The Epic of New York City (33 page)

New York State had developed into a grazing and dairy area, and cowboys rounded up cattle not far from the city. The Hessian fly, unwittingly brought in by mercenaries during the Revolution, blighted wheatfields and lowered the quality of New York's once-famous grain. Another unwanted import, the house rat, was multiplying annoyingly. A good dwelling rented for $350 a year. In the next 19 years John Jacob Astor was to invest an average of $35,000 a year in Manhattan real estate. Lotteries flourished, and business was good. Seamen groused because they were paid only $10 a month. Their anger might have sharpened had they known that the beautiful and talented actress Mrs. Robert Merry earned more than $100 a week performing at the Park Theatre.

One theater devotee, who stared at the statue of Shakespeare in the lobby, was Washington Irving, a seventeen-year-old with an oval face, chestnut hair, and blue-gray eyes. Born at 131 William Street, named for George Washington, and coiner of the phrase “the almighty dollar,” Irving became the first American author of international renown. He hadn't yet heard of a six-year-old named Cornelius Van Derbilt, who was making poor marks in a school on Staten Island. Jacob Astor, now thirty-seven years old and worth $250,000, strode arrogantly into the Tontine Coffee House, where lesser men hastened to invite him to share a chunk of raw codfish and a glass of spirits. And an impressionable nine-year-old named Peter Cooper—later an inventor, manufacturer, philanthropist, and perhaps the best-loved man in New York—witnessed something in City Hall Park that he never forgot. Cooper later wrote:

Until the election of 1800 the first two Presidents of the United States, George Washington and John Adams, belonged to the Federalist party. Now Thomas Jefferson was the candidate of the Democratic-Republican party. Aaron Burr, a member of Jefferson's party,
whipped the Tammany Society into a formidable political machine for the first time. Jefferson's supporters agreed with Tammany to let Burr become Jefferson's running mate. Thirty-nine young members of Tammany collectively bought a house and lot so that they could meet the property qualification to vote, but a court ruled their scheme illegal.

State legislatures named Presidential electors. New York was the pivotal state in the election. John Adams, running for reelection as a Federalist, got only sixty-five votes. Jefferson and Burr tied with seventy-three votes each. This threw the election into the House of Representatives. After much balloting Jefferson won. He became President, and Burr, the New Yorker, became Vice-President.

Jefferson believed that Burr had tried to win the Presidency for himself despite the arrangement with Tammany. The new President regarded Burr as “a crooked gun, or other perverted machine, whose aim or shot you could never be sure of.” Alexander Hamilton found out differently. Not long after the inauguration Jefferson was visited in Washington by Matthew L. Davis, a Tammany sachem and a Burr henchman. Davis told the lanky Virginian to his face that he held the Presidency only because of Tammany's help. Jefferson listened intently. When Davis finished, the President flicked out a hand and caught a fly. Then, with the air of a professor, he asked the Tammany leader to note the remarkable disproportion between one part of the insect and its entire body. Getting the point, Davis returned to New York in a sour mood because he considered Jefferson an ingrate.

Burr agreed with Davis, but it was Alexander Hamilton, not Jefferson, whom Burr regarded as his chief rival. Fate had entwined the lives of Hamilton and Burr. Hamilton was the illegitimate son of a hot-blooded West Indian beauty and a handsome ne'er-do-well. Burr was wellborn, a grandson of the cool New England theologian Jonathan Edwards. Burr was one year older than Hamilton. In some ways the two men were much alike. Both had been officers during the Revolutionary War and had served on Washington's staff. Both had founded a bank and a newspaper. Both practiced law in New York and owned town houses and country estates just outside the city. They met socially, and Hamilton even lent money to Burr; but Hamilton considered Burr a dangerous politician. Hamilton had used his influence with Washington to prevent Burr's appointment as brigadier general. And, as Burr well knew, when the election had been thrown into the House of Representatives, Hamilton had lobbied against him
and caused him to lose the Presidency. Burr bided his time, letting thoughts of Hamilton marinate in the brine of his resentment.

In 1802 the idea of building a bridge across the East River was proposed to the state legislature, only to meet with ridicule. This project was not realized until the opening of the Brooklyn Bridge eighty-one years later. With the growth of population, City Hall on Wall Street became inadequate, so in 1802 a prize was offered for the best design for a new building. The $350 prize was won by John McComb, Jr., a Scotsman, and Joseph Mangin, a Frenchman. It was Mangin who, with his brother, had designed the Park Theatre.

The site chosen for the new City Hall was the northern side of the little plain known in turn as the Commons, as the Fields, and, after its enclosure within a fence in 1785, as the Park. Not until 1871 was it legally established as City Hall Park, which it is today. It was a beautiful area shadow-dappled by elms, poplars, willows, and catalpas. In 1803 Mayor Edward Livingston laid the cornerstone for this third and present City Hall, the celebration continuing all that day of September 20 and far into the night.

The building's exterior, a gracious blend of French Renaissance and American Colonial design, was essentially Mangin's inspiration. McComb oversaw the interior details and the magnificent marble stairway. The copper roof was imported from England. City Hall was faced in white Massachusetts marble, varying in thickness from five to eighteen inches. Delivery of the stone posed many problems. McComb bribed political hacks who maintained roads, and he tested the bridges over which the marble had to pass.

The eastern, southern, and western sides of City Hall were covered with the white marble, but the city fathers decided to save $15,000 by using brownstone on the northern rear side. After all, the city lay south of the new building, and its back “would be out of sight to all the world.” Obviously, nobody ever would build farther north.

The new edifice was not used until July 4, 1811, and wasn't fully completed until 1812. Having spent half a million dollars on it, New Yorkers hoped that their City Hall would become the most handsome structure in the world, and it indeed became the finest public building in America. At the time the Capitol at Washington, D.C., was still under construction.

Then there rose in New York another building less noble in design and purpose than City Hall. A fat butcher built an open-air bull-
baiting arena, seating 2,000 persons. A bull was led into this amphitheater and tied to an iron ring sunk into the ground. The rope was long enough for the animal to run around in wide circles. Then bulldogs were set on the captive bull. Spectators bet on how many dogs would be killed by the bull or how long the pack would need to tear the beast to pieces. Sometimes a buffalo was substituted for the bull.

In 1804 a secession plot touched off a train of events that ended with the most famous duel in the annals of the nation. Diehard New England Federalists were disgusted with President Jefferson. They connived to withdraw from the Union and set up a Northern Confederacy, consisting of New England and New York. Federalist leader Alexander Hamilton was offered a role in the scheme. Even though his party had differences with that of Jefferson, Hamilton never forgot how once, on the sidewalk outside Washington's New York residence, Jefferson had helped him maintain the Union. Now he turned thumbs-down on the plot.

Then the plotters approached smart, ambitious, and bitter Aaron Burr. Burr belonged to Jefferson's party and Jefferson had edged him out of the Presidency. He got no federal patronage from Jefferson or state patronage from Governor George Clinton. Burr was Vice-President of the United States, true, but this did not satisfy him. Aware of his discontent, the New England schemers made him a proposal. If he ran for governor of New York, they would influence their New York friends to vote for him. After his election he could resign as Vice-President, lead New York State out of the Union, and join it to the new confederacy. Then, as his reward, he would become president of the new nation.

Too crafty to commit himself forthrightly to such an intrigue, Burr did promise that if he were elected governor, he would guarantee an administration “satisfactory to the Federalists.” Political wheels began to turn. New York's leading Federalists met in an Albany tavern to decide whether to nominate Burr, the Democratic-Republican, for governor. Influenced by their New England friends, many were well disposed toward him. But up rose Hamilton, Burr's nemesis, to read a paper criticizing Burr. Hamilton convinced Federalist leaders that Burr's nomination might lead to “dismemberment of the union.” Judge Morgan Lewis was chosen in preference to Burr. Every word spoken by Hamilton was overheard by Burr's spies, hidden in an adjoining room of the tavern.

Denied the nomination by the Federalists, Burr also was rejected
by the Democratic-Republicans. He ran as an independent candidate for governor and opened campaign headquarters on John Street. His followers, called Burrites, included most members of Tammany. Hamilton then threw all his political weight against Burr, split the Federalists, and caused Burr's defeat. Morgan Lewis became the new governor.

This was the last straw, Burr decided. Every time he tried to advance his career, he was blocked by Hamilton. So the Vice-President of the United States cold-bloodedly provoked the former Secretary of the Treasury into a duel. One June day, about two months after the election, into Hamilton's law office, at 58 Wall Street, strode William P. Van Ness, a young lawyer who was a personal friend and political associate of Burr's. Van Ness handed Hamilton a note from Burr, asking Hamilton to explain remarks that he had allegedly made about Burr. Two days later Hamilton replied in a way that Burr considered evasive. More notes passed back and forth. On June 27 Burr formally challenged Hamilton to a duel. Even though he opposed dueling, Hamilton accepted. The two antagonists were to meet on the field of honor at 7
A.M
. on July 11, 1804.

Burr prepared by practicing with a pistol at his country estate. Hamilton, however, went about his business as usual, seeing clients and appearing in court. He did straighten out his affairs so that his wife and seven children would suffer less in the event of his death. Resolved not to fire at Burr, Hamilton wrote: “My religious and moral principles are strongly opposed to the practice of duelling, and it would ever give me pain to be obliged to shed the blood of a fellow-creature in a private combat forbidden by the laws.”

Several people knew of the impending duel, but nobody tried to stop it. On July 4, one week in advance, Hamilton and Burr met at the annual banquet of the Society of the Cincinnati, which Hamilton had headed since Washington's death. The former army officers drank heartily, and Hamilton seemed as vivacious as usual. His friends asked him to sing his favorite ballad, called “The Drum.” After a moment's hesitation Hamilton raised his voice in a solo. Burr seemed more silent than usual that day. As Hamilton began singing, Burr, elbows on a table, turned toward him, staring into the face of his opponent.

For their duel they chose a secluded spot at Weehawken, New Jersey, across the Hudson River due west of Manhattan's present Forty-second Street. About twenty feet above the water a little ledge
was niched into a cliff. Six feet wide and thirty-six feet long, this grassy area was screened by cedars from boatmen below or pedestrians above. No footpath led to the spot. One got there only by boat and then by scrambling up rocks.

That historic morning Burr arrived before Hamilton, as prearranged. Burr was accompanied by his second, Van Ness, and by another friend, Matthew L. Davis, who had watched in disgust when Jefferson had lectured him about a fly. Davis stayed in the boat that brought them to the spot. Burr and Van Ness picked their way up to the ledge, doffed their coats, and began clearing away bushes and limbs of trees so that a big enough opening could be made. They were still engaged in this work when, a few moments before seven o'clock, Hamilton arrived in another boat with his second, Judge Nathaniel Pendleton; Dr. David Hosack; and a boatman. The physician and boatman remained below as Hamilton and the judge climbed to the dueling ground. Burr pulled on his coat and bowed to Hamilton, who returned the courtesy. The seconds exchanged greetings.

Then Van Ness and Pendleton drew lots to determine which should decide where the combatants must stand. Pendleton won. Again they drew lots to decide which should give the word to fire. Again Pendleton won. The two seconds carefully stepped off twelve paces. Pendleton placed Hamilton at one end. Van Ness stationed Burr at the other. A case holding a brace of dueling pistols was opened. The weapons were loaded under the gaze of the rivals. Pendleton gave one to Hamilton, and Van Ness handed the other to Burr. Then Van Ness stepped back out of the line of fire.

Pendleton solemnly explained to the two principals the rules already agreed on. When he cried, “
Present!
” they were to raise their pistols and fire at will. Now Pendleton stepped back. Both combatants wore hats, although it was a bright warm summer morning. The dipping of breeze-stirred leaves spilled shadows into the hollows of their tight cheeks. All was silence except for the drone of a flower-flirting bee nearby and the soft
slap-chunk
of little waves on the rocks below.