Part 24

Tens of thousands of people enter and leave the great city daily by means of the ferries. The country for twenty miles around the city is built up by persons who earn their bread in New York, and morning and evening they pass between their places of business and their homes. You may recognize them as they come into the city in the morning, or as they leave it at the close of the day. Towards five o'clock vast swarms of working-men pour over the river, followed at six and seven by the factory and shop girls, the clerks and salesmen in the retail houses and offices, and from these the newsboys reap a harvest for the two-penny papers. Every one has his newspaper, and all who can find the necessary space on the ferry-boat economize their time by reading the news as they cross the river. Later still come the clerks in the wholesale houses, and later still the great merchants themselves. Between nine and ten the Wall street men put in an appearance, and later yet the great capitalists, residing out of the city, begin to show themselves. From eight o'clock the great dailies are in demand, and the newsboys have scarcely a call for the cheap papers. Towards noon the idlers and ladies bent on shopping expeditions cross over, and for a few hours the ferries are comparatively dull. Towards four o'clock in the afternoon, however, the tide flows back again, but in reverse order. The richest come first, for their working hours are short, and the poorest extend the crowd into the hours of darkness. Night brings another flow and ebb of pleasure-seekers, theatre-goers, etc., so that the midnight boats go almost as full as those of the early evening. Then a few stragglers avail themselves of the boats that ply between midnight and morning. They are mostly journalists, actors, or printers employed in the newspaper offices.

With the first light of dawn, and frequently long before the darkness has passed away, the market farmers and gardeners of Long Island and New Jersey crowd the boats with their huge wagons heavily loaded with vegetables and fruits for the city markets. They come in throngs, and the approaches to the ferries in Brooklyn and Jersey City are lined for blocks with their wagons. They are mostly Germans, but they show a decidedly American quality in the impatience they manifest at the delays to which they are subjected. On the lower Jersey ferries, they are often followed by droves of cattle, many of which have come from the Far West, all wending their way to the slaughter houses of New York.

The New York approaches to the ferries are always "jammed" with wagons and trucks. The luckless "foot-passenger" must take the chances of reaching the boat in time, and often must incur no little risk in making his way through the crowd of vehicles. The police try hard to keep these approaches free, but the throng is too great for them, and they have all they can do in seeing after the safety of the "foot-passengers." A man on foot has no rights that a New York driver is bound to respect, and Jehu thinks it no harm to run over any one who gets in his way.

The ferries are good places to study human nature, for all classes use them. You see here the poor, pale working girl, whom toil and poverty are making prematurely old, and the blooming lady of fashion; the beggar and the millionaire; the honest laborer and the thief; the virtuous mother and her children, and the brazen courtezan and her poodle dog. You can tell them all by their appearance and aspect, for here they enjoy a few moments of enforced idleness, and during that time they are natural in expression and attitude.

At night, the scene to be witnessed from these boats is very striking. The waters are dark and the current is strong, and the dash of the waves against the side of the boat is like the noise of the great ocean. Through the darkness you may dimly discern the stern outline of the cities on either side, with the forests of masts which line them rising from the dark hulls at the piers. The shadowy forms of vessels at anchor in the stream, each with its warning light, rise up and disappear as if by magic as you dart past them. On the shore the many colored lights mark the various ferry houses, and similar lights are flashing about the stream like fire-flies as the boats pass from shore to shore. Back of the ferry houses the long rows of lights in the cities stretch away into the distance, and high over all gleams the round white face of the illuminated clock on the City Hall in New York. The breeze is fresh and keen, and comes in laden with the sighing of the mighty ocean so near at hand.

The people standing out on the open deck are silent, impressed by the fascination of the scene. Hark! there is a splash at the side of the boat, a white figure gleams one moment on the crest of the waves, and then sinks under the dark waters. The bell strikes sharply, and the boat stops suddenly. Life-preservers are thrown overboard, and lights gleam along the side of the boat. There is no sign of the unfortunate girl who has so rashly sought peace, and the waters will hold her in their cold embrace till the sea gives up its dead. All search is hopeless, and the boat speeds on, a dumb horror holding its occupants mute.

In a fog, the scene is exciting beyond description. The passengers throng the forward end of the boat, and strive with eager eyes to pierce the dense mist which enshrouds the stream and hides the shore from view. From either side the hoarse clangor of the ferry bells, tolling their number, comes floating through the mist, to guide the pilot to his destination, and all around, on every hand, steamers are shrieking their shrill signals to each other. The boat moves slowly and with caution, and the pilot strains both eye and ear to keep her in the right course. One single error of judgment on his part, and the boat might go crashing into a similar steamer, or into one of the vessels lying in the stream. It is a moment of danger, and those who are used to the river know it. You could hear a pin drop in the silent crowd on the deck. If men speak at all, they do so in low, subdued tones. There is a sharp whistle on the right, and the boat suddenly stops. You hear the splashing of paddle wheels, and the next moment a huge steamer dashes past you in the mist. You can hear her, but the fog hides her. Then the boat goes ahead again, and gradually the fog bells on the shore grow louder and clearer, and in a little while the dock bursts suddenly upon you, so spectral and unearthly in its appearance that you hardly recognize it. The boat now glides swiftly into her "slip," and a sigh of relief breaks from the throng on board. The danger is over.

The boats carry such crowds that an accident to any of them is a terrible affair. The collision at the Fulton Ferry in 1868, and the terrible explosion of the Westfield in 1871, were attended with great loss of life. The injuries were none of them slight, and the disasters were of such magnitude as to throw a general gloom over the community.

XVII. THE HOTELS.

New York is the paradise of hotels. In no other city do they flourish in such numbers, and nowhere else do they attain such a degree of excellence. The hotels of New York naturally take the lead of all others in America, and are regarded by all who have visited them as models of their kind.

It is said that there are from six to seven hundred hotels of all kinds in the City of New York. These afford accommodations for persons of every class, and are more or less expensive, according to the means of their guests. Of these, only about fifty are well known, even in the city, and only about twenty-five come under the head of "fashionable." The principal hotels are, beginning down town, the Astor, St. Nicholas, Metropolitan, Grand Central, Brevoort, New York, St. Denis, Spingler, Everett, Clarendon, Westminster, Glenham, Fifth Avenue, Hoffman, Albemarle, St. James, Coleman, Sturtevant, Gilsey, Grand, and St. Cloud. These are the largest, handsomest, and best kept houses in the city. Each has its characteristics and its special customers, and each in its way is worth studying.

The _Astor House_ is one of the oldest hotels in the city. It is built of granite, and occupies an entire block on Broadway, from Vesey to Barclay streets. It is immediately opposite the _Herald_ office, and the new Post-office. It was built by John Jacob Astor, and presented by him to his son William. It was opened for business in 1831, by Colonel Charles A. Stetson, the present proprietor, and for twenty years was the leading hotel of the country. In those days no one had seen New York unless he had "put up at the Astor." People talked of it all over the country, and in all our leading cities monster hotels began to appear, modelled upon the same general plan. Those were the palmy days of the Astor, and if one could write their history in full, it would be a record worth reading. The old registers of the house would be valuable for the autographs they contain, for there was scarcely a great or distinguished man of those days but had written his name in Colonel Stetson's book.

[Picture: THE ASTOR HOUSE.]

The house had from the first a strong flavor of politics about it. The leading statesmen of the country were always there in greater or less force, and their admirers kept up a continuous throng of comers and goers. The house had a decided leaning towards the Whig Party, and finally it became their New York headquarters. For thirty years Thurlow Weed boarded here, and the caucuses, committee meetings, and intrigues of various kinds the old house has witnessed, would fill a volume with their history. The Astor still keeps its political character, and is one of the Republican strongholds of the city. It is safe to assert that very few Democrats now inscribe their names on its register, if they are free to seek quarters elsewhere.

The misfortune of the Astor is that it is too far down town to be a fashionable house. It is admirably located for merchants and others who have business in the lower part of the city, and to whom time is of value. A few old-time folks, who knew the house in its palmy days, still stop there, and many whose political faith is in sympathy with that of the proprietor, make it a matter of conscience to patronize the house, and Colonel Stetson's well-earned popularity brings him other guests. Although its glories have faded, the Astor is still a successful hotel, but in popularity with the general public, it has long since been eclipsed by the _up town hotels_.

The _St. Nicholas_ is one of the best houses in the city. It shows a handsome marble front on Broadway, with a brown stone extension on the same thoroughfare to Prince street, and extends back to Mercer street. It is handsomely furnished, and is kept on a scale of comfort and magnificence worthy of its fame. Its spacious halls and sitting-rooms, on the street floor, furnish one of the most popular lounging places in the city. Towards nightfall they are full to overflowing. The table is said, by the lovers of good living, to be the best served of any house in the city. The hotel is always full, and is very profitable to its proprietors. It is said to pay better in proportion to its expenses than any of its rivals. It is much liked by the Western people, who come here in crowds. There is also a dashing element about its guests which gives to it its peculiar reputation in the city. It is popularly believed to be the headquarters of "Shoddy," and certain it is that one sees among its habitues an immense number of flashily dressed, loud-voiced, self-asserting people.

The _Metropolitan_ is a handsome brown stone edifice, situated at the northeast corner of Broadway and Prince street. It extends back to Crosby street, and has a frontage of about 300 feet on Broadway. It is one of the most elegant hotels in the city, in every respect. It contains about 400 rooms, and is always full. It is very popular with army officers, with Californians and the people of the mining States and Territories, as well as with the New Englanders. Capitalists and railroad managers also have a fondness for it. "Shoddy" is to be seen here also in great force.

[Picture: ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL.]

The _New York Hotel_ is a plain red brick structure, occupying the entire block bounded by Broadway and Mercer street, and East Washington and Waverley Places. It has recently been refitted and improved, and is one of the most comfortable houses in the city. In one respect, it may be regarded as the counterpart of the Astor, since like that hotel, it is noted for its political complexion. It is the favorite stopping place of the Democratic politicians visiting the city, and is mainly patronized by members of that party. It is very popular with the Southern people, large numbers of whom come here to spend the summer, to escape from the heat of their climate, or to pass the winter to enjoy the delights of the city. The guests of the New York generally stay a long time, and the house is said to do a good business.

The _Grand Central_, on Broadway, between Bleecker and Amity streets, and extending back to Mercer street, is a new house. It was opened in August, 1870, and is the largest hotel in America. It rises to a height of eight stories, or 127 feet, exclusive of the Mansard roof, above the street. Including the central dome, it is ten stories in height. The fitting up of the house is very handsome and elaborate, the furniture and decorations having cost over half a million of dollars. The dining-room will seat 600 persons at once.

The _Fifth Avenue Hotel_, at the junction of Broadway and Fifth avenue, and between Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth streets, is generally regarded as the best house in the city. It occupies the most conspicuous location in New York, and is one of the finest buildings of its kind in the world. It is constructed of white marble, is six stories in height, above ground, and fronts on Fifth avenue, Broadway, Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth streets. The land and building are valued at over $1,000,000, and are owned by Mr. Amos R. Eno, by whom the house was built. The proprietors are Messrs. Hitchcock, Darling & Co.

The hotel was begun in 1857, Mr. Eno having more faith in the rapid growth and prosperity of the city than most persons had at that day. The wise heads laughed him to scorn, and called his house "Eno's folly." They said it might make a popular summer resort, but would never take rank as a first class city hotel. It was too high up town. Undismayed by these criticisms, Mr. Eno went on with his work, and in 1860, the marble palace, to which he gave the name of the _Fifth Avenue Hotel_, was opened to the public. By this time the city had grown so fast as to make the need of this house imperative, but the first years of the war laid a burden upon it which only the most skilful financial management could overcome.

The hotel is the most perfectly appointed in the city. The ground floor along Broadway and Fifth avenue is let out in stores. The main entrance is on Fifth avenue, and is ornamented with a fine marble porch. From this, the visitor enters into the spacious reception hall, tiled with marble and handsomely frescoed. A marble counter at the lower end encloses the offices of the hotel, and on this counter is laid the Visitor's Register, of which several fresh pages are filled daily with the names of new-comers. Opposite the office are the stairs leading to the basement, in which are the billiard-rooms, storerooms, etc., of the house. The hall upon which the office opens extends through to the rear of the building. On the south side of this hall is the reading-room, in which are to be found the daily papers of the leading cities of the Union. Opposite the reading-room is the bar-room, one of the most elegant apartments of the house, and beyond this is the handsome and well-appointed barber-shop. There is a private entrance on Twenty-fourth street, used mainly by gentlemen, another on Twenty-third street, and still another on Broadway. Each is in charge of a door-keeper, whose duty it is to exclude improper personages. Along the Twenty-third street side are suites of private apartments on the ground floor, occupied by permanent boarders.

The various floors are reached by means of an "elevator," the first ever used in this country. Similar arrangements are now in use in all the large hotels. The main stairway commences immediately opposite the office. It is of white marble, and massive in its design. Ascending it the visitor finds himself in a spacious hall, at one end of which is a corridor at right angles to this hall. At the end nearest the stairs is the dining-room, a magnificent apartment. When the tables are filled with a handsomely dressed throng of guests at the dinner hour, this room presents one of the most brilliant sights that can be witnessed on the continent. The bill of fare comprises literally everything that is in season. Back of the dining-room is the kitchen, an immense establishment. Everything connected with it goes on like clock-work, however, so perfect is the system upon which it is managed. Beneath the kitchen are the machines for warming and ventilating the hotel. By means of these a perfectly comfortable temperature is maintained in all parts of the house, and the smells of the kitchen are kept out of the halls and chambers.

[Picture: FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL.]

At the end of the hall upon which the dining-room opens, are the parlors of the house. These are among the most magnificent rooms in the country. They are furnished with great taste and elegance, and their windows look out immediately upon Madison Square. There are also several private parlors adjoining the public rooms. Along the Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth street sides of the house are corridors, not quite so wide, but longer than the main corridor, and leading off from it. The three constitute one of the pleasantest promenades to be found. The floors are covered with the richest carpets, into which the feet sink noiselessly. In the day a half twilight prevails, and at night a rich flood of gaslight streams along their entire length.

The upper floors are occupied with private parlors, rooms for guests, etc. There are in this hotel pleasant quarters for 800 persons, and a greater number can be accommodated in case of necessity. There are 100 suites of rooms, besides the ordinary chambers. Each suite comprises a parlor, chamber, dressing-room, bath-room and water-closet. The number of permanent boarders is about 300. The transient arrivals average about 300 per day, sometimes amounting to about twice that number. The house is expensive, but its accommodations are unsurpassed, and if one can "get his money back" anywhere in the city he can at this hotel.

The house is mainly patronized by people from other parts of the State, from New England, and from the West. It is the most fashionable establishment in the city, and will doubtless hold its present rank as long as its energetic proprietors retain the control of it.

Towards eight o'clock in the evening, the hotel presents its most attractive features. It is full to overflowing. The lower halls, the reading and sitting-rooms are filled with well-dressed men, guests and citizens, who have sauntered here from all parts of the city. Four-fifths are smoking, and the air is hazy with the "vapor of the weed." The hum of conversation is incessant, but the general tone is well-bred and courteous. In the farther end of the great hall a group of stock brokers may be seen comparing notes, and making bargains for the sale and purchase of their fickle wares. The clink of glasses makes music in the bar-room, and beyond this you may see the barbers at work on their customers in the luxurious shaving saloon. Doors are opening and shutting continually, people are coming and going. Porters are pushing their way through the crowd bearing huge trunks on their shoulders. The office bell is sounding incessantly, from a dozen different chambers at once, and the servants are moving about in every direction to execute the orders of the guests.

On the floor above the scene is as animated, but of a different character. Every one here is in full dinner dress, and all are on their good behaviour. The grand dining-room is crowded with guests, who are doing ample justice to the sumptuous viands set before them. The parlors are thronged with ladies and gentlemen, and the corridors are filled with promenaders. The toilettes of the ladies are magnificent, and they can be seen here to better advantage than at any ball or evening party. You may see here some of the loveliest and most refined women, and some of the coarsest and vulgarest, some of the most courtly gentlemen, and some of the most insufferable snobs. If you will join the quiet-looking man moving through the throng as if seeking some one whom he cannot find, he can give you many an interesting bit of gossip about the various persons whom you will encounter in your walk. He is the detective of the house, and is on the watch for improper characters. Well-dressed thieves will make their way into hotels in spite of the precautions of the proprietors. Here a guest is comparatively safe. The detective is argus-eyed, and knows everybody. Let a pick-pocket or thief but show his face in this place, and his arrest is sure. All night the corridors are patrolled by watchmen to make sure of the safety of the sleeping guests. The house is absolutely fire-proof.

The cost of conducting such an establishment is immense, but the profits are in proportion. The average profit of this house is said to be about a quarter of a million of dollars per annum.

The hotels that have been mentioned are all conducted on the American plan of full board, or one charge for every expense. This enables a guest to calculate his expenses exactly, and has many other advantages.

Many of the most fashionable houses are conducted on what is called "the European plan," in which a separate charge is made for room, meals, and every service rendered. It is said that this is more economical than the other plan, and that it is less profitable to the proprietors. It is adopted by the Hoffman, St. Denis, Glenham, Brevoort, Coleman, St. James, Albemarle, Clarendon, Everett, Grand, Gilsey, and several other prominent houses.