Next to Broadway, the most thoroughly characteristic street in the city
is the Bowery. Passing out of Printing House Square, through Chatham
street, one suddenly emerges from the dark, narrow lane, into a broad
square, with streets radiating from it to all parts of the city. It is
not over clean, and has an air of sharpness and repulsiveness that at
once attracts attention. This is Chatham Square, the great promenade of
the old time denizens of the Bowery, and still largely frequented by the
class generally known as "the fancy."
At the upper end of the square begins a broad, flashy-looking street,
stretching away to the northward, crowded with pedestrians, street cars,
and wheeled vehicles of all kinds. This is The Bowery. It begins at
Chatham Square, and extends as far as the Cooper Institute, on Eighth
street, where the Third and Fourth avenues--the first on the east, and
the other on the west side of the Institute--continue the thoroughfare to
the Harlem River.
The Bowery first appears in the history of New York under the following
circumstances. About the year 1642 or 1643, it was set apart by the
Dutch for the residence of superannuated slaves, who, having served the
Government faithfully from the earliest period of the settlement of the
island, were at last allowed to devote their labors to the support of
their dependent families, and were granted parcels of land embracing from
eight to twenty acres each. The Dutch were influenced by other motives
than charity in this matter. The district thus granted was well out of
the limits of New Amsterdam, and they were anxious to make this negro
settlement a sort of breakwater against the attacks of the Indians, who
were beginning to be troublesome. At this time the Bowery was covered
with a dense forest. A year or two later farms were laid out along its
extent. These were called "Boweries," from which the street derives its
present name. They were held by men of mark, in those simple and honest
days. To the north of Chatham Square lay the broad lands of the De
Lanceys, and above them the fine estates of the Dyckmans, and Brevoorts,
all on the west of the present street. On the east side lay the lands of
the Rutgers, Bayards, Minthornes, Van Cortlandts and others. Above all
these lay the "Bouwerie" and other possessions of the strong-headed and
hard-handed Governor Peter Stuyvesant, of whom many traces still exist in
the city. His house stood about where St. Mark's (Episcopal) Church is
now located. In 1660, or near about that year, a road or lane was laid
off through what are now Chatham street, Chatham Square and the Bowery,
from the Highway, as the portion of Broadway beyond the line of Wall
street was called, to Governor Stuyvesant's farm. To this was given the
distinctive name of the "Bowery lane." Some years later this lane was
continued up the island under the name of the "Boston Road." In 1783 the
Bowery again came into prominent notice. On the 25th of November of that
year, the American army, under General Washington, marched into the
Bowery early in the morning, and remained until noon, when the British
troops evacuated the city and its defences. This done, the Americans
marched down the Bowery, through Chatham and Pearl streets, to the
Battery, where they lowered the British flag which had been left flying
by the enemy, and hoisted in its place the "stars and stripes" of the new
Republic.
After the city began to extend up the island, the Bowery commenced to
lose caste. Decent people forsook it, and the poorer and more
disreputable classes took possession. Finally, it became notorious. It
was known all over the country for its roughs or "Bowery B'hoys," as they
were called, its rowdy firemen, and its doubtful women. In short, it was
the paradise of the worst element of New York. On this street the Bowery
boy was in his glory. You might see him "strutting along like a king"
with his breeches stuck in his boots, his coat on his arm, his flaming
red shirt tied at the collar with a cravat such as could be seen nowhere
else; with crape on his hat, the hat set deftly on the side of his head,
his hair evenly plastered down to his skull, and a cigar in his mouth.
If he condescended to adorn his manly breast with any ornament it was
generally a large gold or brass figure representing the number of "der
mersheen" with which he ran. None so ready as he for a fight, none so
quick to resent the intrusion of a respectable man into his haunts. So
he had money enough to procure his peculiar garb, a "mersheen" to run
with and fight for, a girl to console him, the "Old Bowery Theatre" to
beguile him from his ennui, and the Bowery itself to disport his glory
in, he was content. Rows were numerous in this quarter, and they
afforded him all the other relaxation he desired. If there be any truth
in the theories of Spiritualism, let us be sure his ghost still haunts
the Bowery.
And the Bowery girl--who shall describe her? She was a "Bowery b'hoy" in
petticoats; unlike him in this, however, that she loved the greatest
combination of bright colors, while he clung religiously to red and
black. Her bonnet was a perfect museum of ribbons and ornaments, and it
sat jauntily on the side of her head. Her skirts came to the shoe top
and displayed her pretty feet and well-turned ankle, equipped with
irreproachable gaiters and the most stunning of stockings. One arm swung
loosely to the motion of her body as she passed along with a quick, lithe
step, and the other held just over her nose her parasol, which was
sometimes swung over the right shoulder. Even the Bowery boy was
overcome by her stunning appearance, and he forgot his own glory in his
genuine admiration of his girl.
Well! they have passed away. The street cars, the new police, and the
rapid advance of trade up the island, have made great changes here, but
there are still left those who could tell many a wondrous tale of the old
time glories of the Bowery.
The street runs parallel with Broadway, is about double the width of that
thoroughfare, and is about one mile in length. It is tolerably well
built, and is improving in this respect every year. In connection with
Chatham Square it is the great route from the lower end of the island to
Harlem Bridge. Nearly all the east side street car lines touch it at
some point, and the Third avenue line traverses its entire length. It
lies within a stone's throw of Broadway, but is entirely different from
it in every respect. Were Broadway a street in another city the
difference could not be greater.
[Picture: THE BOWERY]
The Bowery is devoted mainly to the cheap trade. The children of Israel
abound here. The display of goods in the shops flashy, and not often
attractive. Few persons who have the means to buy elsewhere care to
purchase an article in the Bowery, as those familiar with it know there
are but few reliable dealers in the street. If one were to believe the
assertions of the Bowery merchants as set forth in their posters and hand
bills, with which they cover the fronts of their shops, they are always
on the verge of ruin, and are constantly throwing their goods away for
the benefit of their customers. They always sell at a "ruinous
sacrifice;" yet snug fortunes are realized here, and many a Fifth avenue
family can look back to days passed in the dingy back room of a Bowery
shop, while papa "sacrificed" his wares in front. Sharp practice rules
in the Bowery, and if beating an unwilling customer into buying what he
does not want is the highest art of the merchant, then there are no such
salesmen in the great city as those of this street. Strangers from the
country, servant girls, and those who, for the want of means, are forced
to put up with an inferior article, trade here. As a general rule, the
goods sold here are of an inferior, and often worthless quality, and the
prices asked are high, though seemingly cheap.
Pawnbrokers' shops, "Cheap Johns," third-class hotels, dance houses,
fifth-rate lodging houses, low class theatres, and concert saloons,
abound in the lower part of the street.
The Sunday law is a dead letter in the Bowery. Here, on the Sabbath, one
may see shops of all kinds--the vilest especially--open for trade. Cheap
clothing stores, concert saloons, and the most infamous dens of vice are
in full blast. The street, and the cars traversing it, are thronged with
the lower classes in search of what they call enjoyment. At night all
the places of amusement are open, and are crowded to excess. Roughs,
thieves, fallen women, and even little children throng them. Indeed it
is sad to see how many children are to be found in these places. The
price of admission is low, and strange as it may sound, almost any beggar
can raise it. People have no idea how much of the charity they lavish on
street beggars goes in this way. The amusement afforded at these places
ranges from indelicate hints and allusions to the grossest indecency.
Along the line of almost the entire street are shooting galleries, some
of which open immediately upon the street. They are decorated in the
most fanciful style, and the targets represent nearly every variety of
man and beast. Here is a lion, who, if hit in the proper place, will
utter a truly royal roar. Here is a trumpeter. Strike his heart with
your shot, and he will raise his trumpet to his lips and send forth a
blast sufficient to wake every Bowery baby in existence. "Only five
cents a shot," cries the proprietor to the surrounding crowd of barefoot,
penniless boys, and half-grown lads, "and a knife to be given to the man
that hits the bull's eye." Many a penny do these urchins spend here in
the vain hope of winning the knife, and many are the seeds of evil sown
among them by these "chances." In another gallery the proprietor offers
twenty dollars to any one who will hit a certain bull's eye three times
in succession. Here men contend for the prize, and as a rule the
proprietor wins all the money in their pockets before the mark is struck
as required.
The carnival of the Bowery is held on Saturday night. The down-town
stores, the factories, and other business places close about five
o'clock, and the street is thronged at an early hour. Crowds are going
to market, but the majority are bent on pleasure. As soon as the
darkness falls over the city the street blazes with light. Away up
towards Prince street you may see the flashy sign of Tony Pastor's Opera
House, while from below Canal street the Old Bowery Theatre stands white
and glittering in the glare of gas and transparencies. Just over the way
are the lights of the great German Stadt Theatre. The Atlantic Garden
stands by the side of the older theatre, rivalling it in brilliancy and
attractiveness. Scores of restaurants, with tempting bills of fare and
prices astonishingly low, greet you at every step. "_Lager Bier_," and
"_Grosses Concert_; _Eintritt frei_," are the signs which adorn nearly
every other house. The lamps of the street venders dot the side-walk at
intervals, and the many colored lights of the street cars stretch away as
far as the eye can reach. The scene is as interesting and as brilliant
as that to be witnessed in Broadway at the same hour; but very different.
As different as the scene, is the crowd thronging this street from that
which is rushing along Broadway. Like that, it represents all
nationalities, but it is a crowd peculiar to the Bowery. The "rich Irish
brogue" is well represented, it is true; but the "sweet German accent"
predominates. The Germans are everywhere here. The street signs are
more than one-half in German, and one might step fresh from the
Fatherland into the Bowery and never know the difference, so far as the
prevailing language is concerned. Every tongue is spoken here. You see
the piratical looking Spaniard and Portuguese, the gypsy-like Italian,
the chattering Frenchman with an irresistible smack of the Commune about
him, the brutish looking Mexican, the sad and silent "Heathen Chinee,"
men from all quarters of the globe, nearly all retaining their native
manner and habits, all very little Americanized. They are all "of the
people." There is no aristocracy in the Bowery. The Latin Quarter
itself is not more free from restraint.
Among the many signs which line the street the word "_Exchange_" is to be
seen very often. The "Exchanges" are the lowest class lottery offices,
and they are doing a good business to-night, as you may see by the number
of people passing in and out. The working people have just been paid
off, and many of them are here now to squander their earnings in the
swindles of the rascals who preside over the "Exchanges." These deluded
creatures represent but a small part of the working class however. The
Savings Banks are open to-night, many of them the best and most
respectable buildings on the Bowery, and thousands of dollars in very
small sums are left here for safe keeping.
Many of the Bowery people, alas, have no money for either the banks or
the lottery offices. You may see them coming and going if you will stand
by one of the many doors adorned with the three gilt balls. The
pawnbrokers are reaping a fine harvest to-night. The windows of these
shops are full of unredeemed pledges, and are a sad commentary on the
hope of the poor creature who feels so sure she will soon be able to
redeem the treasure she has just pawned for a mere pittance.
Down in the cellars the Concert Saloons are in full blast, and the hot
foul air comes rushing up the narrow openings as you pass them, laden
with the sound of the fearful revelry that is going on below.
Occasionally a dog fight, or a struggle between some half drunken men,
draws a crowd on the street and brings the police to the spot. At other
times there is a rush of human beings and a wild cry of "stop thief," and
the throng sweeps rapidly down the side-walk overturning street stands,
and knocking the unwary passer-by off his feet, in its mad chase after
some unseen thief. Beggars line the side-walk, many of them professing
the most hopeless blindness, but with eyes keen enough to tell the
difference between the coins tossed into their hats. The "Bowery Bands,"
as the little street musicians are called, are out in force, and you can
hear their discordant strains every few squares.
Until long after midnight the scene is the same, and even all through the
night the street preserves its air of unrest. Some hopeful vender of
Lager Beer is almost always to be found at his post, seek him at what
hour you will; and the cheap lodging houses and hotels seem never to
close.
Respectable people avoid the Bowery as far as possible at night. Every
species of crime and vice is abroad at this time watching for its
victims. Those who do not wish to fall into trouble should keep out of
the way.