In January, 1866, Bishop Simpson, of the Methodist Church, startled the country with the declaration, made at a public meeting at Cooper Institute, that the prostitutes of New York City were as numerous as the members of the Methodist Church. The following letter of Mr. John A. Kennedy, Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, furnishes the most authentic statement of the facts of the case:
OFFICE OF THE SUPERINTENDENT OF METROPOLITAN POLICE,300 MULBERRY STREET.NEW YORK,January22, 1866.
'MY DEAR SIR.—Your note of to-day is before me, with the printed sheet of the 'Great Metropolis Condsened,' inquiring whether the figures in the paragraph marked 'Licentiousness' can be verified. I have to say that I have nothing in my possession to sustain such monstrous statements. During the past fall I had a careful examination made of the concert saloons in this city, for the purpose of using the result in our annual report; which you will find in the leading dailies of Friday, January 5th, instant. At that time we found eleven hundred and ninety-one waiter girls employed in two hundred and twenty-three concert and drinking saloons. Although the greater part of these girls are already prostitutes, yet we have evidence that they are not all such; but continuation at the employment is sure to make them all alike. Previous to that I had not made any census of persons of that character since January 24th, 1864, when the footing was as follows:
Houses of prostitution, five hundred and ninety-nine. Public prostitutes, two thousand one hundred and twenty three. Concert saloons of ill repute, seventy-two. The number of waiting girls was not then taken.
The newspapers of last week, in reporting Bishop Simpson's speech, delivered in St. Paul's Church, made him say that there are twenty thousand prostitutes in New York. I felt it about time to correct the impressions of such well-meaning men as he, and on Thursday last I sent out an order, instructing a new census to be made. I have nearly all the returns in, and I find a much less increase than I expected. A large number who have been following the army during the war, very naturally have gravitated to this city. Where else would they go? But with all that, the increase is below my estimate. On the 22d day of January, 1866, the report is as follows:
Houses of prostitution, six hundred and twenty-one. Houses of assignation, ninety-nine. Concert saloons of ill repute, seventy-five. Public prostitutes, two thousand six hundred and seventy. Waiter girls in concert and drinking saloons, seven hundred and forty-seven.
You will see that houses of prostitution have increased twenty-two in two years, and houses of assignation have decreased thirteen. Concert saloons have increased four. Prostitutes have increased five hundred and forty-seven. The waiter girls will be increased by the figures to come in.
As it regards 'other women,' we have no means of knowing anything of their number. That there are many of them cannot be disputed; the number of houses for their accommodation tells us that; but there is no such number as two thousand five hundred, you may depend on it, visit those places, and of those who do, the waiter girls furnish the larger portion.
So that, taking all the public prostitutes, and all the waiter girls in music saloons (and these we have to a unit), there are but three thousand three hundred.
Medical estimates are humbugs, from Dr. D. M. Reeves down to Dr. Sanger. According to Dr. Reeves, every female in the city, over thirteen years of age, was required to fill up his estimate of lewd women, and Dr. Sanger is but little more reasonable. Very respectfully, yours, JOHN A. KENNEDY.
Nearly three years have elapsed since the above letter was written, and there can be no doubt that the interval has witnessed a very decided increase of this species of vice. The greatest increase is, perhaps, in the class termed by Mr. Kennedy "other women," in which are included the women of nominal respectability, whose crime is known only to themselves and their lovers. They are the last persons in the world one would think of accusing, for they are not even suspected of wrong doing. Many of them seem to be innocent young girls, others wives and mothers of undoubted purity. Society is corrupt to its very heart in the great city, and there are thousands of nominally virtuous women who lead, in secret, lives of shame. The authorities cannot include this class in their statistics, as they know nothing of them.
There are very few first-class houses of ill-fame in the city, and they are located in the best neighborhoods. They are generally hired fully furnished, the annual rent in some cases amounting to ten and twelve thousand dollars. The neighbors have little or no suspicion as to their character, which is, in such cases, known only to the police and their frequenters. The establishment is palatial in its appointments, and is conducted with the utmost outward propriety.
The proprietress is generally a middle-aged woman of fine personal appearance. She has a man living with her, who passes as her husband, in order that she may be able to show a legal protector in case of trouble with the authorities. This couple usually assume some foreign name, and pass themselves off upon the unsuspecting as persons of the highest respectability.
The inmates are usually young women, or women in the prime of life. They are carefully chosen for their beauty and charms, and are frequently persons of education and refinement. They are required to observe the utmost decorum in the parlors of the house, and their toilettes are exquisite and modest. They never make acquaintances on the street, and, indeed, have no need to do so. The women who fill these houses are generally of respectable origin. They are the daughters, often the wives or widows, of persons of the best social position. Some have been drawn astray by villains; some have been drugged and ruined, and have fled to these places to hide their shame from their friends; some have adopted the life in order to avoid poverty, their means having been suddenly swept away; some have entered from motives of extravagance and vanity; some are married women, who have been unfaithful to their husbands, and who have been deserted in consequence; some have been ruined by the cruelty and neglect of their husbands; some, horrible as it may seem, have been forced into such a life by their parents; and, others, who constitute the smallest class, have adopted the life from motives of pure licentiousness. But, whatever may be the cause, the fact is evident to all—these places are always full of women competent to grace the best circles of social life.
The visitors to these places are men of means. No others can afford to patronize them. Besides the money paid to his companion, each man is expected to spend a considerable amount in wine. The liquors are owned and sold by the proprietress, her prices being generally double those of the best Broadway wine stores. Her profits are enormous. The "first men" of the city and country visit these places. The proportion of married men amongst the guests is very large. Governors, Congressmen, lawyers, judges, physicians, and, alas that it should be said, even ministers of the Gospel, are to be seen there. Men coming to New York from other parts of the country, seem to think themselves free from all the restraints of morality and religion, and while here commit acts of sin and dissipation, such as they would not dream of indulging in, in their own communities. They fully equal and often surpass the city population in this respect.
Great care is taken by the proprietors of these houses that the visits of their guests shall be as private as possible. Upon ringing the bell the visitor is admitted by a finely dressed servant, and shown into the parlor. If he desires an interview with any particular person he is quickly admitted to her presence. If his visit is "general," he awaits in the parlor the entrance of the inmates of the house, who drop in at intervals. No other gentleman is admitted to the parlor while he is there, and in leaving the house no one is allowed to enter or look into the parlors. If two men enter together they are thrown into the parlor at the same time.
The earnings of the inmates are very large. They pay an extravagant rate of board, and are expected to dress handsomely. They rarely save any thing. They are well cared for by the proprietress as long as they are profitable to her, but in case of sickness, or the loss of their beauty, they are turned out of doors without the slightest hesitation. Generally they are in debt to the proprietress at such times, and their property is seized by her to satisfy her claims.
In entering these houses, women believe they will always be able to keep themselves amongst the best classes of such females. They are soon undeceived, however. The rule is so rigid that there is not more than one exception in a thousand cases. They rarely remain in first-class houses more than a few months, or a year at the longest. In leaving them, they begin to go down the ladder, until they reach the dance- houses and purlieus of the city, where disease and death in their most horrible forms await them. All this in a few years, for the life which such women, even the best of them, lead, is so fearfully destructive of body and soul that a very few survive it more than five years at the longest. The police authorities say that the first-class houses change their inmates every few months.
Let no woman deceive herself, "The wages of sin is death." Once entered upon a life of shame, however glittering it may be in the outset, her fate is certain—unless she anticipates her final doom by suicide. She cannot reform if she would. No one will help her back to the paths of right. Even those who loved her best, in her virtue, will turn from her in horror in her sin. She will be driven on by an avenging fate, which she cannot resist if she would, until she is one of those wretched, lost creatures, whose dens are in the purlieus of the Five Points and Water street. There is only one means of safety. Avoid the first step. Once place your foot in the downward path, and you are lost. "The Wages of sin is death"
These establishments are better known to the general public than those we have just described, as they are open to all persons of moderate means. They are located in all parts of the town, many of them being in respectable neighborhoods. They are handsomely furnished, and are conducted in a flashy style. The inmates are those who, for various causes, have been turned out of first-class houses, or who have never been able to enter those establishments. They do not hesitate to solicit custom on the streets and in the public places, though they are not, as a general rule, obliged to do so.
This is the second step in the downward career of fallen women. From this step the descent is rapid. The third and fourth-class houses, and then the streets, are reached quickly, after which the dance-houses and the Five Points hells claim their victims.
It is generally very hard to learn the true history of the lost women of New York, for nearly all wish to make their past lot appear better than it really was, with the melancholy hope of elevating themselves in the estimation of their present acquaintances. It may be safely asserted, however, that the majority of them come from the humbler walks of life. Women of former position and refinement are the exceptions. Poverty, and a desire to be able to gratify a love for fine clothes, are among the chief causes of prostitution in this city. At the same time the proprietors of houses of all classes spare no pains to draw into their nets all the victims who will listen to them. They have their agents scattered all over the country, who use every means to tempt young girls to come to the great city to engage in this life of shame. They promise them money, fine clothes, ease, and an elegant home. The seminaries and rural districts of the land furnish a large proportion of this class. The hotels in this city are closely watched by the agents of these infamous establishments, especially hotels of the plainer and less expensive kind. These harpies watch their chance, and when they lay siege to a blooming young girl surround her with every species of enticement. She is taken to church, to places of amusement, or to the Park, and, in returning, a visit is paid to the house of a friend of the harpy. Refreshments are offered, and a glass of drugged wine plunges the victim into a stupor, from which she awakes a ruined woman.
Some months ago, two girls, daughters of a respectable man, engaged as foreman on Prospect Park, Brooklyn, met with an advertisement calling for girls to learn the trade of dressmaking, in West Broadway, New York. The two sisters in question, applied for and obtained the situation. After being engaged there for a few days, at a salary of three dollars a week, the woman, by whom they were employed, proposed that during the week they should board with her. In the furtherance of this idea, the woman visited the parents of the girls in this city, and made the same proposition to them. Highly pleased with her agreeable manner, and kind interest in the welfare of their daughters, the parents acceded to her request, with the understanding that they should return home every Saturday evening. Saturday night came, and with it rain, but not with it the daughters. On Monday morning the woman appeared before the anxious parents, offering as an excuse for the non- appearance of the girls on Saturday night, that she did not deem it prudent for them to venture out, owing to the inclemency of the weather, and assuring the old folks that they should visit them on Thursday night, which assurance was not fulfilled. Next morning the father, becoming alarmed for their safety, went over to New York, and searched for the dressmaker's residence in West Broadway, but was unable to find it, or indeed to learn any thing of the woman. Now becoming thoroughly aroused to the danger of their position, he instituted a thorough search, securing the services of the New York detective force. After a lapse of five weeks, the younger girl was discovered in a low house in Baltic street, Brooklyn. The story was then told the unfortunate father by his wretched daughter. After entering the service of the woman, the sisters were held against their will, and were subjected to the most inhuman and debasing treatment. Finally they were separated from each other's society, and became the inmates of dens. The woman's whereabouts is unknown to the police, and the elder sister is still missing. The above facts are vouched for on the most undoubted authority.
A very large number of the women engaged in this infamous business are from New England. That section of the country is so overcrowded, and the females are so numerous therein, that there is no room for all at home. As a consequence hundreds come to the city every year. They come with high hopes, but soon find it as hard, if not harder, to obtain employment here. The runners for the houses of ill fame are always on the watch for them, and from various causes, these girls fall victims to them, and join the lost sisterhood. They are generally the daughters of farmers, or working men, and when they come are fresh in constitution and blooming in their young beauty. God pity them! These blessings soon vanish. They dare not escape from their slavery, for they have no means of earning a living in the great city, and they know they would not be received at home, were their story known. Their very mothers would turn from them with loathing. Without hope, they cling to their shame, and sink lower and lower, until death mercifully ends their human sufferings. As long as they are prosperous, they represent in their letters home that they are engaged in a steady, honest business, and the parents' fears are lulled. After awhile these letters are rarer. Finally they cease altogether. Would a father find his child after this, he must seek her in the foulest hells of the city.
The police are frequently called upon by persons from other parts of the country, for aid in seeking a lost daughter, or a sister, or some female relative. Sometimes these searches, which are always promptly made, are rewarded with success. Some unfortunates are, in this way, saved before they have fallen so low as to make efforts in their behalf vain. Others, overwhelmed with despair, will refuse to leave their shame. They cannot bear the pity or silent scorn of their former relatives and friends, and prefer to cling to their present homes. It is very hard for a fallen woman to retrace her steps, even if her friends or relatives are willing to help her do so.
Last winter an old gray haired man came to the city from his farm in New England, accompanied by his son, a manly youth, in search of his lost daughter. His description enabled the police to recognize the girl as one who had but recently made her appearance on the streets, and they at once led the father and brother to the door of the house she was living in. As they entered the well-filled parlor, the girl recognized her father. With a cry of joy she sprang into his arms. Lifting her tenderly, the old man carried her into the street, exclaiming through, his tears;
"We've saved her, thank God! We've saved our Lizzie."
That night all three left the city for their distant home.
Another instance occurs to us:
A gentleman once found his daughter in one of the first-class houses of the city, to which she had been tracked by the police. He sought her there, and she received him with every demonstration of joy and affection. He urged her to return home with him, promising that all should be forgiven and forgotten, but she refused to do so, and was deaf to all his entreaties. He brought her mother to see her, and though the girl clung to her and wept bitterly in parting, she would not go home. She felt that it was too late. She was lost.
Many of these poor creatures treasure sacredly the memories of their childhood and home. They will speak of them with a calmness which shows how deep and real is their despair. They would flee from their horrible lives if they could, but they are so enslaved that they are not able to do so. Their sin crushes them to the earth, and they cannot rise above it.
This is the name given to a row of first-class houses in West Twenty- fifth street, all fashionable houses of prostitution. A woman came to this city from a New England village, and was enticed into one of the fashionable dens. She paid a visit to her home, dressed up in all her finery. Her parents believed her a Broadway saleswoman, but to her sisters, one by one, she confided the life of gayety and pleasure she led, and one by one the sisters left the peaceful village, until, at last, the whole seven sisters were domiciled in the crime-gilt palaces in West Twenty-fifth street. Thus, one sister ruined six in her own family; how many others in the same place is unknown.
Another instance: A woman, named——, is from Binghamton, in this State. As a matter of course, she has correspondents in that place; she knows all the giddy-headed girls of the town; she knows the dissatisfied wives. The result is her house is a small Binghamton. Thus, one girl from a village may ruin a dozen; and it is in this way they so readily find the home they are in search of in a strange city.
A peculiarity of the Twenty-ninth Police Precinct of the city, in which the majority of the better class of houses are located, "is the large number of lady boarders, who do nothing, apparently, for a living. They live in furnished rooms, or they may board in respectable families. They leave their cards with the madame of the house, together with their photograph. They live within a few minutes' call, and when a gentleman enters the parlor he has a few minutes' chat with the madame, who hands him the album. He runs his eye over the pictures, makes his choice, and a messenger is dispatched for No. 12 or 24. These are what may be termed the day ladies, or outside boarders. Some of them are married, living with their husbands, who know nothing of what is going on, and it may be some of them have shown the readers of theSunhow cheap they can keep house, dress well, and put money in the bank beside, on a given weekly income of their husband. Those ladies who hire furnished rooms all dine at the restaurants, but they are never found soliciting men in the street. True, in the restaurant they may accept a recognition, but a man has to be careful what he is about."
"Twenty years ago, when Matsell was Chief of Police, he used to try and break up the most notorious houses by stationing a policeman at the door, and when any one went in or out, the light from a bull's eye lantern was thrown in the face of the passer out or in. That has never been effective. Captain Speight tried it in the case of Mrs.——, who keeps the most splendidly furnished house in West Twenty-fifth street. She owns the house, and has a few boarders who pay her fifty dollars a week for board, and ten dollars a bottle for their wine, and twenty- five per cent, on the profits of her boarders. The attempt was made to oust this woman, but she very politely told the captain that he might honor her as long as he pleased with the policeman and his lantern, but she could stand it as long as he could; she owned the house, and she meant to live in it; nothing could be proven against it, and they dare not arrest her. The consequence was that after a time the bull's eye was withdrawn."
The latest ruse adopted to obtain fresh country or city girls is to publish an advertisement in the papers, for 'a young lady of some accomplishments to act as a companion for a lady about to travel abroad. The applicant must have some knowledge of French, be a good reader, have a knowledge and taste for music, and be of a lively disposition.' Such an advertisement brought a young lady from Newark to a certain house in Twenty-fifth street. She had not been long in the parlor until she saw at a glance the character of the house. Both then spoke in pretty plain terms. The applicant was given a week to think over it. She returned at the end of a week and voluntarily entered the house. She remained in it six months. Disgusted with the business, she returned to her parents—who believe to this day that she was all this time abroad—and afterwards married a highly respectable gentleman, and she is now supposed to be a virtuous woman.
"A beautiful young girl of seventeen, from Danbury, Connecticut when taken from one of these houses by her father, told him, in the station- house, that he might take her home, but she would run away the first chance. Her only excuse was: 'Mother is cross, and home is an old, dull, dead place.'"
On the 1st of December, 1857, a funeral wended its slow passage along the crowded Broadway—for a few blocks, at least—challenging a certain share of the attention of the promenaders of that fashionable thoroughfare. There were but two carriages following the hearse, and the hearse itself contained all that remained of a young woman—a girl who had died in her eighteenth year, and whose name on earth had been Mary R——.
Mary R——, was the daughter of a poor couple in the interior of the State of New York. She was a girl of exquisite grace and beauty, but her life had been one of toil until her sixteenth year, when she attracted the attention of the son of a city millionaire, whose country seat was in the neighborhood. He was pleased with her beauty, and she simple and confiding, gave her heart to him without a struggle. She trusted him, and fell a victim to his arts. He took her to New York with him, and placed her in a neat little room in Sixth Avenue.
She was a 'soiled dove,' indeed, but the gentlest and dearest, and most devoted of 'doves,' 'soiled,' not by herself, but by others—soiled externally, but not impure within. There are many such doves as she— poor creatures to be pitied, not to be commended, not at all to be imitated, but not to be harshly or wholly condemned—more sinned against than sinning.
For a while Mary R——'s life in New York was a paradise—at least it was a paradise to her. She lived all day in her cosy little apartment, did her own little housework, cooked her own little dinner, sung her own little songs, and was as happy as a bird, thinking all the while of him, the man she loved—the man whose smile was all in all to her of earth. At night she would receive her beloved in her best dress and sweetest smile; and if he deigned to walk with her around the block, or take her with him to the Central Park, she would be supremely blessed, and dance around him with delight. She cost nothing, or next to nothing; her wants were simple, her vanity and love of amusement were vastly below the average of her sex, she only needed love, and there is an old saying that 'love is cheap.' But, alas! there is no more expensive luxury than love—for love requires what few men really possess, a heart—and this article of a heart was precisely what the merchant's son did not possess. In time, he wearied of this young girl and her affection; her tenderness became commonplace; besides he had discovered attractions elsewhere. And so he determined 'to end with Mary,' and he ended indeed. Though he knew that she worshipped the very ground that he trod on, though he knew that every unkind word he uttered went through her heart as would a stab though he knew that the very idea of his leaving her would blast her happiness like a lightning stroke; yet he boldly announced to her that their intimacy must cease, that 'he must leave her. True, he would see her comfortably provided for, during a while at least, until she could find another protector,' etc., etc.
"The agonized Mary could listen to naught more. For the first time in her life, out of the anguish and true love of her heart, she reproached the man to whom her every thought had been devoted—she reminded him of all his promises of affection, all his pledges of passion, she clung to him, and avowed by all that she considered holy,himself, that she would not let him go. In brief, she raised what 'fast men' style a scene, and a scene was just one of those things which irritated the merchant's son beyond his powers of control.
"The scoundrel, for such he was, though by birth, education, and position a gentleman, irritated at her entreaties, vexed with himself, despising the meanness of his own soul, and hating her for revealing it to him, raised his arm, and despite her look of love and sorrow, absolutely struck her to the earth. The poor girl never shrieked, never resisted, she even kissed, with an almost divinely tender forgiveness, his hand—his hand who struck her—and then fell to the floor of her pleasant, though humble little room, insensible.
"With a curse, half levelled at her and half at himself, the false 'lover' departed. The young millionaire never looked upon Mary R——'s face again. In three days there was no Mary R——'s face to look at; for the 'soiled dove' within that time had died—not from the blow, oh, no—thatwas a trifle; but from theunkindnessof it; not from a fractured limb, or from a ruptured bloodvessel, but from a broken heart. She was buried at the expense of the woman of whom her destroyer had rented the little apartment on Sixth Avenue, where she had passed her happiest days and her last. The rich merchant's son heard of her death with a half sigh and then a shrug; but if ever the blood of a human being lay upon the head of another, that of poor Mary R—lies upon the head of the rich merchant's son, and will be required of him."
There are several associations in the city, whose object is to rescue lost women from their lives of shame. Prominent amongst these is the Midnight Mission.
This institution is located on Amity street, and is open at all hours, to all who seek its doors voluntarily, or are directed thither. The managers in a recent report, speak of their success as follows:
"That the managers have reason to believe that more than sixty women have been benefited through their endeavors recently, many of whom have abandoned their life of shame, and a large proportion are already restored to their friends, or have been placed in respectable situations, where they are earning an honest living. Twenty are now in charge, in process of industrial, moral, and religious training, preparatory to taking positions of usefulness and respectability. Could they be seen by the public, as we see them, after the work of the day is ended, grouped together in conversation, in innocent recreation, or in devotion, their faces already beaming with the light of hope for this life and the life to come, surely we should need no other argument to induce Christian people, with kind words and abounding gifts, to speed us in our work of love."
We would not upon any consideration weaken one single effort in behalf of these poor creatures, but we cannot disguise the fact that but few of this class are saved. Women who enter the downward path rarely retrace their steps.
There are over one hundred houses of assignation in New York, known to the police. Besides these, there are places, used as such, which the officials of the law do not and cannot embrace in the general term. These are cheap hotels, where women hire rooms without meals, and receive visitors, with whom they make appointments on the streets, or in the places of amusement. Some really good houses have been ruined in this way. By tolerating one or two women of this kind, they have drawn to them others, and have finally become overrun with them to such an extent that respectable people have avoided them. Even the first-class hotels are kept busy in purging themselves of the evil.
The best houses are located in respectable, and a few in fashionable neighborhoods. In various ways they soon acquire a notoriety amongst persons having use for them. In the majority of them, the proprietress resides alone. Her visitors are persons of all classes in society. Married women meet their lovers here, and young girls pass in these polluted chambers the hours their parents suppose them to be devoting to healthful and innocent amusements. Hundreds of nominally virtuous women visit these places one or more times each week. They come sometimes in the day, but generally at night. A visit to the theatre, opera, or concert, is too often followed by a visit to one of these places, to which some women of high, social position possess pass-keys. Some visit these places because they love other men better than their husbands; others from mercenary motives. Married women, whose means are limited, too often adopt such a course to enable them to dress handsomely.
The rooms are hired from the proprietor at so much per hour, the price being generally very high. If refreshments are desired, they are furnished at an enormous rate.
In other houses, women rent rooms and take their meals outside. They bring their male friends to their rooms at any hour, as they have pass- keys to the house. These establishments pass in the neighborhood for reputable lodging-houses.
Men of "respectable" position frequently furnish houses for this purpose, and either engage women to manage them, or rent them, out at enormous sums. They live in style, and support their families on the proceeds of these dens of infamy.
The city papers are full of advertisements of these places. They are represented as "Rooms to let to quiet persons," or "Rooms in a strictly private family, where boarders are not annoyed with impertinent questions," or "A handsome room to let, with board for the lady only," or "Handsome apartments to gentlemen, by a widow lady living alone." These advertisements are at once recognized by those in search of them. Families from the country frequently stumble across these places by accident. If the female members are young and handsome, they are received, and the mistake is not found out, perhaps, until it is too late.
Respectable families are frequently victimized by having dwellings sold or rented to them which have been formerly used as houses of this kind. A Mexican Minister to the United States was once caught in this way rather curiously. Being a stranger in the city, he saw in print the notice of a splendid house, with the furniture for sale, in West Twenty-seventh street. He went up and saw it, and was pleased with the location, the house, the furniture, and even the price. He bought it, and moved in with his family. He was not located there twenty-four hours until he found that the house he had bought had been a notorious house of assignation, and that he was sandwiched in between two equally notorious houses. Many an oath came from his mouth, when a young or an old grayheaded Hotspur rang the bell; and many an old patron of the house has been astonished at being most abruptly told to go further than the next door for what he wanted. The old Mexican managed to stand it out six months, and a real estate agent, who had an eye to business, knowing that he could be tempted to sell out, advertised for a house in Twenty-seventh street, in the Spanish paper. The bait took—the diplomatist was happy to sell it for the half of what it was worth; thinking somebody would get burned, he was glad to get rid of it at any price. In a few weeks afterward, the house was re-sold for double the money paid for it, and converted back to its old purposes.
As soon as the sun sets over the Great City, Broadway, and the streets running parallel with it, become infested with numbers of young girls and women, who pass up and down the thoroughfares with a quick, mysterious air, which rarely fails to draw attention to them. These are known as street-walkers, and it would seem from outward indications that their number is steadily increasing. The best looking and the best dressed are seen on Broadway, and in parts of Fifth and Fourth Avenues. The others correspond to the localities they frequent. They are chiefly young girls, seventeen being the average age, but you will see children of twelve and thirteen amongst them. Very few promenade Broadway below Canal street. The neighborhoods of the hotels and places of amusement are the most frequented. Some of the girls are pretty and modest, but the majority are ugly and brazen. New faces are constantly appearing on Broadway, to take the places of the old ones which have gone down to the depths.
The majority of the girls have some regular employment at which they work in the day. Their regular earnings are small, and they take this means of increasing them. Some, however, sleep all day, and ply their infamous trade at night. There are cases in which the girls are driven to such a life by their parents, who either wish to rid themselves of their child's support, or to profit by her earnings. We have known cases where the girls have voluntarily supported their parents by the wages of their shame. We once heard of two sisters, well known on Broadway, who devoted their earnings to paying off a heavy debt of their father, which he was unable to meet. Sometimes these girls deserve more pity than blame; but a very large proportion of them, perhaps the majority, act as decoys for garroters and thieves. Hundreds of strangers, coming to the city, follow them to their rooms only to find themselves in the power of thieves, who compel them on pain of instant death to surrender all their valuables. The room taken by the decoy is vacated immediately after the robbery, the girl and her confederate disappear, and it is impossible to find them.
The police do not allow these girls to stop and converse with men on Broadway. If a girl succeeds in finding a companion, she beckons him into one of the side streets, where the police will not interfere with her. If he is willing to go with her, she conducts him to her room which is in one of the numerous bed-houses of the city.
These bed-houses are simply large or small dwellings containing many furnished rooms, which are let to street-walkers by the week, or which are hired to applicants of any class by the night. They are very profitable, and are frequently owned by men of good social position, who rent them out to others, or who retain the ownership, and employ a manager. The rent, whether weekly or nightly, is invariably paid in advance, so that the landlord loses nothing.
[Illustration: Robbed by a Friend.]
The girl leads her companion to one of these houses, and if she has a room already engaged, proceeds directly to it; if not, one is engaged from a domestic on the spot, the price is paid, and the parties are shown up stairs. The place is kept dark and quiet, in order to avoid the attention of the police. The houses are more or less comfortable and handsome, according to the class by which they are patronized. They are sometimes preferred by guilty parties in high life, as the risk of being seen and recognized is less there than in more aristocratic houses. These houses have a constant run of visitors from, about eight o'clock until long after midnight.
The various night lines of steamers running from New York city, are literally overrun with abandoned women, seeking companions. The Albany and the Boston lines are made intensely disagreeable by such persons. A correspondent of one of the New Jersey papers, thus relates his experience on board of one of the magnificent vessels of a Boston line.
The grand saloon is filled with a throng of travellers listening to the sweet music discoursed by a band in the upper gallery, employed for the season by the company. One cannot but remark, with mingled pain and indignation, the large number of brazen-faced prostitutes and professional gamblers who saunter up and down the saloon and galleries, seeking their prey among the unsuspecting passengers.
* * * * *
If a gentleman is seated alone, along comes one of these painted wretches, boldly addressing him, and to escape her horrible proffers, he must seek some other part of the boat, or follow the example of every respectable lady, by occupying his stateroom at an early hour in the evening. It is really getting to be exceedingly unpleasant and disagreeable for a lady to travel by this line, even if accompanied by a gentleman; and let no one permit a female relative or friend to take this route alone, if they have the slightest regard for the decencies and proprieties of life. While the band was discoursing sweet strains of music, shrill screams were heard proceeding from the forward saloon. The passengers rushed to the scene. A young woman was being carried by main force, exerted by the servants, below. She struggled fiercely, biting, striking and cursing! What a horrible sight. One observer, at least, earnestly trusts he may never behold such an one again. She was one of the courtesans who had been parading up and down the saloons all the evening. She had inveigled an unsophisticated countryman into a stateroom and robbed him. He reported her to the captain, and threatened public exposure of the transaction before he could procure assistance! And now her screams can be plainly heard, resounding through, the gilded saloons, above the run of the machinery and strains of the musicians.
This method of robbery is closely connected with street-walking. The girl in this case acts in concert with a confederate, who is generally a man. She takes her victim to her room, and directs him to deposit his clothing on a chair, which is placed but a few inches from the wall at the end of the room. This wall is false, and generally of wood. It is built some three or four feet from the real wall of the room, thus forming a closet. As the whole room is papered and but dimly lighted, a visitor cannot detect the fact that it is a sham. A panel, which slides noiselessly and rapidly, is arranged in the false wall, and the chair with the visitor's clothing upon it is placed just in front of it. While the visitor's attention is engaged in another quarter, the girl's confederate, who is concealed in the closet, slides back the panel, and rifles the pockets of the clothes on the chair. The panel is then noiselessly closed. When the visitor is about to depart, or sometimes not until long after his departure, he discovers his loss. He is sure the girl did not rob him, and he is completely bewildered in his efforts to account for the robbery. Of course the police could tell him how his money was taken, and could recover it, too, but in nine cases out of ten the man is ashamed to seek their assistance, as he does not wish his visit to such a place to be made public.
The street-walkers are adepts in deceit. Their chief object is to procure money, and they do not hesitate to plunder their victims in order to obtain it. One of their favorite "dodges" is called the "husband game." This is played as follows. A man is picked up on the street, after nine o'clock, and carried to the girl's room. He is asked to pay his money in advance, which he does. The girl then turns the lights down, and seems about to prepare to retire for the night, when a loud knocking is heard. The girl, in alarm, informs him that she is a married woman, and that her husband has returned. She begs him to escape, or he will be killed. The visitor, terribly frightened, is glad to get off through a side door. His money is not returned, but the woman promises to meet him the next night, which engagement, of course, is never kept. In ten minutes more she is on Broadway in search of a fresh, victim.
There are seventy-five concert saloons in New York, which employ seven hundred and forty-seven waiter girls. The brothels usually termed dance-halls, are included in this estimate, but, as we design referring especially to them in another chapter, we shall pass them by, for the present, and devote this chapter to the concert saloons proper.
Eight years ago, a Philadelphia manager opened a concert mall which he called the "Melodeon," at the old Chinese Assembly Rooms on Broadway. This was the first institution of the kind ever seen in New York, and imitations of it soon became common.
We find the following faithful description of one of these saloons in one of the popular-prints of the day.
"On Broadway, near—street, we notice, just above the entrance to a cellar, a flaming transparency, with the inscription, 'Madame X—'s Arcade.' Going down a few steps, we find our view of the interior obstructed by a large screen, painted white, with the almost nude figure of a dancing Venus coarsely painted thereon. The screen is placed across the entrance, a few feet from the door, obliging us to flank it,a la Sherman, and enter the hall by going around it. We find the floor handsomely covered with matting and oil cloth. On the right-hand side, nearest the door, is the bar, over which presides a genius of the male sex, whose chief attractions consists of a decided red head, and an immense paste breastpin, stuck into the bosom of a ruffled shirt. The bar is well furnished, and any drink called for, from beer to champagne, can be instantly obtained. A significant feature, and one that easily arrests the attention, is a formidable Colt's revolver, a foot in length, suspended immediately over the sideboard. This weapon, it may be observed, is not placed there as an ornament; it is in itself amonitor, warning those inclined to be disorderly, of the danger of carrying their boisterousness or ruffianism too far. On the walls are black engravings of the French school, fit ornaments for the place. But, while we are taking this casual survey, one of the attendant nymphs, with great scantiness of clothing, affording display for bare shoulders and not unhandsome ankles, appears, and in a voice of affected sweetness wholly at variance with her brazen countenance and impertinent air, requests us to be seated, and asks what we'll have. We modestly ask for 'Two ales,' which are soon placed before us, and paid for. While quietly sipping the beverage, we will glance at our surroundings. Back of the hall—we are sitting at a table near the centre of the apartment—on a raised platform, is an asthmatic pianoforte, upon which an individual with threadbare coat, colorless vest and faded nankeen pantaloons, is thrumming away for dear life. Out of tune himself, he tortures the poor instrument in a way that threatens its instant dissolution, rending its heartstrings, and causing it to shriek with agony, wailing out the tune that the old cow died to! This is the only piece of music the performer is acquainted with, judging from the persistent manner in which he clings to it. What he lacks in musical knowledge, however, he makes up with intention, andthumpsaway quite manfully, only stopping, now and then to call for a drink, with which to recruit his exhausted energies.
"But we have come to behold the chief attraction of the establishment?—the 'pretty waiter girls.'"
"Looking around, we see, perhaps, twenty females, in various styles of dress—some in Turkish costume (supposed to behourisno doubt); others attired as Spanish peasants; and others still in plain evening attire. The latter are for the most part far from possessing charms, and, from their looks, have long since outlived their beauty; but what they lack in this respect they make up in others. The girl that waited upon us on our entrance, again approaches, and seeing our glasses empty, takes them away to be replenished. She soon reappears, and in response to our invitation, takes a seat beside us, while we enter into conversation with her. She is a fair sample (excuse the mercantile term) of her class, and her history is a history of a majority of her associates. Not unprepossessing in appearance, by any means, Ellen— that, she tells us, is her name—is twenty-two years of age; was born in the village of Tarrytown; resided with her parents until she was eighteen, when her father died. Leaving her mother with her youngest brother, she came to New York to seek employment. On arriving in the city, she obtained a situation in a millinery store. Remained there but a short time; was out of work; had no friends, no money. Would not go back to her mother, who was poor. Saw an advertisement of Madame—for 'Pretty waiter girls.' Answered it. Was engaged in the saloon; seduced (partly by promises, and partly by threats), by one of the frequenters of the establishment—and has since led the life of a prostitute! Ellen told her story without the least emotion, and when asked about her mother, carelessly replied, 'She supposed the old woman was dead by this time.'
"Such are the effects of vice, and a life of infamy, upon the noble feelings and natural impulses of the female heart. With an exclamation of, 'Oh, there's my man!' our attendant suddenly left us, and joined an individual who had just entered the apartment, and we did not see her again.
"At a table nearly opposite to our own, are seated a couple, one, at least, of whom, to even a casual observer, is a stranger to the place and its surroundings; there is no doubt of it. Wholly enwrapped in the beauty and grace of his female companion, he is totally oblivious to all passing around. She is exerting all her arts to entice 'greeny' into her net, and before long will be counting the amount of his cash— while he, her dupe, will be, too late, reflecting upon the depravity of pretty waiter girls. By this time the saloon is crowded with men and women, of all degrees of social standing. Here is the man about-town, the hanger-round of the hotels, in clothes of unexceptionable cut and make, talking earnestly with a female, whose drawn veil conceals her face—perhaps some unfortunate victim of his lust, or probably his mistress, come to plead for justice, or for her week's allowance of money. Yonder is a youth, of, as Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., would say, 'some eighteen summers,' young in years, but old in sin, who supports on his knee anymph du pave, with whom he has entered from the street, and upon whom he is spending his last quarter's salary, or the proceeds of an investigation into the till of his employer. In that corner, is the returned soldier, who has just been paid off, and who is now expending the hard-earned pittance of the government upon some bepainted and bedizened courtesan, while perhaps his wife and family are suffering for want of the common necessaries of life. A cry of pain, followed by a burst of brutal laughter, causes us to turn our eyes to the corner, just in time to witness a woman fall to the ground, felled by a blow from the clenched fist of the brute with whom she has been quarrelling. A moment, there is silence in the hall; but only for a moment. The girl is picked up by one of her companions—a few rough jokes at her expense—and all goes on as before. Such scenes are of too frequent occurrence to provoke comment. Observe that couple descending the steps; a handsome, almost noble-looking man, but upon whose countenance is stamped the mark of a dissolute life—upon his arm, a female, her face hidden from view by a dark veil. They advance to the bar. The gentleman whispers a word in the ear of one of the girls, a meaning smile flickers over her face as she hands him a key, with which he opens a door in the end of the room, and disappears with the female. Reader, you have seen half a dozen similar couples arrive and vanish through the same door. Do you know the why and wherefore of this proceeding? This saloon is one of the mostnotorious assignation housesin New York. We might go on and notice more fully the various personages and scenes, constantly varying, in this house; but we have neither space or time at present—besides, the task is not an agreeable one. So, let us leave the murky atmosphere of the 'crib,' and once more breathe the pure air of heaven."
Bad as they are, the concert saloons of Broadway are the best in the city. Those of the Bowery, and Chatham street, are mere brothels, in which no man's life is safe.
Persons entering these places run a fearful risk. They voluntarily place themselves in the midst of a number of abandoned wretches, who are ready for any deed of violence or crime. They care for nothing but money, and will rob or kill for it. Respectable people have no business in such places. They are sure to have their pockets picked, and are in danger of violence. Many men, who leave their happy homes in the morning, visit these places, for amusement or through curiosity, at night. They are drugged, robbed, murdered, and then the harbor police may find their lifeless forms floating in the river at daybreak.
THESE houses differ from the saloons in two things—they are lower and viler, and their guests assemble for the purpose of dancing as well as drinking. They are owned chiefly by men, though there are some which are the property of and are managed by women. They are located in the worst quarters of the city, generally in the streets near the East and North Rivers, in order to be easy of access to the sailors.
The buildings are greatly out of repair, and have a rickety, dirty appearance. The main entrance leads to a long, narrow hall, the floor of which is well sanded. The walls ornamented with flashy prints, and the ceiling with colored tissue paper cut in various fantastic shapes. There is a bar at the farther end of the room, which is well stocked with the meanest liquors, and chairs and benches are scattered about.
From five to a dozen women, so bloated and horrible to look upon, that a decent man shudders with disgust as he beholds them, are lounging about the room. They have reached the last step in the downward career of fallen women, and will never leave this place until they are carried from it to their graves, which are not far distant. They are miserably clad, and are nearly always half crazy with liquor. They are cursed and kicked about by the brutal owner of the place, and suffer still greater violence, at times, in the drunken brawls for which these houses are famous. Their sleeping rooms are above. They are sought by sailors and by the lowest and most degraded of the city population. They are the slaves of their masters. They have no money of their own. He claims a part of their infamous earnings, and demands the rest for board and clothes. Few have the courage to fly from these hells, and if they make the attempt, they are forced back by the proprietor, who is frequently aided in this unholy act by the law of the land. They can not go into the streets naked, and he claims the clothes on their backs as his property. If they leave the premises with these clothes on, he charges them with theft.
InPackard's Monthly,for September, 1868, the reader will find a deeply interesting article on this subject, by Mr. Oliver Dyer, from which we take the following illustration of our remarks.
There is, probably, not a police reporter in the city, of much experience, who has not seen one of these girls arraigned at the Tombs, or at some other police court, on a charge of theft; because in fleeing from the intolerable servitude of some den of vice, she had had to wear clothes belonging to the keeper—not having any of her own wherewith to hide her nakedness.
"We will give a scene of this kind. Place, the Tombs, time, six o'clock in the morning; present, police justice, officers of court, about thirty prisoners, policemen attending as witnesses, and parties preferring charges against prisoners. The name of the girl against whom complaint has been made having been called, the following examination took place:
"Justice.—'What is the charge against this girl?'
"Policeman.—'Felony-stealing wearing apparel.'
"Justice.—'Who is the complainant?'
"Policeman.—'This woman here,' pointing out the keeper of the den from which the girl had fled—a most villainous old hag.
"Justice(to the keeper).—'What did the girl steal?'
"Keeper.—'Every rag she's got on; bad luck to her.'
"Justice(to the girl).—'Mary, who owns that shawl you have on?'
"Mary.—'Shedoes, sir;' pointing to the woman.
"Justice.—'Who owns that hat and dress you have on?'
"Mary.—'Shedoes.'
"Justice.—'Havn't, you any thing of your own to wear?'
"Mary.—'Nothing, sir.'
"Justice.—'This woman owns them all—all the clothes you have on, does she?'
"Mary.—'Yes, sir.'
"Justice.—'If they are hers you should not have taken them.'
"Mary.—'Please, sir, I couldn't stay in her house any longer, and I couldn't go naked into the street.'
"Justice.—'It is a hard case, Mary, but stealing is stealing, and I shall have to send you up for twenty days.'
"And so Mary is sent to the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island for twenty days (and sometimes for a longer period), wearing the 'stolen' clothes; and the hag of a keeper goes back to her den and tells the other girls of Mary's fate, satisfied to give the shabby garment, in which the victim was attired, in exchange for the 'moral effect' of the girl's conviction and imprisonment on those who are still in her clutches.
"Justice Dowling, we believe, never convicts a girl of theft under such circumstances, but gives her accuser such a scoring down in open court as sends her back to her den in rage and shame."
Let no one suppose that these women entered upon such wretched lives voluntarily. Many were drugged and forced into them, but the majority are lost women who have come regularly down the ladder to this depth. You can find in these hells women who, but a few years ago, were ornaments of society. No woman who enters upon a life of shame can hope to avoid coming to these places in the end. As sure as she takes the first step in sin, she will take this last one also, struggle against it as she may. This is the last depth. It has but one bright ray in all its darkness—it does not last over a few months, for death soon ends it. But, oh! the horrors of such a death. No human being who has not looked on such a death-bed can imagine the horrible form in which the Great Destroyer comes. There is no hope. The poor wretch passes from untold misery in this life to the doom which awaits those who die in their sins.
O, parents, look well to your children. Guard them as you have never guarded them before. Make home happy and bright to them. Encircle them with love and tenderness. Weigh well your every act and word, for you may learn some day, when it is too late, that your criminal carelessness has been the cause of your child entering the path which leads inevitably down to hell.
The keepers of these dens use every means to decoy emigrant girls into their dens. As we have shown in another chapter, they frequently succeed. Mr. Oliver Dyer, in the article from which we have just quoted, relates the following, which will show how this is done. We merely remark that this is perhaps the only case in which the helpless victim has been rescued:
"In the month of February, 1852, Isaac W. England, Esq., formerly the city editor of theNew York Tribune, subsequently the managing editor of theChicago Republican, afterwards editor-in-chief of theJersey City Times, and now the managing editor of theNew York Sun, was returning to this city from Liverpool in the emigrant packet shipNew York, in which he had taken a second cabin passage, for the purpose of learning practically how emigrants fared in such vessels.
"Mr. England did this with a view to exposing the atrocities then practiced upon emigrants, and which he afterwards did expose, in the columns of theTribune, with such effect as to be largely instrumental in the fundamental regeneration of the whole emigrant business, and the creation of the Castle Garden Commission.
"Among the passengers in the second cabin of the packet ship was a handsome English girl, some nineteen years of age, from near Mr. England's native town. The fact that the girl came from near his native town led Mr. England to feel an interest in her, and he learned that she was coming to America to join her brother, then living near Pottsville, in Pennsylvania.
"On landing in New York, the girl went to a boarding-house in Greenwich street, there to await her brother's arrival—it having been arranged that he should come to New York for her.
"Mary (for that was her name) had not been at the boarding-house many days when a German woman called there in search of a bar-maid, and seeing Mary, she at once sought to induce her to accept the situation. It is not uncommon for English girls, of the class to which Mary belonged, to act as bar-maids in England, that being there a respectable employment.
"Deceived by the complaisant manners, and lured by the liberal promises of the German woman, the unsuspecting English girl accepted her offer and went with her to her saloon—basement in William street, near Pearl.
"After one day's service as bar-maid, Mary was bluntly informed by her employer that she had been brought thither to serve in a capacity which we will, not name, and was ordered to make ready for at once entering upon a life of shame.
"The horror-stricken girl, frantic with, terror, set about immediately leaving the premises. But she was too valuable a prize to be allowed to escape. The hag into whose clutches she had fallen locked her up in a back basement room, extending under a grate in the yard, and open to the inclemency of the weather, and there she kept her for two days and two nights—the girl not daring to eat or drink any thing during all that time, for fear of being drugged to insensibility and ruin.
"The only sustenance that passed that girl's lips for eight and forty hours was the snow that she scraped from the area grating. Nor did she dare to close her eyes in sleep for an instant.
"And while thus imprisoned, constant efforts were made to intimidate or force her to the fate to which the keeper of the place was determined to drive her. For this purpose man after man was sent to her prison. With some of them a simple statement of the case was sufficient to turn them from their purpose; but against others she had to fight as if for life for that which was to her dearer than life.
"But lack of food and lack of sleep began to tell upon her. Her strength failed, her mind weakened, and it seemed as though her doom was sealed.
"On the third day of Mary's imprisonment Mr. England, who was about to start for Rhode Island, bethought himself of his young countrywoman, and determined to call at the boarding-house in Greenwich street, to see what had become of her. He did so, and was informed that she had engaged as bar-maid in the William street saloon.
"Having knowledge of such places, Mr. England was troubled at this news, and though pressed for time, he determined to call at the saloon and see what kind of hands Mary had fallen into. He went thither, and the moment he entered the place he discovered its character.
"On inquiring of the landlady for Mary, he was told that she had gone to Pennsylvania with her brother, who had come for her two days before. Something in the woman's manner excited Mr. England's suspicions, and he told her that he thought she was deceiving him, and that Mary was still in the house.
"At this the woman flew into a passion, and swore volubly at Mr. England in several languages. This strengthened his suspicions of foul play, and he grew more peremptory in his manner of speech. While he was contesting the matter with the landlady, one of the girls in waiting passed near him, and muttered something which he understood to be a statement that Mary was actually in the house.
"Upon this Mr. England took decided ground, and told the woman that unless she immediately produced the girl, he would go for an officer and have her arrested. This brought her to terms. She gave one of the waitresses a key, and an order in German, in pursuance of which the girl went and unlocked the room in which Mary was confined. As soon as the door was opened Mary came rushing out, and seeing Mr. England, she flew to him sobbing hysterically, and clinging to his arm—and cried:
"'Take me from this place, Mr. England; take me from this place!'
"After demanding Mary's trunk, which was delivered to him, with all her things, Mr. England immediately took the rescued girl to a place of safety.
"Mary's brother had died, as she soon learned, while she was on her voyage to meet him. But a young New York lawyer saw her and loved her, and wooed her, and won her, and married her, and she is now living, happy and prosperous, in Brooklyn.
"But suppose there had been no Mr. England in the case. Or, suppose Mr. England had gone to Rhode Island, without stopping to look after this homeless young stranger!
"Why, then, she would have met her wretched doom in that William street den, and been one of the class about, whom this article is written."