The Epic of New York City (22 page)

M
ORTIFIED
by Zenger's acquittal and weakened by tuberculosis, Governor William Cosby died in 1736. Publicly the people faked grief, but privately they drank toasts to the passing of the tyrant and turned lightheartedly to other interests.

Ladies larded their hair with orange butter, flocked to public balls, vied for the attention of the newly arrived dancing master, and took French and Spanish lessons. Elaborately gowned, they attended the city's first public musical concert, held on January 21, 1736, in the home of a vintner, named Robert Todd. It was staged for the benefit of Charles Theodore Pachelbel, a German musician who came here from Boston to play the harpsichord.

Underneath the culture and gaiety of society the poor suffered, and crime increased. Beggars were put to hard labor, and cruel punishments were inflicted on criminals. A garden was fenced in so that hogs could not eat the roots and herbs grown for the poor. Indigent sick were lucky to get one of the six beds in the house of correction erected on the site of the present City Hall.

In the spring of 1737, when word reached New York that smallpox and spotted fever were raging in South Carolina, the city fathers established the first local quarantine. They ordered a pilot boat to lay in wait near Sandy Hook, the thin peninsula curving from the Jersey shore toward the Lower Bay of New York. Local doctors transferred from this boat to incoming ships to examine passengers and cargo. If infection was found, the vessel had to anchor just off the island that now holds the Statue of Liberty. The quarantine was ineffectual; smallpox broke out near the Battery two years later.

Frightened residents fled to the healthier climate of Greenwich Village north of town. Lieutenant Governor George Clarke, who had assumed charge after the death of Governor Cosby, let the assembly meet in a small house on the Hudson River two miles upstream. The largest Greenwich Village estate was owned by Peter Warren, a dashing British naval captain in charge of the fleet stationed here. He bought 300 acres on the west side of the village near the Hudson, and later the city granted him more land for his military feats. On high ground near the present intersection of Charles and Bleecker streets, Warren erected a magnificent poplar-shaded mansion, whose broad veranda faced the Jersey highlands and the hills of Staten Island. Then he was elected a Member of Parliament for the English city of Westminster and left New York in 1747, never to return.

Ever since the slave insurrection of 1712 New York's white citizens feared the local Negroes. Treatment of slaves became harsher and more repressive. The whites called the Negroes the black seed of Cain. If three slaves were found chatting together on the street, they were caught, tied to whipping posts, and lashed forty times on their naked backs. The same number of lashes was given to Negroes who carried clubs while strolling without permission outside their masters' grounds. John Van Zandt horsewhipped his slave to death for having been picked up at night by city watchmen. The coroner's jury declared that “correction given by the master was not the cause of his death, but that it was by the Visitation of God.”

In 1741 New York had 10,000 inhabitants, including 2,000 slaves.
Some of these were called Spanish Negroes because a British warship captured a Spanish vessel in West Indies waters, brought her to New York, and sold the Negro crew members as slaves. About the same time African tribesmen were thrust suddenly into eighteenth-century New York; their barbaric looks and uncouth behavior terrified white people. Other fears added to the growing public anxiety. With England and Spain at war, perhaps Spain would send a fleet to attack the city. And what were Spaniards? Catholics, of course.

The slaves, poor and underprivileged, were certainly petty thieves. In the spring of 1741 silverware, money, and linen were stolen from Robert Hogg's house at the corner of Broad and Mill (now South William) streets. Suspicion fell on one of his blacks, who had met other slaves in a tawdry tavern on the Hudson River at the present corner of Greenwich and Thames streets. The place was run by a shifty white man, named John Hughson, who was already considered a receiver of stolen goods. Now police searched his premises—in vain.

Working for Hughson was a white indentured servant, sixteen-year-old Mary Burton. She had been born in England, served a jail term there, and then been shipped to New York. After the police had left her master's place, she whispered to a neighbor that the items stolen from the Hogg home were hidden in Hughson's house, but—mercy!—he would kill her if he learned that she had told. The neighbor repeated this to the authorities. They arrested Mary Burton for alleged complicity in the theft, threw her into jail, and then promised her freedom if she turned informer.

Hating her master and basking in the attention paid to her by city officials, Mary began to talk. As a result of her “confession,” the police arrested Mr. and Mrs. Hughson, together with a prostitute, called Peggy Carey. At their trial in City Hall, Mary Burton testified about a Negro, known as Caesar Varick. Slaves were called by their masters' surnames. Mary said that Caesar had left stolen goods and money with Peggy Carey. This was denied by Peggy. Mary also claimed that Caesar had given part of his loot to Hughson to hide. Hughson admitted that he had stashed away silver and linen. The police arrested Caesar and also nabbed another Negro, named Prince Amboyman. Although they denied taking part in any robbery, stolen goods were discovered under the kitchen floor of the house owned by Caesar's master.

This was where matters stood until 1
P.M
. on March 18, 1741,
when fire broke out on the roof of the governor's house inside the fort. The city's two fire engines responded, but a brisk southeasterly wind and the dryness of the cedar shingles thwarted the efforts of the firemen. In less than two hours the governor's house, the chapel, the secretary's office, the stables, and the barracks were ashes. Lieutenant Governor Clarke said that the blaze had been caused by careless workmen repairing a gutter.

A week later sparks flew from Captain Peter Warren's house in downtown Manhattan. A few days afterward still another fire started in the storehouse of John Van Zandt, the Dutchman who had whipped his slave to death. Despite suspicions, it was proved that a careless smoker had dropped pipe embers inside the place. Then another and another and another fire started, sometimes as many as four a day.

New Yorkers grew apprehensive. With the outbreak of still another blaze the police arrested a Spanish Negro, who lived next door to the destroyed house. Under questioning, he seemed evasive. Now white people began muttering. One after another, they cried, “The Spanish Negroes! The Spanish Negroes! Take up the Spanish Negroes!” The police jailed other Spanish Negroes, along with a slave, called Quack. Asked about the origin of the fires, he stammered incoherently. City magistrates became so alarmed that they met to ponder the possibility of arson, and even as they sat, still another fire trembled like a cockscomb along the roof of a second storehouse. Apprehension then churned into terror, and terror curdled into universal panic. Here, there, everywhere in town, Negroes—even some known to have helped quench the flames—were seized indiscriminately. So many were jailed that the magistrates couldn't possibly examine them all.

On April 11, 1741, the council met to discuss the worsening situation. City Recorder Daniel Horsemanden vowed that they “must necessarily conclude that the fires were occasioned and set on foot by some villainous confederacy of latent enemies amongst us.” He urged the lieutenant governor to issue a proclamation offering an amnesty and a reward to anyone giving information about the alleged plot.

Clarke now offered 100 pounds to any white informer; 45 pounds to free Negroes, Indians, or mulattoes; and 20 pounds and freedom to slaves. He also promised an automatic pardon to informers.

The proclamation was read to Mary Burton, who began spouting sensational charges about Caesar Varick, Prince Amboyman, and Cuff Philipse. According to her, these slaves often met at Hughson's
tavern to chatter about burning the fort, putting the torch to the entire city, and massacring all the white people. Mary also said that Mr. and Mrs. Hughson had promised to help. Then, after the slaves had taken over, they planned to establish a monarchy, with Hughson as king and Caesar as governor. Except for the Hughsons and Peggy Carey, according to Mary, no other white person had overheard the diabolical plot.

Her fantastic story was believed by the magistrates. They petted and praised Mary Burton, who became the town heroine. Then Peggy Carey was promised a pardon and reward if she would support Mary's allegations. Despite Peggy's low morals, she refused to slander innocent persons. But now the authorities applied pressure by convicting her of receiving and hiding stolen goods. The sentence? Death! Also condemned to die were Caesar and Prince and Sarah Hughson—John Hughson's mulatto daughter by one of his Negro slaves.

Peggy Carey gulped and begged to be examined a second time. Now she “confessed” to wildly outlandish matters. Last December, she stuttered, she had attended a Negro meeting in another evil tavern, run by John Romme, a white man. He had told the slaves that if they would set fire to the city, slay all the white people, and bring their plunder to him, he would help them escape to a land where they could live in freedom the rest of their lives. Peggy obviously was telling the authorities what she thought they wanted to hear. Although some found it difficult to swallow her words, they managed to do so and begged for more. After all, the public was clamoring for victims. Peggy now said that she remembered the names of seven of the conspirators. When they were led into her presence, she accused them to their faces. Meanwhile, John Romme heard of Peggy's lies and scampered out of town. His wife, however, was arrested.

Several fires broke out in Hackensack, New Jersey, across the Hudson River. Later two Negroes were convicted of arson and burned at the stake, although there wasn't a shred of evidence against them. In New York's jail the quaking Negroes now began accusing one another to save their hides. Sarah Hughson was granted a stay of execution. On May 11, 1741, Caesar and Prince were hanged on a small island in the Collect. They admitted being thieves, but to the end they denied plotting to burn down the town.

Next, the Hughsons and Peggy Carey were convicted of receiving stolen goods. Apparently realizing that she was already doomed, Peggy now declared that she had lied in accusing Mr. and Mrs.
Hughson of complicity, but when she spoke the truth, nobody listened. On the other hand, everybody wanted to believe Mary Burton's lies. Mary suddenly remembered seeing a slave give Hughson twelve pounds to buy guns. Also, her master had hidden these weapons under his attic floor. Police dashed there, ripped up the boards, and found nothing.

One Negro prisoner became clever at prying “confessions” from his cellmates, and circles of accusations spread like ripples on a slimy pond. Even ignorant slaves understood that to tell the truth meant to confess to a lie. On May 29 two Negroes, Quack and Cuffee, became the first persons convicted of the conspiracy itself—not just of thievery. When Quack spun an unlikely tale about setting fire to the governor's mansion, nobody cared to remember that the lieutenant governor had attributed the blaze to careless workmen. Not a single lawyer defended the accused. Instead, every attorney in town sided with the prosecution. Even James Alexander and William Smith, who had acted so nobly for Rip Van Dam and John Peter Zenger, now joined in demands that the Negroes be put to death.

Quack and Cuffee were ordered burned alive. Their execution was to take place just behind the present New York County Courthouse at the intersection of Baxter, Worth, and Park streets. In this grassy valley hundreds upon hundreds of spectators watched with excitement as the fagots were piled high. The condemned slaves were questioned by their masters for the last time. Eager to save themselves, Quack and Cuffee blabbed everything expected of them. Hoarsely they “confessed” that the plot had originated with John Hughson, that Mary Burton had indeed told the truth, and that she could name many more conspirators if she cared to do so.

The sheriff then halted the proceedings. He said that it was his duty to report the confessions to the lieutenant governor. Meantime, he would march the prisoners back to jail. The crowd roared in protest. Excited voices cried that they were not to be cheated of watching two damnable blacks burn to death. Listening to the hubbub and noting the menacing gestures of men closest to the stakes, the sheriff reversed himself. The trembling Negroes were tied, the fagots were lighted, and Quack and Cuffee perished in screaming agony.

Their dying “evidence” led to the trial of seven other Negroes, six of whom were executed on June 7. The seventh slave saved his life by implicating fourteen others. One of these, in turn, won an amnesty by betraying still more slaves. Further burnings and hangings followed
. At last, on June 12, Mr. and Mrs. John Hughson and Peggy Carey became the first white people to die because of the alleged conspiracy.

Seven days later a deadline was set for pardons and rewards, the lieutenant governor ordering all conspirators to confess before July 1. Now the shower of accusations became a deluge. Terrified Negro prisoners had learned that it did no good to protest their innocence. In desperation they felt that they might save themselves by faking guilt, compromising others, and then bargaining for their own freedom. They talked. Oh, how they talked! As lies tumbled from their lips, it seemed as if a veritable convention of slaves had gathered in John Hughson's house.