Harry Hill is a well-known man among the disreputable classes of New
York. He is the proprietor of the largest and best known dance house in
the city. His establishment is in Houston street, a few doors west of
Mulberry street, and almost under the shadow of the Police Headquarters.
It is in full sight from Broadway, and at night a huge red and blue
lantern marks the entrance door. Near the main entrance there is a
private door for women. They are admitted free, as they constitute the
chief attraction to the men who visit the place. Entering through the
main door, the visitor finds himself in a low bar-room, very much like
the other establishments of the kind in the neighborhood. Passing
between the counters he reaches a door in the rear of them which opens
into the dance hall, which is above the level of the bar-room. Visitors
to this hall are charged an entrance fee of twenty-five cents, and are
expected to call for refreshments as soon as they enter.
Harry Hill is generally present during the evening, moving about among
his guests. He is a short, thick-set man, with a self-possessed,
resolute air, and a face indicative of his calling, and is about
fifty-four years old. He is sharp and decided in his manner, and exerts
himself to maintain order among his guests. He is enough of a politician
to be very sure that the authorities will not be severe with him in case
of trouble, but he has a horror of having his place entered by the police
in their official capacity. He enforces his orders with his fists if
necessary, and hustles refractory guests from his premises without
hesitating. The "fancy" generally submit to his commands, as they know
he is a formidable man when aroused. He keeps his eye on everything, and
though he has a business manager, conducts the whole establishment
himself. He has been in his wretched business fifteen years, and is said
to be wealthy. His profits have been estimated as high as fifty thousand
dollars per annum.
Harry Hill boasts that he keeps a "respectable house," but his
establishment is nothing more than one of the many gates to hell with
which the city abounds. There are no girls attached to the
establishment. All the guests of both sexes are merely outsiders who
come here to spend the evening. The rules of the house are printed in
rhyme, and are hung in the most conspicuous parts of the hall. They are
rigid, and prohibit any indecent or boisterous conduct or profane
swearing. The most disreputable characters are seen in the audience, but
no thieving or violence ever occurs within the hall. Whatever happens
after persons leave the place, the proprietor allows no violation of the
law within his doors.
The hall itself consists simply of a series of rooms which have been
"knocked into one" by the removal of the partition walls. As all these
rooms were not of the same height, the ceiling presents a curious
patchwork appearance. A long counter occupies one end of the hall, at
which refreshments and liquors are served. There is a stage at the other
side, on which low farces are performed, and a tall Punch and Judy box
occupies a conspicuous position. Benches and chairs are scattered about,
and a raised platform is provided for the "orchestra," which consists of
a piano, violin, and a bass viol. The centre of the room is a clear
space, and is used for dancing. If you do not dance you must leave,
unless you atone for your deficiency by a liberal expenditure of money.
The amusements are coarse and low. The songs are broad, and are full of
blasphemous outbursts, which are received with shouts of delight.
[Picture: HARRY HILL'S DANCE HOUSE.]
You will see all sorts of people at Harry Hill's. The women are, of
course, women of the town; but they are either just entering upon their
career, or still in its most prosperous phase. They are all handsomely
dressed, and some of them are very pretty. Some of them have come from
the better classes of society, and have an elegance and refinement of
manner and conversation which win them many admirers in the crowd. They
drink deep and constantly during the evening. Indeed, one is surprised
to see how much liquor they imbibe. The majority come here early in the
evening alone, but few go away without company for the night. You do not
see the same face here very long. The women cannot escape the inevitable
doom of the lost sisterhood. They go down the ladder; and Harry Hill
keeps his place clear of them after the first flush of their beauty and
success is past. You will then find them in the Five Points and Water
street hells.
As for the men, they represent all kinds of people and professions. You
may see here men high in public life, side by side with the Five Points
ruffian. Judges, lawyers, policemen off duty and in plain clothes,
officers of the army and navy, merchants, bankers, editors, soldiers,
sailors, clerks, and even boys, mingle here in friendly confusion. As
the profits of the establishment are derived from the bar, drinking is,
of course, encouraged, and the majority of the men are more or less drunk
all the time. They spend their money freely in such a condition. Harry
Hill watches the course of affairs closely during the evening. If he
knows a guest and likes him, he will take care that he is not exposed to
danger, after he is too far gone in liquor to protect himself. He will
either send him home, or send for his friends. If the man is a stranger,
he does not interfere--only, no crime must be committed in his house.
Thieves, pickpockets, burglars, roughs, and pugilists are plentifully
scattered through the audience. These men are constantly on the watch
for victims. It is easy for them to drug the liquor of a man they are
endeavoring to secure, without the knowledge of the proprietor of the
house; or, if they do not tamper with his liquor, they can persuade him
to drink to excess. In either case, they lead him from the hall, under
pretence of taking him home. He never sees home until they have stripped
him of all his valuables. Sometimes he finds his long home, in less than
an hour after leaving the hall; and the harbor police find his body
floating on the tide at sunrise. Women frequently decoy men to places
where they are robbed. No crime is committed in the dance hall, but
plans are laid there, victims are marked, and tracked to loss or death,
and, frequently, an idle, thoughtless visit there has been the beginning
of a life of ruin. The company to be met with is that which ought to be
shunned. Visits from curiosity are dangerous. Stay away. To be found
on the Devil's ground is voluntarily to surrender yourself a willing
captive to him. Stay away. It is a place in which no virtuous woman is
ever seen, and in which an honest man ought to be ashamed to show his
face.