Old Taverns of New York

H. B. Fearon, an English traveller, writes in 1817: “There are in New York many hotels, some of which are on an extensive scale. The City Hotel is as large as the London Tavern. The dining room and some of the apartments seem to have been fitted up regardless of expense.” Quite different is the description given by Lieutenant Fred. Fitzgerald De Roos of the Royal Navy, who visited New York in May, 1826. He says: “We lodged at the City Hotel, which is the principal inn at New York. The house is immense and was full of company; but what a wretched place! The floors were without carpets, the beds without curtains; there was neither glass, mug nor cup, and a miserable little rag was dignified with the name of towel. The entrance to the house is constantly obstructed by crowds of people passing to and from the bar-room, where a person presides at a buffet formed upon the plan of a cage. This individual is engaged, ‘from morn to dewy eve,’ in preparing and issuing forth punch and spirits to strange-looking men, who come to the house to read the newspapers and talk politics. In this place may be seen in turn most of the respectable inhabitants of the town. There is a public breakfast at half-past seven o’clock, and a dinner at two o’clock, but to get anything in one’s own room is impossible.” Let us digress and note the happy return of this man to English soil. On his way back to Halifax to join his command, he crossed from Maine to Nova Scotia, stopping in the little town of Windsor. He writes: “Never in my whole life did I more fully appreciate the benefits of our good English customs, or feel in better humor with my country in general, than when I sat down in a clean parlor by myself, to the snug dinner prepared for me by the widow Wilcocks, landlady of a comfortable inn in the good town of Windsor. How different from an American table d’hote! where you are deafened by the clamor, and disgusted by the selfish gluttony of your companions; where you must either bolt your victuals, or starve, from the ravenous rapidity with which everything is dispatched; and where the inattention of the servants is only equalled by their insolence and familiarity.”

Englishmen never forgot that the United States was a brilliant gem plucked from the British crown, and the vein of sarcasm and resentment running through books of travel written by them about this time is apparent; so that their descriptions and opinions should be taken with some allowance for this feeling. Nevertheless, there was a foundation of truth in many of the disagreeable things they said, which made them, on that account, the more irritating to the people of the United States.

The Price-Wilson Duel

About the year 1818 or 1820, there was living for a time at the Washington Hotel, or as it was more generally called Washington Hall, Captain Wilson, of the British army, who, in conversation one day at dinner, remarked that he had been mainly instrumental in bringing about the duel between Major Green and Benjamin Price, and detailed the circumstances leading to it. A few years before this, Benjamin Price, a brother of Stephen Price, lessee and manager of the Park Theater, was at the theatre one evening in the company of a very handsome woman. In the adjoining box was Major Green, a British officer, who took the liberty of turning and staring the lady full in the face, which annoyed her and of which she complained to Price, who, on a repetition of the offense, reached over, caught the officer by the nose and gave it a vigorous twist. The officer soon after knocked at the door of Price’s box, and when he opened it asked him with charming simplicity what he meant by such behavior, at the same time declaring that he had intended no offense, that he had not meant to insult the lady by what he had done. “Oh, very well,” replied Price, “neither did I mean to insult you by what I did.” Upon this they shook hands and it was supposed that the matter was settled and ended. When Major Green returned to his command in Canada the story of this affair followed him or had preceded him and was soon the subject of discussion among his comrades. It was brought to the attention of his brother officers, one of whom, Captain Wilson, insisted that Green should be sent to Coventry unless he returned to New York and challenged Price. This he did after practising with a pistol for five hours a day until he considered himself sufficiently expert. They fought at Weehawken on Sunday, May 12, 1816. Price was killed at the first fire. Spectators viewed the transaction from the neighboring rocks, and a more horrible sight could not have been imagined. The seconds ran off, and Green look a small boat, crossed the river and boarded a vessel about to sail for England.

When the news that Captain Wilson was at the Washington Hotel and a statement of what he had said were carried to Stephen Price, who was lying ill of the gout at his home, his friends say that he obeyed implicitly the instructions of his physician and thereby obtained a short cessation of the gout so that he was able to hobble out of doors, his lower extremities swaddled in flannel. As soon as possible he made his way to the Washington Hotel, where he inquired for Captain Wilson. Ascertaining that he was in, he requested to be shown to his room. With a stout hickory cane in his hand he hobbled upstairs, cursing with equal vehemence the captain and the gout. Arriving at the room, as the captain rose to receive him he said: “Are you Captain Wilson?” “That is my name,” replied the captain. “Sir,” said he, “my name is Stephen Price. You see, sir, that I can scarcely put one foot before the other. I am afflicted with the gout, but sir, I have come here with the deliberate intention of insulting you. Shall I have to knock you down or will you consider what I have said a sufficient insult for the purpose?” “Sir,” replied the captain, smiling, “I shall consider what you have said quite sufficient and shall act accordingly. You shall hear from me.” In due time there came a message from Captain Wilson to Stephen Price; time, place and weapons were appointed. Early one morning, a few days later, a barge left the city in which were seated Stephen Price, Captain Wilson and two friends. They all landed on Bedlow’s Island. Captain Wilson never returned. He fell dead at the first fire. His body was buried on the island and many of his friends thought that he had been lost or died suddenly at sea.

XIV

Road Houses

Prejudice Against Dancing

We have the evidence of persons who lived in the early part of the nineteenth century that among the old Dutch and Puritan families there was a strong prejudice against dancing, especially by young ladies in public places, and there is hardly a doubt that this was much increased by the introduction of the waltz, quite different from the dancing of old colonial days. Notwithstanding this, we find that in the accounts of the balls given on important occasions there does not seem to have been any disinclination to indulge in this pleasing diversion. There were dancing masters, and shortly after the erection of Washington Hall and Tammany Hall they were both being used by the instructors of dancing, and they held in them their “publics,” which appear to have been well attended. Concerts, as formerly, were generally followed by balls.

Bachelors’ Ball

Like the old Province Arms of colonial days, the City Hotel was used for a great many years for the assembly balls. These continued to be held here until after the close of the war of 1812, but a few years later seem to have ceased. It was about this time that, as related by Abram C. Dayton, the old ladies defeated the young men in a contest over dancing. The young men gave a series of sociables at the City Hotel, at which none but subscribers were admitted. Although very select, the old ladies, backed by the minister, denounced them. “The battle for supremacy was bravely waged on both sides, but the old ladies beat Young America and the City Hotel sociables were discontinued.” But it was only a lull. Some years later the social feature was the annual ball given by the young men known as the Bachelors’ Ball. It was the social event of each winter and exceeded anything of the kind ever previously attempted, being very select and gotten up with great care. All the managers wore knee breeches, silk stockings and pumps. The most noted of these was the Bachelors’ Grand Fancy Ball given at the City Hotel on the 18th of March, 1831, which had long been the theme of conversation and the subject of preparation. Philip Hone, in his diary, says that “no expectations had been formed which were not realized by the results. My daughter Mary went as Sweet Anne Page and looked lovely in the part of Leslie’s inimitable picture.” Later the Bachelors’ Balls were given on the evening of St. Valentine’s Day. The tickets, printed on cardboard from elaborately engraved plates, were sold at ten dollars each.

The Forum

For the entertainment of those opposed to dancing there were meetings of the Forum, which were in 1817 at Mechanics’ Hall, corner of Broadway and Park Place, and later at the City Hotel on Friday evenings. The exercises consisted of debates and addresses and the tickets of admission were sold at two shillings each, the debate commencing promptly at seven o’clock. Prominent members of the Forum were J. P. C. Sampson, Orville L. Holley, Thomas G. Fessenden, Hiram Ketchum, Rev. Richard Varick Dey, William Paxton Hallet and Charles G. Haines. At a meeting in the first part of January, 1817, the question discussed was: “Ought Legislative or other aid to be afforded in order to render the United States a Manufacturing nation?” About these meetings Fitz-Greene Halleck has given us a few descriptive lines:

“Resort of fashion, beauty, taste —
The Forum Hall was nightly grac’d
With all who blush’d their hours to waste
At balls – and such ungodly places;
And Quaker girls were there allow’d
To show, among the motley crowd
Their sweet blue eyes and pretty faces.”

A British Veteran

John Batten, the garrulous friend of “Felix Oldboy,” who considered him a valuable repository of reminiscences, was a veteran soldier who had come out with the British troops in the early part of the Revolutionary War. Better educated than the most of his companions in arms, he is said to have taught school in the old Dutch Church while the British occupied New York. He used sometimes to say in a pleasant, joking way: “I fought hard for this country,” and after enjoying the effect produced on his young auditors, who were ready to admire his patriotic devotion, would slowly add, after looking around and winking at some elderly person who knew his history, “but we didn’t get it.”

On one occasion Batten was present at a grand Fourth of July dinner and was taken to be a Revolutionary soldier, as of course, he verily was. The company drank his health in patriotic toasts and at last called upon him to respond. This he did and spoke so touchingly of the events of the war that his audience was very much affected, especially the feminine part of it. Then he said: “Yes, I did fight all through the old Revolution. I fought as bravely as the others. I liked this country and decided to stay here; so, when my regiment was preparing to embark, I slipped over to Long Island and stayed there until they had sailed for England.” The astonished company realized that they had been cheering a British soldier and that Johnny Batten was not the sort of veteran they were accustomed to admire. Batten thought it a good joke.

The Blue Bell

After the war Batten opened a tavern at Jamaica, Long Island, and a few years after he came to New York City, where, in 1786, we find him the landlord of the Blue Bell in Slote Lane. After several changes he settled down at No. 37 Nassau Street, which he kept as a first-class tavern for several years. After this he became a merchant and opened a hosiery store on the west side of Broadway, between Dey and Cortlandt Streets. He was here in 1817. Batten lived to be a very old man. He was one of those they called “Battery Walkers” or “Peep o’ Day Boys,” who used to go down to the Battery at daybreak and walk about until breakfast time.

The City Hotel

When, in 1816, Gibson became landlord of the Merchants’ Hotel in Wall Street, he was succeeded in the City Hotel by Chester Jennings, who was the landlord of the house for more than twenty years. Under his management it acquired a high reputation, and in 1836 he retired with a competency. The very next year his fortune, which had been invested in United States Bank and other stocks, was swept away by the great revulsion of 1837. Samuel G. Mather was landlord of the City Hotel in 1838, but John Jacob Astor, the owner of the house, induced Jennings to again undertake its management with Willard, his former assistant, and together they assumed control of it and succeeded so well that in the course of a few years Jennings had placed himself in a position to retire again in comfort.

During nearly the whole of the first half of the nineteenth century the City Hotel was not only the most celebrated house of entertainment in the city, but travellers declared that it had no equal in the United States. On its register were found the names of the most distinguished men of the nation as well as prominent citizens from every section of the land. It was a plain structure of four stories with no architectural pretensions, and the interior fittings and the furniture were also plain, but good and durable. The dining room was spacious, light, well ventilated, neat and scrupulously clean. The service was good and the table furnished with an abundant supply, selected with the greatest care. Chester Jennings was the unseen partner who provided supplies and superintended the details of the running of the house in all departments except the office. Willard’s duties were in the office, where he was clerk, book-keeper, cashier, bar-keeper and anything necessary. He attended closely to business and was a well known man, though never seen outside of the hotel. Other hotels were built with greater pretensions but the old City Hotel maintained its prestige through all. It had become a general rendezvous for merchants and friends on their return from business to their homes, and there was about it a social atmosphere which could not be transferred. The National Hotel, on the corner of Broadway and Cedar Street, nearly opposite the City Hotel, erected by Joseph Delacroix of Vauxhall Garden, was opened for business in March, 1826, and the Adelphi Hotel, a building six stories high, on the corner of Broadway and Beaver Street, was erected in 1827.

Club at the City Hotel

In the palmy days of the City Hotel there were a number of men who made it their home, or dining place, and, brought together by similarity of tastes or for social enjoyment, had formed a coterie or sort of club. They were all men of some leisure who could afford to sit long after dinner and sip their wine and crack their jokes and discuss the gossip of the town. “This band of jolly good fellows, who lingered day after day for long years over their wine and nuts, were well known characters in the city and were especially familiar to such as visited the City Hotel, where they lived and died.”[6 - Dayton.] Colonel Nick Saltus, a retired merchant of wealth and a confirmed old bachelor, was the acknowledged chairman and spokesman of this peculiar group.

In those days the captains of the packet-ships which sailed twice each month for European ports, were men of much importance. Many of them made the City Hotel their headquarters when in port and became boon-companions of the select coterie of the house, who often, when an arrival was announced at Sandy Hook, would proceed to the Battery to meet their friend who had been commissioned to procure some new gastronomical luxury for the company.

When Billy Niblo had resolved to abandon his Pine Street Coffee House and open a suburban place for refreshment and entertainment on what was then upper Broadway, he invited many of his old customers and friends to the opening of his new garden, among whom were some who were residents of the City Hotel. They accepted the invitation of Niblo and determined that Willard should be one of the company. When the time arrived and he was duly notified he was noticed to be desperately in search of something that he could not find. At last he confessed that he had not been the owner of a hat for many years, and that he had been in search of one which had been long lying around without an owner, but had now disappeared. A hat was procured from a hatter directly opposite and everyone in the neighborhood was quite interested in the fact that Willard was going out.

The cellar of the old hotel is said to have been stocked with wines of the finest brands, selected with the greatest care, which were pronounced by connoisseurs as unsurpassed in purity and flavor, and it was the delight of Chester Jennings to carefully uncork in person some choice variety for a favorite or important guest.

With New Yorkers of an earlier date the dinner hour was at noon, but those returning from abroad and those who wished to imitate the customs of European cities were urgent for a change, and to fall into the line of modern ways the dinner hour of the hotel was gradually moved to three o’clock, although a mid-day meal was served to those who would not conform to the innovation.

Contoit’s Garden

A well known public place of resort in the early part of the nineteenth century was John H. Contoit’s Garden, in 1801 at 39 Greenwich Street, in 1802 at 253 Broadway and in 1806 and for many years after at 355 Broadway, on the west side between Leonard and Franklin Streets, when it was known as the New York Garden. This was a long, narrow plot of ground densely shaded with trees; on either side were ranged boxes or compartments, brightened with whitewash and green paint, in each of which was a plain, bare table with seats to accommodate four persons. It appears to have been an eminently proper place for ladies of a summer afternoon and in the evening, lighted by many globes filled with oil and suspended from the lower branches of the trees, in each of which floated a lighted wick or paper, was well patronized by the ladies and gentlemen of the period. Colored waiters with white jackets and aprons supplied customers with vanilla and lemon ice cream, pound cake and lemonade, which made up the bill of fare. The inexpensive fittings of the place enabled Contoit to serve for a shilling an allowance of ice cream sufficient to satisfy any ordinary appetite and his place became very popular. Although the garden was supposed to be conducted on the temperance plan, it is said that wine or even cognac could be obtained without difficulty by those who knew how.

The Bank Coffee House

In 1814 William Niblo, an enterprising young man, who afterwards became well known as a landlord, opened the Bank Coffee House in the house formerly occupied by Frederick Phillips, a retired British officer, on the corner of Pine and William Streets, in the rear of the Bank of New York. He was the son-in-law of David King, a well known tavern-keeper, who for many years kept a tavern in the little frame house at No. 9 Wall Street and some years later at No. 6 Slote Lane. Niblo’s house soon became very popular. A group of prominent merchants met here regularly, forming themselves into a sort of club, with a president and other officers. It was a famous place for dinners and dinner parties. On the news of peace at the close of the war of 1812, Niblo issued a card under date of February 20, 1815, from the Bank Coffee House, stating that “William Niblo, in unison with the universal joy at the return of Peace, invites his friends to regale themselves at his Collation on Tuesday at 11 o’clock, in celebration of this happy event.” In the great cholera epidemic of 1822 he removed his coffee house to the village of Greenwich and it was there the office of the Union Line to Philadelphia, the Boston Mail Coach and the New Haven Steamboat Line, where passengers were notified to apply for seats.

The Great Horse Race

When the great horse-race of May, 1823, between the northern horse Eclipse and the southern horse Henry took place on the Union Course, Long Island, Niblo rented the building on the grounds belonging to the “Association for the Promotion of the Breed of Horses,” where he offered to serve refreshments of all kinds, especially Green Turtle, at all hours during the races. He also announced that at the termination of the match race he would dispatch a rider on a fleet horse with the result, which would be made known by displaying a white flag from the top of the Bank Coffee House if Eclipse should be victorious. If his opponent should win the race a red flag would be raised. By this arrangement the result, he stated, would be known in the city in about forty minutes after the race. Should the race not take place the United States flag would be displayed. This great horse-race attracted to New York City people from all parts of the country; the hotels and boarding houses were full to overflowing and the demand for vehicles of all or any kind was away beyond what could be supplied. It was estimated that there were as many as fifty thousand people at the race-course. The wager was twenty thousand dollars a side and excitement was very great.

Niblo’s Garden

William Niblo opened a restaurant and pleasure garden or rural resort in 1828 at the corner of Prince Street and Broadway which he called Sans Souci. In the middle of the block, north of Prince Street on Broadway, were two brick houses, one of which had been occupied for some time by James Fenimore Cooper, the novelist. In the rear of these was a large building which had been used by a circus called The Stadium. Niblo occupied all these premises. The interior of the garden was spacious and adorned with shrubs and flowers; cages with singing birds were here and there suspended from the branches of trees, beneath which were placed seats with small tables where were served ice cream, wine negus and cooling lemonade; it was lighted in the evening by numerous clusters of many-colored glass lamps.

Shortly after Niblo had established himself in this place the new Bowery Theatre burned down and Charles Gilfert, the manager, opened a summer theater in the old circus building, then still standing in the middle of Niblo’s Garden, where he gave theatrical performances, while his own theatre was being rebuilt, which was done in ninety days. Niblo continued to give here theatrical performances of a gay and attractive character which became so popular that he was induced to erect a new building with a blank wall on Broadway, the entrance being made from the garden. The garden was entered from Broadway. Some years later, this was destroyed by fire, but it was succeeded by another theatre, one of the finest in the city, with entrance from Broadway, and known for a great many years as Niblo’s Garden, although there was no garden attached to it.

About the year 1820 there stood on the corner of Thames and Temple Streets an ale house kept by William Reynolds, which became a favorite place for Englishmen in the city and the resort of many prominent merchants and politicians on account of the quality of the steaks and chops served up in this small and unpretentious looking place. Fitz-Greene Halleck frequented the place and formed a friendship for the gruff Englishman and his family which lasted for life. When Reynolds gave up the business and retired to Fort Lee, New Jersey, Halleck was there a frequent and welcome visitor. The old chop-house maintained a reputation for many years under the management of Reynolds’ successors.

Road Houses

On or near the old Boston Post Road, of which Bowery Lane and the Kingsbridge Road formed a part, there were taverns that gradually became rendezvous for those who drove out on the road for pleasure or diversion. While the old-fashioned chaise and gig were in use, the driver’s seat in a box directly over the axle, there was little desire or demand for a fast road horse. The great popularity of the trotter began with the introduction of the light wagon or buggy with elliptic steel springs. Before this period practically the only fast trotting was done under the saddle.

As early as 1818, the first trotting match against time of which we have any knowledge, took place on the Jamaica turnpike and was won by Boston Blue, or, as some say, by the Boston Pony, on a wager of one thousand dollars that no horse could be produced that could trot a mile in three minutes. The first race between trotters of which we have definite record took place in 1823 between Topgallant, owned by M. D. Green, and Dragon, owned by T. Carter. The course was from Brooklyn to Jamaica, a distance of twelve miles, and the race was won by Topgallant in thirty-nine minutes. The next year Topgallant, fourteen years old, won a three-mile race for stakes of two thousand dollars on the turnpike against Washington Costar’s Betsy Baker, doing the distance in eight minutes and forty-two seconds.

The advent of the light wagon created a great desire in those who drove out on the road to own a fast trotting horse. There was great rivalry and excitement and many of the wayside inns, formerly very quiet places, blossomed into profitable notoriety. The meeting of congenial spirits at these places, the gossiping of groups where the talk was all of the horse, the stories of the speed and stamina of the rival trotters produced much entertainment; matches were made at these places and decided on the road nearby.

For nearly half a century Cato Alexander kept a house of entertainment on the old Boston Post Road about four miles from the city. Cato had a great reputation for his “incomparable” dinners and suppers which brought to his house everybody who owned a rig or could occasionally hire one to drive out to his place. After Third Avenue was laid out and macadamized a bend in the old Post Road extending from Forty-fifth Street to Sixty-fifth Street was for some time kept open and in use. On this bend of the old road Cato’s house was situated and it became known as Cato’s Lane. It was about a mile long and was a great spurting place for drivers of fast horses. Among the reminiscences of those who used to go to Cato’s in these days is the fact that Cato sold cigars – real cigars and good ones, too – at the rate of five for a shilling (12½ cents) and pure brandy, such as can not now be obtained on the road at any price, at six pence (6¼ cents) per glass. When the trotting horse became popular Cato’s became one of the noted halting places. Cato was black, but his modest, unpretending dignity of manner “secured for his humble house such a widespread reputation that for years it was one of the prominent resorts of our citizens and attracted many of the prominent sightseers who made pilgrimages to the island of Manhattan.”[7 - Dayton.]

On Yorkville Hill at Eighty-second Street was the Hazzard House, famous in its day as being the resort of those who delighted in speed and loved to indulge in the talk of the horse to be heard at such places. Its stables were generally filled with horses awaiting purchasers, whose merits and good points were told of in a manner so truthful, so confidential, so convincing that purchases were numerous. In 1835, and until a much later period, Third Avenue was a magnificent drive, being macadamized from Twenty-eighth Street to the Harlem River, and was much used by our sporting citizens of that period. Races were of almost daily occurrence and the Hazzard House was the center of much activity in that line.

About a mile further up, at One Hundred and Fifth Street, a lane on the east side of the avenue led down to the celebrated Red House, located on a plot of many acres. The main building was the old McGown house of colonial days, roomy and well adapted to a road house. On the place was a well kept half-mile trotting course, which offered extraordinary inducements to horse owners and consequently made it a popular resort. One of its earliest proprietors was Lewis Rogers, who is described by Abram C. Dayton as a dapper little man, always dressed in the tip of fashion and as neat and trim in the appointments of his house as in his personal attire.

One mile beyond the Red House was Bradshaw’s, on the corner of Third Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, not far from Harlem Bridge, and for most the turning point of their drive. A long rest was taken here by many who made it the only stopping place on the road, consequently, on a favorable day for driving it was crowded. Widow Bradshaw was noted for her chicken fricassee, universally acknowledged to be a marvel of excellence.

On the Bloomingdale Road, a more quiet drive and more used by those who took with them their families or ladies, was Burnham’s Mansion House, at first, as early as 1825, at Seventieth Street, and at a later period the fine Vanderheuval mansion and grounds at Seventy-eighth Street. This was fitly styled the family house on the drive and on fine summer afternoons the spacious grounds were filled with ladies and children who sauntered about at their leisure and convenience, having no fear of annoyance.