove Family,
165
Memoirs of the Turks and Tartars,
154
Military affairs, 228-37
Mitford, William, 153
Moll Flanders, 164
Monkland, Mrs., 161
Morning Post, 138
Morris, Gouverneur, 74, 171
Morris, Robert, 32, 74, 225
Morton, Mrs. Sarah Wentworth, 165
Moses, Robert, 30/11., 238
Moustier, Count de, 34, 113, "7, 280
Music, 65, 116, 125, 129, 130, 131,
141
Natural History, 158
Negroes, 28, 31, 33, 78, 79, 87, 168,
187, 191, 200
Newport, 13, 14
Newspapers, 47, 50, 52, 54, 57, 59, 64,
81, 90, 115, n6, 123, 129, 130*
131, 136, 138, 139, 140-2, 209, 254
Newton, Sir Isaac, 159
Newtonian Philosophies . . . , 158
New York Society Library, vii, 135,
146, 147, 150, 152, 156, 165
Notes on Virginia, 156
On Air, 158
On the Prophecies, 159
Packet, The, 82, 115, n6, 139, 208
Palmer, Charlotte, 160, 161-4, 166
Pamela, 149, 161
Pease, Levi, 4, 7
Peregrine Pickle, 149, 165
Philadelphia, vi, i, 3, 4, 1 1, 12, 13, 17,
137, 141, 146, 282
Phyfe, Duncan, 96
Pindar, 167
Platonic Guardian . . . , The, 153,
164
Plays (by Dryden), 153
Poems of Ossian, 167
Police, 196, 197-9, 202, 207, 215, 243
Politics, 251-4
Pope, Alexander, 149
Postal Service, 21, 140
Power of Sympathy, or the Triumph
of Nature, 165
Priestley, Joseph, 1 58
Printers, 66, 67, 120, 138, 139, 152,
165
Prisons: Almshouse, 24, 35, 168, 198,
201, 213, 226, 243, 249; jail, 24, 35,
77, 197, 200, 201, 204, 208, 209,
211, 215, 225, 226, 227
Prostitution, 37, 68, 141, 144, *95,
198, 202, 214, 219, 220, 226, 227
Quincy, Josiah, 5
Reading habits of New Yorkers, chap.
xi passim
Real estate, 47, 7 1, 72
Rent, 73, 97
Revolution in Fez and Morocco, 155
Richardson, Samuel, 149, 161
Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, Duke de la,
103, 170
Roman History, 154
Roosevelt, Isaac, 72, 73, 249
Roosevelt, James, 28
Index
Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 149, 159
St. Paul's, 29, 34, 1 06, 119, 178, 184,
185, 186, 276, 277
Sanitation, 30, 31, 36, 245, 246
Schools, 168-79, 2 4 2
Science, 83, 84, 158, 176
Seixas, Rabbi Gershom Mendez, 184,
1 88, 190
Senate, 186, 281
Servants, 92, 93, 96, 97, 98, 123, 125,
205, 217, 218, 226; indentured, 77,
78, 80, 102
Shebbeare, John, 164
Sheridan, Charles Francis, 155
Slaves, 28, 77, 78-80, 96, 141, 168,
205, 226
Slums, 37
Smells, 27, 31, 35
Smith, Adam, 1 58
Smith, Charlotte, 161, 164
Smith, William, 156
Smollett, Tobias George, 149, 153,
164, 165
Smyth, J., 156
Social life, 103-18, 124, 126, 280, 281
Sorrows of Werther, 161
Stagecoaches, 4
State of the Jews in Morocco, The,
(Addison), 155
Sterne, Richard C., 161, 164
Steuben, Baron, 112, 117, 118, 190,
201, 274
Street lighting, 38, 246
Street vendors, 32, 97
Stuyvesant, Peter, 40
Sully, Maximilien de Bethune, Due de,
159
Swift, Jonathan, 149, 152
Swinburne, Henry, 153
Tales (of Marmontel), 165
Tammany, Sons of St., 1 19-22, 252
Temple, Sir John, 33, 62
Theaters, 118, 123-7, *37, H 1
Topsail Town (Canvas Town), 37,
68, 101, 214
Tott, Baron de, 152, 154
Tour from London to Petersburgh and
Moscow (Richard), 155
Tour in the United States, 156
Travel (in 1789), chap, i passim
Travels from Petersburgh in Russia to
Asia, 155
Travels in Africa (Carver), 160
Travels in Germany, Russia, etc.
(Bruce), 155
Travels in Louisiana (Bossu), 156
Travels in Poland, Russia, Sweden,
and Denmark, 155
Travels in the Two Sicilies, 153
Travels through the United States,
i 5 6
Trinity Church, 106, 170, 185, 186,
187, 200
Trumbull, John, 132, 133, 167
Union Library, 148
Unitarian Society, 194
Universal History, 153, 156
Varick, Richard, 215, 218, 221, 222,
242, 251
Vattel, Emmerich de, 135, 138, 147,
148
Vision of Columbus, The, 167
Volney, Constantin, 6
Voltaire, Francois M. Arouet de, 149,
152, 153, 156, 208
Voyage Round the World, 154
Voyage to the Coast of Africa in
1785-178? (Mathew), 155
Voyage to the East Indies, 154
Wages, 75, 77, 80, 96, 97, 98
War in America, 156
Washington, George, v, 6, 7, 10, 15,
16, 30, 32, 40, 41, 42, 43, 82, 87,
88, 93, 94, 96, 98, 99, i<>5, 106,
107-11, 113, 114, 116, 119, 124-8,
133-8, 142, 148, 149, 157, 178, 179,
184, 186, 192, 209, 210, 229-35,
240-1, 254-5, 259-66, 270-81
Washington, Mrs. George, 105-8,
110-13
Wealth of Nations, 158
Webb, Samuel B., 12, 14, 104, 156,
215, 264, 272
Webster, Noah, 34, 70, 104, 147, 165,
171, 188
Wonder, The: A Woman Kept a Se-
cret, 1 66
126627
