HARRY HILL'S.
In passing the corner of Broadway and Houston street, you will see, to
the east of the great thoroughfare, an immense red and blue lantern
attached to a low, dingy frame building. This is the sign of Harry
Hill's dance-house. It is one of the sights, and one of the saddest
sights, too, of New York. As you approach the place from Broadway, you
notice a narrow door at the side of the main entrance, opening upon a
flight of stairs which lead to the dancing hall. This is the private
entrance for women. They are admitted free of charge as their presence
is the chief attraction to the men who visit the place. Passing through
the main door you enter a room used as a bar room and eating saloon. It
differs in nothing from the average low class bar rooms of the city. A
narrow passage-way between the counters, leads to the entrance of the
dancing hall, which apartment is situated on the floor above the bar
room and in the rear of it. Visitors to this hall are charged an
admittance fee of twenty-five cents, and are expected to order liquor
or refreshments as soon as they enter.
THE PROPRIETOR.
Harry Hill is generally to be seen moving amongst his guests while the
entertainment is going on. He is a short, thickset man, with a
resolute, self-possessed air, and is about fifty years old. He is very
decided in his manner, and is fully equal to the task of enforcing his
orders. The "fancy" stand in awe of him, as they know he will follow up
any command with a blow or a summary ejection from his premises. He has
been in the business for twelve years, and his profits are estimated at
over fifty thousand dollars a year now, clear of all expenses. He is
said to be a kind, humane man, and is reputed to give largely to
charitable purposes. He manages every department himself, although he
has a manager to conduct affairs for him. His eye is on everybody and
everything.
THE DANCE HALL.
It is Harry Hill's boast that he keeps a "respectable house." Unlike
the other dance-houses of the city, there are no girls attached to this
establishment. All the company, both male and female, consists of
outsiders, who merely come here to spend an evening. The rules of the
house are printed in rhyme, and are hung conspicuously in various parts
of the hall. They are rigid, and prohibit any profane, indecent, or
boisterous conduct. The most disreputable characters are to be seen in
the audience, but no thieving or violence ever occurs within the hall.
Whatever happens after persons leave the hall, 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 of
these rooms were not of the same height, the ceiling of the hall
presents a curious patchwork appearance. A long counter occupies one
end of the hall, at which liquors and refreshments are served. There is
a stage at another 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.
THE DANCERS.
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.