January 26, 1861, The New York Herald
The poor of New York are divided into two great classes – those who have homes, such as they are, and those who when they awake in the morning know not where they will sleep the next night. Of this latter class there are at least a thousand in the city, of whom about one half find shelter every night in the different stations houses throughout the city. This portion is made up of laborers, tradesmen and poor women out of employment, with a small number of unfortunate inebriates who have managed to escape being sent up on the Island as vagrants. In estimating the number of houseless poor in New York at a thousand we are certain we fall very considerably short of the actual count, but then it must be remembered that many of these procure temporary employment and are enabled to provide themselves with a home for at least a week at a time. There are, however, at least a thousand who wander about the city every day, living upon whatever alms they receive, and sleeping in the police stations or cheap lodging houses where they can procure a bed for six pence or a shilling a night, the owners thereof being very little better off than themselves. The number of these homeless and destitute poor, although subject to frequent reductions under the Vagrant act which consigns them to the public institutions, is constantly recruited by the daily accessions made to it by the unemployed who come in from the country, where they have worked upon farms, but where their services are no longer required. We have shown how several of these unfortunate free white citizens are obliged to bind themselves into slavery to the State for certain terms, during which they are obliged to work in return for their food alone! This is the only alternative which is left to save them from starvation, and in some cases that we have seen they are only too willing to accept it. During the present winter there has been a large increase in the class of unfortunates, as shown by the returns of the past four or five days, compared with the average daily returns of the same time last year. From the report of the Superintendent of Police for the quarter ending January 31, 1860, we find that the number of persons accommodated with lodgings in the twenty six station houses of New York was 22, 051. This gives a nightly average of about 240, which is about one half of the number who now find shelter within their walls, although, as will be seen, that shelter is to some instances not of the same desirable character. The following are the returns recorded on the police books for five nights:-
Number of lodgers January 19………….. 523
“”” January 20…………… 412
“”” January 21…………… 476
“”” January 22 ………….. 534
“”” January 23 ………….. 525
This is certainly a sad exhibit, but it does not tell the whole story, for there are several who are unable to procure lodgings some nights on account of the crowded state of the houses. The shelter which is afforded to the unfortunate applicants is called a lodging, but that our readers may not form a wrong impression as to what is meant by the term as applied to station houses, we will give them the result of a visit to two of these institutions. While in the office of the first station house at which we called an applicant made his appearance, accompanied by a man who had kindly undertaken to show him the way, for the poor fellow had but lately come from the country and was ignorant of the ways of the city. he was examined by the Captain, who asked him the prescribed form of questions, the following being the results of the inquiry:-
“What’s your name
“Jacob –—.”
“Where were you born!”
“In Germany.”
“What is your business?”
“I work on a farm.”
“How long are you in this country?”
“Three years.”
“Have you any family?”
“Only myself.”
“Where have you been working?”
“I have been working out at Newark.”
“How long have you been out of work?”
“Five weeks.”
“How did you come to get discharged?”
“I don’t know; I suppose because they had no work.”
“When did you come to New York?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“Where did you sleep last night?”
“I slept in the Fourth ward station house.”
“Where are you going tomorrow?”
“I am going to look for work.”
This terminated the examination, and the man was shown to his place, whither in company we followed, to take a look both at it and its occupants. And such a lodging and such a scene we do not care ever to witness again. Down a narrow stairs we proceeded to the basement floor, emerging into a hall, on either side of which were some four or five cells with iron grated doors, while at one end was the lodgers’ apartment, to which, and its occupants, we shall immediately refer. Before doing so, however, there is another scene of which we wish to speak. At one side of a huge stove, which is employed to heat the cells and the lodging apartment, were seated two poor women who were out of employment. They were both natives of England, and had been out of work for some weeks, although they were willing, as they said, to engage themselves for even the lowest wages, but they found it impossible so far to get employment on any terms. They had no home and no means to pay for other lodging, and were only too glad to get even this shelter from the streets. It was a sad sight to see them as they sat there and to know that there are thousands of their sex in this city in a hardly better condition, although they have what maybe doing violence to the English language, be called a home.
And now for the lodging apartment into which we were introduced by the Captain, who informed us as a sort of precautionary measure that we must look out for our nose. Whatever doubts we night have had as to the meaning of his warning we had none when the door was opened, for such a smell as issued from that room we have rarely, if ever, perceived. There was no ventilation, and some idea may be formed of the effect of the close confinement of about thirty persons in a room not larger at the utmost than forty feet by forty. It was like the stench that might come from a charnel house, or from the black hole of Calcutta. The room was dark when we entered, but the gas was lit so as to give a full view of the interior. There on a large bench, which was intended to represent a bed, and which was raised about two feet from the floor, were stretched about twenty men, lying side by side, and so closely packed that it was with difficulty they could turn. Close as they lay, they were, however, obliged to lie still closer, to make room for the new comer, who took a melancholy survey of the scene, evidently doubtful as to whether he had improved his condition by accepting the hospitality of a station house. Some of the men had the appearance of tradesman, some of laborers, while a few looked as if they were habituated to this life by intemperance. The respectable part of the lodgers shrank from observation, apparently ashamed of the condition to which they had been reduced, and which was one that to their sensitive feelings was more irksome than almost any degree of servitude could be to a Southern slave. In the morning they would be all started off to get their breakfast wherever they might be so fortunate as to find it, and at night should they not succeed in procuring employment, to again seek a refuge at the same place, or in one of the other station houses.
In the second station house we visited the lodgers were placed in cells, on the floors of which they slept. It was somewhat better arranged than the first, although it had certainly, at the best, a rather uninviting appearance. In one of these cells were two women, one of whom was moaning in her sleep as if in much pain, while the other was complaining bitterly of the cold and piteously asking for some clothing. It is needless, however, to say that in the the station houses bed clothes are an unknown luxury, and as for mattresses such things are entirely out of the question. An elevated wooden bench or the floor is the only bed on which station house lodgers are permitted to stretch themselves, and if they don’t sleep upon either of these the sooner they can accustom themselves to them the better, particularly if they are forced to frequent these municipal lodging houses. In a cell nearly opposite to that of which these poor women were lying was a man who had been arrested on a charge of attempting to murder. His face was besmeared with blood, and bore the marks of a desperate struggle, while his hands were actually clotted with gore. He came to the door of his cell, protesting his innocence, and with his blood besmeared face and hands he presented a horrid appearance. Mingled with his exclamations of his innocence were the complaints of the poor woman and the moans of her sleeping companion, the effect of all which was enough to oppress the most buoyant with the most melancholy feelings. Here were two unfortunate women forced by extreme poverty into the same habitation with a man charged with the crime of murder, for the law is no respecter of persons and makes little distinction between crime and destitution. Those who think we have no slavery in our city would do well to have their minds disabused of that error by visiting one of our city station houses and seeing how the night lodgers are accommodated.