Lights and Shadows of New York Life

J >> James D. McCabe >> Lights and Shadows of New York Life

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"When night came, Broad street and its vicinity saw an unwonted sight.
The silence and the darkness which ever rests over the lower city after
seven of the evening, was broken by the blaze of gas-light from a hundred
windows, and the footfall of clerks hurrying from a hasty repast back to
their desks. Until long after Trinity bells pealed out the dawn of a new
day, men bent over their books, scrutinized the Clearing-House statement
for the morrow, took what thought was possible for the future. At the
Gold Exchange Bank the weary accountants were making ineffective efforts
to complete Thursday's business. That toilful midnight, at the close of
the last great passion-day of the bullion-worshippers, will be ever
memorable for its anxieties and unsatisfying anguish.

[Picture: BROAD STREET ON BLACK FRIDAY.]

"Saturday brought no relief. The Gold Board met only to adjourn, as the
Clearing-House had been incapable of the task of settling its accounts,
complicated as they were by ever fresh failures. The small brokers had
gone under by scores. The rumors of the impending suspension of some of
the largest houses of the street gave fresh grounds for fear. The Stock
Exchange was now the centre of attraction. If that yielded, all was
lost. To sustain the market was vital. But whence was the saving power
to came? All through yesterday shares had been falling headlong. New
York Central careened to 148, and then recovered to 185.75. Hudson
plunged from 173 to 145. Pittsburgh fell to 68. Northwest reached 62.5.
The shrinkage throughout all securities had been not less than thirty
millions. Would the impulse downward continue? The throngs which filled
the corridors and overhung the stairway from which one can look down upon
the Long Room saw only mad tumult, heard only the roar of the biddings.
For any certain knowledge they might have been in Alaska. But the
financial public in the quiet of their offices, and nervously
scrutinizing the prices reeled off from the automaton telegraph, saw that
Vanderbilt was supporting the New York stocks, and that the weakness in
other shares was not sufficient to shadow forth panic. It soon became
known that the capitalists from Philadelphia, Boston, and the great
Western cities had thrown themselves into the breach, and were earning
fortunes for themselves as well as gratitude from the money-market, by
the judicious daring of their purchases. The consciousness of this new
element was quieting, but Wall street was still too feverish to be
reposed by any ordinary anodyne. A run on the Tenth National Bank had
commenced, and all day long a steady line of dealers filed up to the
counter of the paying teller demanding their balances. The courage and
the ability in withstanding the attack which were shown by the president
and his associates deserve something more than praise. The Gold Exchange
Bank witnessed a similar scene, angry brokers assaulting the clerks and
threatening all possible things unless instantaneous settlements were
made. The freedom with which the press had given details of the
explosion had been extremely hurtful to the credit of many of the best
houses. In a crisis like that of Black Friday the sluice-gates of
passion open. Cloaked in the masquerade of genuine distrust, came forth
whispers whose only origin was in ancient enmities, long-treasured
spites, the soundless depths of unquenchable malignities. Firms of
staunchest reputation felt the rapier-stroke of old angers. The
knowledge that certain houses were large holders of particular stocks was
the signal of attacks upon the shares. Despite of outside orders for
vast amounts, these influences had their effect upon securities, and
aided to tighten the loan market. One, one and a half, two, and even
four per cent. were the compulsory terms on which money could alone be
borrowed to carry stocks over Sunday.

"On Monday the 27th the Gold Board met, but only to be informed that the
Clearing-House was not yet ready to complete the work of Friday.
Important accounts had been kept back, and the dealings, swollen in
sum-total to five hundred millions, were beyond the capacity of the
clerical force of the Gold Bank to grapple with. A resolution was
brought forward proposing the resumption of operations Ex-Clearing-House.
The measure took the members by surprise, for a moment quivered between
acceptance and rejection, and then was swiftly tabled. It was an immense
Bear scheme, for no exchange can transact business where its dealers are
under suspicion. All outstanding accounts require immediate fulfilment.
Failure to make good deliveries would have insured the instant selling
out of defaulters 'under the rule.' As the majority of brokers were
inextricably involved in the late difficulty, the only consequence would
have been to throw them into bankruptcy, thus bringing some $60,000,000
under the hammer. The market could not have borne up under such an
avalanche. It was decided that the Room should be kept open for
borrowings and loans, but that all dealings should be suspended. One
result of this complication was that gold had no fixed value. It could
be bought at one house for 133 and at other offices sold for 139. The
Board thus proved its utility at the very juncture when least in favor."

XVI. THE FERRIES.

Including the Harlem, Staten Island, and Elizabethport routes, there are
about twenty-five lines of ferries plying between New York and the
adjacent shores. Ten of these lines are to Brooklyn, two to Hunter's
Point, two to Green Point, one to Mott Haven, and one to Harlem, all in
the East River; and five to Jersey City, one to Weehawken, one to Fort
Lee, two to Staten Island, and one to Elizabethport, all in the North
River. Thus there are sixteen lines in the East River, and ten in the
North River. The boats are large side-wheel vessels, capable of carrying
pedestrians, horses and vehicles. The fare to the Jersey shore is three
cents, to Brooklyn two, and to Harlem and Staten Island ten cents. On
some of the lines the boats ply every five minutes; on others the
intervals are longer. The Staten Island and Harlem boats start every
hour.

The boats are generally handsome, as well as large. Nearly all are
lighted with gas, and at least a score of them are to be seen in the
stream at any time. At night, with their many colored lamps, they give
to the river quite a gala appearance. The Fulton, Barclay, and
Courtlandt street lines run their boats all night. The others run from 4
A.M. until midnight. The travel on the various lines is immense. The
aggregate is said, by reliable authority, to be upwards of 200,000
persons per day, or about 75,000,000 per annum. Many of the boats carry
from 800 to 1000 passengers at a single trip.

During the summer it is pleasant enough to cross either of the rivers
which encircle the island, but in the winter such travelling is very
dangerous. Storms of snow, fogs, and floating ice interfere very greatly
with the running of the boats, and render accidents imminent. Collisions
are frequent during rough or thick weather, and the ice sometimes sweeps
the boats for miles out of their course. The East River is always more
or less crowded with vessels of all kinds, either in motion or at anchor,
and even in fair weather it requires the greatest skill on the part of
the pilot to avoid collisions.

Tens of thousands of people enter and leave the great city daily by means
of the ferries. The country for twenty miles around the city is built up
by persons who earn their bread in New York, and morning and evening they
pass between their places of business and their homes. You may recognize
them as they come into the city in the morning, or as they leave it at
the close of the day. Towards five o'clock vast swarms of working-men
pour over the river, followed at six and seven by the factory and shop
girls, the clerks and salesmen in the retail houses and offices, and from
these the newsboys reap a harvest for the two-penny papers. Every one
has his newspaper, and all who can find the necessary space on the
ferry-boat economize their time by reading the news as they cross the
river. Later still come the clerks in the wholesale houses, and later
still the great merchants themselves. Between nine and ten the Wall
street men put in an appearance, and later yet the great capitalists,
residing out of the city, begin to show themselves. From eight o'clock
the great dailies are in demand, and the newsboys have scarcely a call
for the cheap papers. Towards noon the idlers and ladies bent on
shopping expeditions cross over, and for a few hours the ferries are
comparatively dull. Towards four o'clock in the afternoon, however, the
tide flows back again, but in reverse order. The richest come first, for
their working hours are short, and the poorest extend the crowd into the
hours of darkness. Night brings another flow and ebb of
pleasure-seekers, theatre-goers, etc., so that the midnight boats go
almost as full as those of the early evening. Then a few stragglers
avail themselves of the boats that ply between midnight and morning.
They are mostly journalists, actors, or printers employed in the
newspaper offices.

With the first light of dawn, and frequently long before the darkness has
passed away, the market farmers and gardeners of Long Island and New
Jersey crowd the boats with their huge wagons heavily loaded with
vegetables and fruits for the city markets. They come in throngs, and
the approaches to the ferries in Brooklyn and Jersey City are lined for
blocks with their wagons. They are mostly Germans, but they show a
decidedly American quality in the impatience they manifest at the delays
to which they are subjected. On the lower Jersey ferries, they are often
followed by droves of cattle, many of which have come from the Far West,
all wending their way to the slaughter houses of New York.

The New York approaches to the ferries are always "jammed" with wagons
and trucks. The luckless "foot-passenger" must take the chances of
reaching the boat in time, and often must incur no little risk in making
his way through the crowd of vehicles. The police try hard to keep these
approaches free, but the throng is too great for them, and they have all
they can do in seeing after the safety of the "foot-passengers." A man
on foot has no rights that a New York driver is bound to respect, and
Jehu thinks it no harm to run over any one who gets in his way.

The ferries are good places to study human nature, for all classes use
them. You see here the poor, pale working girl, whom toil and poverty
are making prematurely old, and the blooming lady of fashion; the beggar
and the millionaire; the honest laborer and the thief; the virtuous
mother and her children, and the brazen courtezan and her poodle dog.
You can tell them all by their appearance and aspect, for here they enjoy
a few moments of enforced idleness, and during that time they are natural
in expression and attitude.

At night, the scene to be witnessed from these boats is very striking.
The waters are dark and the current is strong, and the dash of the waves
against the side of the boat is like the noise of the great ocean.
Through the darkness you may dimly discern the stern outline of the
cities on either side, with the forests of masts which line them rising
from the dark hulls at the piers. The shadowy forms of vessels at anchor
in the stream, each with its warning light, rise up and disappear as if
by magic as you dart past them. On the shore the many colored lights
mark the various ferry houses, and similar lights are flashing about the
stream like fire-flies as the boats pass from shore to shore. Back of
the ferry houses the long rows of lights in the cities stretch away into
the distance, and high over all gleams the round white face of the
illuminated clock on the City Hall in New York. The breeze is fresh and
keen, and comes in laden with the sighing of the mighty ocean so near at
hand.

The people standing out on the open deck are silent, impressed by the
fascination of the scene. Hark! there is a splash at the side of the
boat, a white figure gleams one moment on the crest of the waves, and
then sinks under the dark waters. The bell strikes sharply, and the boat
stops suddenly. Life-preservers are thrown overboard, and lights gleam
along the side of the boat. There is no sign of the unfortunate girl who
has so rashly sought peace, and the waters will hold her in their cold
embrace till the sea gives up its dead. All search is hopeless, and the
boat speeds on, a dumb horror holding its occupants mute.

In a fog, the scene is exciting beyond description. The passengers
throng the forward end of the boat, and strive with eager eyes to pierce
the dense mist which enshrouds the stream and hides the shore from view.
From either side the hoarse clangor of the ferry bells, tolling their
number, comes floating through the mist, to guide the pilot to his
destination, and all around, on every hand, steamers are shrieking their
shrill signals to each other. The boat moves slowly and with caution,
and the pilot strains both eye and ear to keep her in the right course.
One single error of judgment on his part, and the boat might go crashing
into a similar steamer, or into one of the vessels lying in the stream.
It is a moment of danger, and those who are used to the river know it.
You could hear a pin drop in the silent crowd on the deck. If men speak
at all, they do so in low, subdued tones. There is a sharp whistle on
the right, and the boat suddenly stops. You hear the splashing of paddle
wheels, and the next moment a huge steamer dashes past you in the mist.
You can hear her, but the fog hides her. Then the boat goes ahead again,
and gradually the fog bells on the shore grow louder and clearer, and in
a little while the dock bursts suddenly upon you, so spectral and
unearthly in its appearance that you hardly recognize it. The boat now
glides swiftly into her "slip," and a sigh of relief breaks from the
throng on board. The danger is over.

The boats carry such crowds that an accident to any of them is a terrible
affair. The collision at the Fulton Ferry in 1868, and the terrible
explosion of the Westfield in 1871, were attended with great loss of
life. The injuries were none of them slight, and the disasters were of
such magnitude as to throw a general gloom over the community.

XVII. THE HOTELS.

New York is the paradise of hotels. In no other city do they flourish in
such numbers, and nowhere else do they attain such a degree of
excellence. The hotels of New York naturally take the lead of all others
in America, and are regarded by all who have visited them as models of
their kind.

It is said that there are from six to seven hundred hotels of all kinds
in the City of New York. These afford accommodations for persons of
every class, and are more or less expensive, according to the means of
their guests. Of these, only about fifty are well known, even in the
city, and only about twenty-five come under the head of "fashionable."
The principal hotels are, beginning down town, the Astor, St. Nicholas,
Metropolitan, Grand Central, Brevoort, New York, St. Denis, Spingler,
Everett, Clarendon, Westminster, Glenham, Fifth Avenue, Hoffman,
Albemarle, St. James, Coleman, Sturtevant, Gilsey, Grand, and St. Cloud.
These are the largest, handsomest, and best kept houses in the city.
Each has its characteristics and its special customers, and each in its
way is worth studying.

The _Astor House_ is one of the oldest hotels in the city. It is built
of granite, and occupies an entire block on Broadway, from Vesey to
Barclay streets. It is immediately opposite the _Herald_ office, and the
new Post-office. It was built by John Jacob Astor, and presented by him
to his son William. It was opened for business in 1831, by Colonel
Charles A. Stetson, the present proprietor, and for twenty years was the
leading hotel of the country. In those days no one had seen New York
unless he had "put up at the Astor." People talked of it all over the
country, and in all our leading cities monster hotels began to appear,
modelled upon the same general plan. Those were the palmy days of the
Astor, and if one could write their history in full, it would be a record
worth reading. The old registers of the house would be valuable for the
autographs they contain, for there was scarcely a great or distinguished
man of those days but had written his name in Colonel Stetson's book.

[Picture: THE ASTOR HOUSE.]

The house had from the first a strong flavor of politics about it. The
leading statesmen of the country were always there in greater or less
force, and their admirers kept up a continuous throng of comers and
goers. The house had a decided leaning towards the Whig Party, and
finally it became their New York headquarters. For thirty years Thurlow
Weed boarded here, and the caucuses, committee meetings, and intrigues of
various kinds the old house has witnessed, would fill a volume with their
history. The Astor still keeps its political character, and is one of
the Republican strongholds of the city. It is safe to assert that very
few Democrats now inscribe their names on its register, if they are free
to seek quarters elsewhere.

The misfortune of the Astor is that it is too far down town to be a
fashionable house. It is admirably located for merchants and others who
have business in the lower part of the city, and to whom time is of
value. A few old-time folks, who knew the house in its palmy days, still
stop there, and many whose political faith is in sympathy with that of
the proprietor, make it a matter of conscience to patronize the house,
and Colonel Stetson's well-earned popularity brings him other guests.
Although its glories have faded, the Astor is still a successful hotel,
but in popularity with the general public, it has long since been
eclipsed by the _up town hotels_.

The _St. Nicholas_ is one of the best houses in the city. It shows a
handsome marble front on Broadway, with a brown stone extension on the
same thoroughfare to Prince street, and extends back to Mercer street.
It is handsomely furnished, and is kept on a scale of comfort and
magnificence worthy of its fame. Its spacious halls and sitting-rooms,
on the street floor, furnish one of the most popular lounging places in
the city. Towards nightfall they are full to overflowing. The table is
said, by the lovers of good living, to be the best served of any house in
the city. The hotel is always full, and is very profitable to its
proprietors. It is said to pay better in proportion to its expenses than
any of its rivals. It is much liked by the Western people, who come here
in crowds. There is also a dashing element about its guests which gives
to it its peculiar reputation in the city. It is popularly believed to
be the headquarters of "Shoddy," and certain it is that one sees among
its habitues an immense number of flashily dressed, loud-voiced,
self-asserting people.

The _Metropolitan_ is a handsome brown stone edifice, situated at the
northeast corner of Broadway and Prince street. It extends back to
Crosby street, and has a frontage of about 300 feet on Broadway. It is
one of the most elegant hotels in the city, in every respect. It
contains about 400 rooms, and is always full. It is very popular with
army officers, with Californians and the people of the mining States and
Territories, as well as with the New Englanders. Capitalists and
railroad managers also have a fondness for it. "Shoddy" is to be seen
here also in great force.

[Picture: ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL.]

The _New York Hotel_ is a plain red brick structure, occupying the entire
block bounded by Broadway and Mercer street, and East Washington and
Waverley Places. It has recently been refitted and improved, and is one
of the most comfortable houses in the city. In one respect, it may be
regarded as the counterpart of the Astor, since like that hotel, it is
noted for its political complexion. It is the favorite stopping place of
the Democratic politicians visiting the city, and is mainly patronized by
members of that party. It is very popular with the Southern people,
large numbers of whom come here to spend the summer, to escape from the
heat of their climate, or to pass the winter to enjoy the delights of the
city. The guests of the New York generally stay a long time, and the
house is said to do a good business.

The _Grand Central_, on Broadway, between Bleecker and Amity streets, and
extending back to Mercer street, is a new house. It was opened in
August, 1870, and is the largest hotel in America. It rises to a height
of eight stories, or 127 feet, exclusive of the Mansard roof, above the
street. Including the central dome, it is ten stories in height. The
fitting up of the house is very handsome and elaborate, the furniture and
decorations having cost over half a million of dollars. The dining-room
will seat 600 persons at once.

The _Fifth Avenue Hotel_, at the junction of Broadway and Fifth avenue,
and between Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth streets, is generally regarded
as the best house in the city. It occupies the most conspicuous location
in New York, and is one of the finest buildings of its kind in the world.
It is constructed of white marble, is six stories in height, above
ground, and fronts on Fifth avenue, Broadway, Twenty-third and
Twenty-fourth streets. The land and building are valued at over
$1,000,000, and are owned by Mr. Amos R. Eno, by whom the house was
built. The proprietors are Messrs. Hitchcock, Darling & Co.

The hotel was begun in 1857, Mr. Eno having more faith in the rapid
growth and prosperity of the city than most persons had at that day. The
wise heads laughed him to scorn, and called his house "Eno's folly."
They said it might make a popular summer resort, but would never take
rank as a first class city hotel. It was too high up town. Undismayed
by these criticisms, Mr. Eno went on with his work, and in 1860, the
marble palace, to which he gave the name of the _Fifth Avenue Hotel_, was
opened to the public. By this time the city had grown so fast as to make
the need of this house imperative, but the first years of the war laid a
burden upon it which only the most skilful financial management could
overcome.

The hotel is the most perfectly appointed in the city. The ground floor
along Broadway and Fifth avenue is let out in stores. The main entrance
is on Fifth avenue, and is ornamented with a fine marble porch. From
this, the visitor enters into the spacious reception hall, tiled with
marble and handsomely frescoed. A marble counter at the lower end
encloses the offices of the hotel, and on this counter is laid the
Visitor's Register, of which several fresh pages are filled daily with
the names of new-comers. Opposite the office are the stairs leading to
the basement, in which are the billiard-rooms, storerooms, etc., of the
house. The hall upon which the office opens extends through to the rear
of the building. On the south side of this hall is the reading-room, in
which are to be found the daily papers of the leading cities of the
Union. Opposite the reading-room is the bar-room, one of the most
elegant apartments of the house, and beyond this is the handsome and
well-appointed barber-shop. There is a private entrance on Twenty-fourth
street, used mainly by gentlemen, another on Twenty-third street, and
still another on Broadway. Each is in charge of a door-keeper, whose
duty it is to exclude improper personages. Along the Twenty-third street
side are suites of private apartments on the ground floor, occupied by
permanent boarders.

The various floors are reached by means of an "elevator," the first ever
used in this country. Similar arrangements are now in use in all the
large hotels. The main stairway commences immediately opposite the
office. It is of white marble, and massive in its design. Ascending it
the visitor finds himself in a spacious hall, at one end of which is a
corridor at right angles to this hall. At the end nearest the stairs is
the dining-room, a magnificent apartment. When the tables are filled
with a handsomely dressed throng of guests at the dinner hour, this room
presents one of the most brilliant sights that can be witnessed on the
continent. The bill of fare comprises literally everything that is in
season. Back of the dining-room is the kitchen, an immense
establishment. Everything connected with it goes on like clock-work,
however, so perfect is the system upon which it is managed. Beneath the
kitchen are the machines for warming and ventilating the hotel. By means
of these a perfectly comfortable temperature is maintained in all parts
of the house, and the smells of the kitchen are kept out of the halls and
chambers.