New York City

Herman Melville’s New York

Map bounded by Bowling Green Row, Marketfield Street, Beaver Street, William Street, Old Slip, South Street, Whitehall Street, State Street, Plate 1, 1852. William Perris, civil engineer and surveyor. Courtesy New York Public Library.

The name Herman Melville may conjure visions of adventures on the high seas, the “watery part of the world” in the author’s parlance, but Melville was very much a New Yorker for most of his life. He was born Herman Melvill in 1819 in a rooming house at 6 Pearl Street, the third of eight children. The house is long gone, but an illustration of Pearl Street found in D.T. Valentine’s manuals shows the house in 1858. His mother, Maria Gansevoort, had him baptized in the Calvinist Dutch Reformed church she attended. The Gansevoorts were a long-established Dutch family and Maria’s father, Peter Gansevoort, had been a decorated colonel in the Continental Army. In 1777, Peter Gansevoort at the age of only 28, took command of Fort Stanwix and led it through a siege by British forces. It was the only American fort not to surrender to the British during the American Revolution. In 1812, a new fort was named in honor of him, at the foot of today’s Gansevoort Street.

View of Pearl Street looking from State Street, 1858. A. Weingartner’s Lithography, for D.T. Valentine's Manual of 1859. NYC Municipal Library. Herman Melville was born in a rooming house at 6 Pearl Street in 1819, the third of eight children. It still stood in 1858, the 2nd house from the right.

Meville’s father, Alvin Melvill (the family added the “e” after Alvin’s death), was a merchant in the bustling New York-to-Europe trade boom following the War of 1812. Mercantile New York offered great rewards and great risk, and the family fortunes soon rose and fell. Alvin borrowed money heavily from the Gansevoorts for his trading ventures and to raise the family’s standard of living. In quick succession he moved his family to their own house at 55 Cortlandt Street in 1821, then to 33 Bleecker Street in 1824, and then to the fashionable address of 675 Broadway in 1828. There is scant record of this house, but it probably resembled the Merchant’s House Museum, which still stands nearby on East 4th Street. It is hard to over-estimate the exclusiveness of the neighborhood at this time, centered around Lafayette Street, one block over. Their neighbors in the 9th Ward would have included Stuyvesants, Astors, Roosevelts, Delanos, and Vanderbilts.

Record of Assessments, 9th Ward, 1829. NYC Municipal Archives. This assessment (which incorrectly has Allen instead of Alvin Melvill) shows that Alvin did not own his house at 675 Broadway, it was his personal estate that was valued at $4,000. Alvin was living above his means to be close to New York’s gentry.

Melvill was very devoted to his children and especially concerned with giving the boys a good education, but he was financially over-extended—the household was lavish, and they employed many servants. In 1825 Herman attended the New York Male High School and then in 1829 he transferred to the more prestigious Columbia Grammar and Preparatory School. After the last of Herman’s seven siblings was born in 1830, the Gansevoorts cut off Melvill financially. He quickly went bankrupt and was briefly placed in a debtor’s prison. Going into the fur business, he relocated the family to Albany. Enrolled in the Albany Academy, Herman was praised as a bright scholar, but he withdrew in the fall of 1831, perhaps because of the family finances.

South from Maiden Lane, 1828. George Hayward lithographer, for D.T. Valentine’s Manual of 1854. NYC Municipal Library. 

Added to these reminiscences my father, now dead, had several times crossed the Atlantic on business affairs, for he had been an importer in Broad-street. And of winter evenings in New York, by the well-remembered sea-coal fire in old Greenwich-street, he used to tell my brother and me of the monstrous waves at sea, mountain high; of the masts bending like twigs...
— Herman Melville, Redburn

In December 1831, Alvin fell ill with a high fever after traveling in an open carriage during a winter storm and died on January 28, 1832. His death again threw the family into a desperate situation. Oldest son Gansevoort Melvill took over the fur business and Herman, age 14, found a job as a bank clerk. In 1834, Gansevoort took him from the bank to run his fur store, as he could not afford staff, but by 1835 Herman was again able to return to his studies of the classics. The Panic of 1837 shattered the family’s fortunes once again, and Gansevoort filed for bankruptcy. He moved back to New York City to study law and Herman took a job as a schoolteacher for a semester. By 1839, Herman, always entranced by his father’s tales of Europe and stories from relatives who had taken to the sea, decided to ship out. He signed on to the St. Lawrence, a merchant ship out of New York, as a “boy” (an untrained hand) for a voyage to Liverpool and back. This brief introduction to the sea and the experience of the slums of 19th-century England would become the basis of his fourth novel, Redburn: His First Voyage.

Coffee House Slip and New York Coffee House. George Hayward, lithographer for D.T. Valentine’s Manual of 1856. NYC Municipal Library. “...somewhere near ranges of grim-looking warehouses, with rusty iron doors and shutters, and tiled roofs; and old anchors and chain-cables piled on the walk. Old-fashioned coffee-houses, also, much abound in that neighborhood, with sun-burnt sea-captains going in and out, smoking cigars, and talking about Havana, London, and Calcutta.” -Herman Melville, Redburn

Upon his return, Herman again tried teaching but left when the school failed to pay his salary. His eyes turned to the sea once more. Gansevoort suggested he try his hand on a whaler and took him to New Bedford. There they found a whaling boat, the Acushnet, that would take him on as a green hand. They set sail on January 3, 1841, for what could be a four-year voyage. It was not entirely unusual for a young middle-class American man to go to sea and Melville might have been inspired by the memoir Two Years Before the Mast, by Richard Henry Dana, which was published in 1840. After hunting whales in the Bahamas and docking in Rio de Janeiro, they rounded Cape Horn and explored the South Pacific. Off the coast of Chile, they met up with a boat from Nantucket, where William Henry Chase gave Melville a copy of his father Owen’s account of the sinking of the ship Essex by a sperm whale.

Peck Slip, New York, 1850. George Hayward lithographer, for D.T. Valentine’s Manual of 1857. NYC Municipal Library. 

“Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see? – Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep.”
— Herman Melville, Moby Dick

By the summer of 1842, Melville had tired of the whaling life, and he jumped ship in the Marquesas Islands. For four weeks he lived with a tribe in the Typee Valley on the island of Nukahiva just as it was falling under French rule. The Nuka Hiva still practiced cannibalism, but they treated Melville warmly and he was fascinated by their customs including communal ownership of property. Melville left the island on another whaling boat out of Australia but was thrown in jail in Tahiti for his role in a mutiny. He escaped in short order and wandered the Tahitian islands as a beachcomber until climbing aboard another whaler for a six-month cruise that ended in the Hawaii Islands. There he signed onto a US Navy ship that rounded the Horn again and returned him to Boston in 1844.

He came home bubbling with stories and a changed man. An educated young man from New York’s genteel classes, he had lived and worked amongst common seamen, from all races and parts of the globe, had lived amongst the people of Polynesia and had seen what colonization was doing to their cultures. At the urging of his family, he started writing. He stretched his month on Nukahiva into Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life. Although presented as a true memoir, in his romantic retelling the narrator spends four months amongst the cannibals. Gansevoort Melville, by this time a successful orator and lawyer, was on his way to London in the diplomatic service. On the advice of a literary agent, he took Herman’s manuscript to London and arranged for the publication of simultaneous English and American editions of the book in early 1846. Herman Melville became an overnight literary sensation, but his success was soured by the sudden death of Gansevoort in London. Their brother Allen, who had worked with Gansevoort in their firm at 16 Pine Street, now took over as his literary agent.

Record of Assessments, 17th Ward, 1848. NYC Municipal Archives. Herman Melville was able to purchase his and Lizzie’s first house at 103 Fourth Avenue with the proceeds from his first two books. 

In 1847, Melville published a sequel, Omoo, which did well enough that he felt confident to marry Elizabeth Shaw, daughter of a prominent Massachusetts Judge, Lemuel Shaw. They started their marriage in New York City, in a house he purchased at 103 Fourth Avenue, valued at $6,000. But after a series of literary gatherings in Pittsfield, Massachusetts with Nathaniel Hawthorne and Oliver Wendell Holmes, amongst others, they borrowed money from Judge Shaw in 1850 to build their own house there, Arrowhead. By 1850, Melville was already at work on his magnum opus Moby Dick, which he finished at Arrowhead and published in 1851. Hawthorne thought the book showed depths to Melville’s writing not previously displayed, but most reviewers were unkind, and the book was a commercial failure. After his next book Pierre again left reviewers perplexed, some began to question his sanity. After more commercial and critical failures, he published his final book, The Confidence-Man, in 1857 and took off for a tour of Europe and the Holy Land. On his return he tried the lecture circuit and started writing poetry. Finally, in 1863 he swapped his Pittsfield house for his brother’s house at 104 East 26th Street and the Melvilles returned to New York for good.

Fort Gansevoort or old White Fort. George Hayward lithographer, for D.T. Valentine’s Manual of 1850. NYC Municipal Library. Fort Gansevoort, named after Melville’s maternal grand-father Peter Gansevoort, was located by the Hudson River where the Whitney Museum now sits.

In 1866 he found a government job as a customs inspector. Stationed at a dock at the end of Gansevoort Street, he stayed for 19 years, perhaps protected in his position by an admirer of his writing, future president Chester A. Arthur, then a customs official. Melville was honest in his job but suffered from both physical and mental ailments. He had nervous breakdowns, drank heavily, and may have been abusive to his wife Lizzie. In May 1867, Lizzie’s brother arranged for her to leave Melville, but she refused. In September, their son Malcolm, aged 18, went to his bedroom after quarreling with his father and shot himself in the head. Although some contemporaneous accounts reported the death as accidental, the coroner inquest ruled it a suicide. The Melvilles somehow moved on.

Death certificate for Malcolm Melville, 1867. NYC Municipal Archives.

Herman Melville outlived all but one of his siblings. His brother Allan died in 1872, but he would visit with his youngest brother Thomas, a retired ship captain who was now the Governor of the Seaman’s Snug Harbor in Staten Island. Thomas died in 1884, their sister Frances the following year. Around this time, Lizzie received enough of an inheritance that Herman was able finally to retire in 1886. That same year, their remaining son Stanwix died of tuberculosis in San Francisco.

1890 Police Census, 104 E. 26th Street, 11th AD, First ED. NYC Municipal Archives. Herman Melville is shown living with his daughter Elizabeth “Bessie” Melville, wife Elizabeth (curiously called here Emilie although she was known by Lizzie), and presumably an Irish maid, Mary Brennan. Even more curious are the ages given of the occupants, in 1890 Melville would have been 71, not 59 and the rest of the ages of the Melville household all seem to be from ca. 1880 too.

Melville may have found some kind of peace in his final years. He collected artwork, an interest since childhood, visited book shops and joined the New York Society Library. He remained somewhat detached from the world. He apparently never voted, there being no record of him in voter registration books in the Municipal Archives. He showed up in the 1890 census living at home with his wife and their daughter Elizabeth (Bessie), and a single maid. In July 1891, he saw a doctor for trouble with his heart. He died of a heart attack on September 28, 1891, and was buried in Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. His wife was buried beside him in 1905.

Contrary to some popular belief, the New York Times obituary did not misspell his name, it misspelled the name of what became his most famous book. It reads in its entirety: “Herman Melville died yesterday at his residence, 104 East Twenty-sixth Street, this city, of heart failure, aged seventy-two. He was the author of Typee, Omoo, Mobie Dick, and other sea-faring tales, written in earlier years. He leaves a wife and two daughters, Mrs. M. B. Thomas and Miss Melville.” As embarrassingly brief as this September 29th notice was, it was followed up on October 2nd with a more appreciative article: “There has died and been buried in this city, during the current week, at an advanced age, a man who is so little known, even by name, to the generation now in the vigor of life that only one newspaper contained an obituary account of him, and this was but of three or four lines. Yet forty years ago the appearance of a new book by Herman Melville was esteemed a literary event, not only throughout his own country, but so far as the English-speaking race extended.”

Death certificate for Herman Melville, September 28, 1891. NYC Municipal Archives. He was 72 years old, and was listed as being a resident for 28 years at 104 E. 26th Street. Although for most of that time he made his living as a customs inspector, he retired in 1885 and returned to writing, his occupation was given as “Author.”

A century after his birth Melville’s works were rediscovered and in the 1920s a new work, Billy Budd, was published from a manuscript Lizzie had saved in a breadbox. By the 1930s he was part of the American literary canon. So much so that, in 1938, the WPA Federal Writers’ Project book New York Panorama called him a giant along with Walt Whitman: “These men—Whitman and Melville—were of another breed, another stature; and they proclaimed themselves men of Manhattan. They came from the same Dutch-English Stock, bred by that Empire State.... they were archetypes of the city’s character-to-be.”

“A True and Perfect Inventory” - The Municipal Archives Collection of 18th and 19th-century Estate Records, Part One

Lists of people’s possessions when they died—pretty dry stuff, right? Well, the files in the Municipal Archives’ collection of estate assets from 1786 to 1859 may be brittle with age, but the glimpses they offer into Manhattan life from the era of George Washington’s presidency through the runup to the Civil War are hardly dull. Remarkably rich with detail, these records simultaneously remind us of how different—and yet how familiar—New York City life was 200 years ago.


Home of John Clendening in Bloomingdale, D. T. Valentine, 1863 Manual of the Corporation of the City of New York. NYC Municipal Archives.

A winding road back to 31 Chambers Street

The estate records came from the files of the New York County Surrogate’s Court. Generally known as Probate Court, New York is one of only two states that uses the name Surrogate’s Court for the courts that handle the disposition of estates (and orphans). When the head of a household died, the court assigned appraisers to visit the decedent’s home, make a room-by-room list of all possessions, and assign a monetary value to each item. From chamber pot to bank stock, from 25 cents of old lumber to a bear-skin great coat and from “1 six pence 1652” to a copy of Gardner’s Lectures on Steam Engines—it was all written down, attested to by the appraisers, and countersigned by the estate’s executors. The sale or distribution of the assets, by terms of a will or by the decision of the Surrogate, was a separate process from the creation of the asset lists.

1838 estate of William Barlas. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

These 11,000 records took a circuitous route from the Surrogate’s Court record room on the fifth floor of 31 Chambers Street to their current home in the Municipal Archives. In the 1970s, history professor Leo Herskowitz added the records to his “Historic Documents Collection,” at Queens College. Upon his retirement, he transferred the records to the Queens Borough Public Library. They were finally reclaimed by the Municipal Archives in the early 1990s.

The estate files illuminate so many aspects of New York life during the first century of the republic that it’s hard to summarize their historic value concisely. Instead, let’s put ourselves in the shoes of five hypothetical scholars studying different themes and see how these records might bear upon their research.

This week, For the Record looks at the themes Material culture: the personal possessions of New Yorkers and Investment choices in early America.  Next week, in Part Two, the themes of Enslaved people in New York City, Tools of the trade: artisans and shopkeepers, and Booksellers and personal libraries, will be examined.


Material culture: the personal possessions of New Yorkers

What goods were available in Manhattan shops 200 years ago, and what did New Yorkers buy? Items offered for sale can be found in the estate assets of deceased businessmen and shopkeepers, which often included detailed lists of the contents of their shops or factories. And regardless of age or occupation, most estate inventories listed personal possessions—often to extraordinary levels of detail—for the poor, the wealthy, and everyone in between.

A rare example where we have images of a large house in Upper Manhattan, as well as a detailed description of its contents, is in the estate record of John Clendening (1752-1836), a wealthy importer with a mansion at what is now Columbus Avenue around West 104th Street. Clendening’s home survived until the early 20th century. His estate inventory provides a room-by-room list of furnishings from the original owner of a large house dating to the earliest decades of the republic.

The furnishings are impressive more for their completeness and the way they can evoke a bygone era than for their elegance or value: parlor items include an easy chair, “old plated candle sticks,” and a “Mahogany Side Board (old).” 

Contents of a room in John Clendening’s Bloomingdale mansion. Estate Inventory Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

A remarkable estate of a different sort was that of James Tredwell, from 1808. Tredwell’s assets consisted of the most modest of household goods, none valued at more than a dollar or two each. Yet the heading of his inventory record tells us that James Tredwell was “a blackman,” and that he owned “One half of a house at the head of Jews Alley.” The city directory for 1804 confirms that James Tredwell, laborer, lived at Gibb’s Alley (also known as Jews Alley and the home of the Portuguese Synagogue; later called Mill Street and now part of South William Street). The story of how a Black New Yorker acquired property in the heart of the city decades before slavery was outlawed in the state is a worthy scholarly topic.

James Tredwell’s 1808 estate inventory, page 1. Estate Inventory Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

James Tredwell’s 1808 estate inventory, page 2. Estate Inventory Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Perhaps no more vivid example can be found of how our era differs from the century when these estate records were created than the brief inventory of the estate of Robert Barnes from 1828. Barnes owned household furniture appraised at just $10, a horse and wagon worth $72, and a house valued at $200 at the corner of 6th Avenue and 8th Street. But his assets also included a cellar of ice valued at $550, more than twice the value of his house! The inventory was made in May, so the ice had survived the warmth of Spring and was ready to be monetized for its cooling potential in the summer of 1828.

Robert Barnes’s furniture, house, and cellar full of ice. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

There were still farms on Manhattan Island in the 1820s. Samson Benson, heir to a farm in what is now Harlem and the upper reaches of Central Park, owned an array of farming implements, animals and produce: wagons, ploughs and harrows, a sorrel horse, three cows, and “6 fat hogs,” and quantities of buckwheat, potatoes, and oats. He also owned an oyster rake, evocative of the brackish water that still flowed nearby.

Estate Inventory Samson Benson. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.


Investment choices in early America

Investing money to make more money was certainly an option available to New York City residents of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. The portfolios of wealthy New Yorkers as revealed in their estate appraisals included stocks and bonds, but these tended to be for a narrow set of industries compared to today’s stock market offerings. Those who could afford to often invested in transportation infrastructure: turnpike companies, canal companies, and railroads. Insurance companies and bank stocks were also common, but periodic financial crises and the lack of a Federal Reserve to step in meant that many estate records list bank stocks with an annotation such as “bank failed” or “of doubtful value.” Direct and sizeable person-to-person loans were very common, often with real estate as the collateral. Interest rates of 6-7% were typical in the 1820s-1850s.

A diverse portfolio of investments in the 1845 estate of Janet Barlas, page 1. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

A diverse portfolio of investments in the 1845 estate of Janet Barlas, page 2. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

Janet Barlas owned shares in banks, canal companies, insurance companies, and The Manhattan Company. The latter was the holding company founded in 1799 by Aaron Burr and an all-star lineup of investors, nominally to provide a reliable water supply to Manhattan but in reality to circumvent Alexander Hamilton’s banking monopoly. The Manhattan Company still exists—its current incarnation is JP Morgan Chase.

Some financial assets that look like curiosities to contemporary eyes appear in these estate inventories. For example, appraisers of the 1836 estate of Gurdon S. Mumford, who had been private secretary to Benjamin Franklin and a United States congressman but later fell on hard times, listed only two assets: certificates entitling Mumford to proceeds from the “French Indemnity” and the “Neapolitan Indemnity.” These artifacts of maritime history emerged from the taking of American ships and the property of U.S. citizens in the early 19th century during disputes with France and with the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, respectively. If you don’t remember any such wars from your history classes, you’re not alone. These were quasi-wars as American naval power was tested by European kingdoms. When the disputes were eventually settled, indemnifying payments were agreed upon and apparently U.S. citizens could either place claims, or make investments based on the scheduled payments, which came in installments over a period of years.

Gurdon S. Mumford’s estate appraisal listing shares of the French and Neapolitan Indemnities, page 1. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

Gurdon S. Mumford’s estate appraisal listing shares of the French and Neapolitan Indemnities, page 2. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

New York City’s role as a center of the maritime industry appears in many contexts in estate records, from the modest possessions of sailors who died at sea to shares of ships. For example, at his death in 1809 Eliab Burgis’s net worth consisted entirely of his share in four sailing ships.

Eliab Burgis’s estate inventory. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

Readers are welcome to explore the updated collection inventory in the Collection Guide. Next week, in Part Two, For the Record will explore the themes of Enslaved people in New York City, Tools of the trade: artisans and shopkeepers, and Booksellers and personal libraries that can be explored in the collection.

Anniversary of Wall Street

The 13th of March marks another important anniversary in the history of New Amsterdam. For on March 13, 1653, less than two months after New Amsterdam formed its first municipal government, it faced an existential threat. The 1st Anglo-Dutch war had broken out in late 1652, and word had reached Governor General Petrus Stuyvesant and the council of Burgomasters and Schepens that English troops were amassing in New England for a possible overland invasion from the north. From the records of New Amsterdam:

“Upon reading the letters from the Lords Directors [of the Dutch West India Company in Amsterdam] and the last received current news from New England concerning the preparations there for either defense or attack, which is unknown to us, it is generally resolved:

First. The burghers of this City shall stand guard in full squads overnight…

Second. It is considered highly necessary, that Fort Amsterdam be repaired and strengthened.

Third. Considering said Fort Amsterdam cannot hold all the inhabitants nor defend all the houses and dwellings in the City, it is deemed necessary to surround the greater part of the City with a high stockade and a small breastwork….”[1]

From the 13th to the 19th of March 1653, they discussed the plans for defense and how to bid out the work. And on the 17th, someone, possibly even Stuyvesant himself, drew a little sketch in the margins of the court record of a cross-section of the defenses, consisting of a ditch, embankment and palisade wall. The wall built by the spring of 1653 to defend against the English would eventually give its name to Wall Street (although the Dutch called it Het Cingel, the Belt). All of this I have covered thoroughly in past blogs, but a few new questions have arisen concerning the history of the wall.

Court minutes from March 17th, 1653. The sketch of the wall is in the margin in the middle. Records of New Amsterdam, NYC Municipal Archives.

Diagram of the proposed wall from the Court Minutes of New Amsterdam, March 17, 1653. Records of New Amsterdam, NYC Municipal Archives.

The exterior has an embankment and a ditch, and the line projecting from the top of the wall may be a fraise, small sharp sticks to impede scaling the wall. The Dutch reads: “9 feet above ground, 3 feet in ground.” One dot = one foot. In the end a palisade proved too costly, and they used slats across posts set 15 feet apart.

A recent Bowery Boys podcast about the wall kindly directed listeners to my earlier blogs. However, one part of the story intrigued/stumped me. They reference an earlier wall built in 1644 near the end of Governor Kieft’s war with the native tribes. Was it possible that the wall really was built to defend against attacks by the natives and not the English? This blog explores that possibility and raises new avenues for exploration. The language quoted in these records obviously reflects the viewpoints of the Dutch colonial government. The Municipal Archives plans to add new content to New Amsterdam Stories by 2024 describing colonization from the perspectives of the original Munsee Lenape inhabitants and enslaved peoples to coincide with the 400th anniversary of Dutch settlement on Manhattan. These long over-due stories were originally planned when the website was launched, but the relocation of our offsite collections and COVID disrupted these plans.

The source for the 1644 wall claim is a Curbed New York article that references an article in Harper’s magazine “The Story of a Street,” from 1908, by Frederick Trevor Hill. In it, Hill wrote that on March 31, 1644, Kieft ordered a barrier to keep in stray cattle and defend against Native Americans. Hill was a lawyer and historian, and his enjoyable, but rather fanciful, article does get some things right, like this footnote:

“About this time (1655-6) the residents of Pearl Street, inconvenienced by the high tides, caused a sea wall to be erected, and the space between this barrier and their houses to be filled in, making a roadway known as De Waal, or Lang de Waal. Incautious investigators have confused this with Wall Street, and their error has resulted in some astonishing ‘history.’”

Very true. Since he was correct about this, his 1644 claim bears investigating. For the original source we need to go to records in the New York State Archives:

“31st of March [1644]

Whereas, the Indians, our enemies, daily commit much damage, both to men and cattle, and it is to be apprehended that all of the remaining cattle when it is driven out will be destroyed by them, and many Christians who daily might go out to look up the cattle will lose their lives; therefore, the director and council have resolved to construct a fence, palisade, or enclosure, beginning from the great bouwery to Emmanuel’s plantation. Everyone who owns cattle and shall desire to have them pastured within this enclosure is notified to repair there with tools next Monday morning, being the 4th of April, at 7 o’clock, in order to assist in constructing the said fence and in default thereof he shall be deprived of pasturing his cattle within the said enclosure.”[2]

Already the claim starts to fall apart, as what is described is a cattle pen not a defensive wall. The main concern seems to be that cattle would wander up-island when put out to pasture, which was dangerous for the cattle and for colonists who were in the woods looking for them. Earlier records scold colonists for letting their cattle trample the maize fields, which caused conflict with the Lenape and hurt the supply of grain for the colonists. Incidentally, the next two passages in the state records are notices of the peace treaties signaling the end of the war.

So not a wall, but where was this cattle fence? Hill thought it ran from “William Street… to what is now Broadway, and possibly from shore to shore, marked the farthest limits of New Amsterdam, as it then existed, and practically determined the location of Wall Street.”[3] Hill then went on to colorfully describe Stuyvesant in 1653 “stumping along the line of Kieft’s old cattle guard, seeking an advantageous location for the Palisade…” and placing it “some forty or fifty feet south of the old barrier and practically parallel to it….”[4]

Map of the Original Grants of village lots from the Dutch West India Company to the inhabitants of New-Amsterdam, (now New-York), lying below the present line of Wall Street, grants commencing A.D. 1642. Map created by Henry Dunreath Tyler, ca. 1897. Courtesy New York Public Library. Hill may have seen this map produced 10 years before his article, for he thought the cattle enclosure started east of the Sheep Pasture, and extended to Broadway, but there are no patentees on this map named Emmanuel.

Was this really the correct location? According to the original 1644 records, the enclosure was to run from “the great bouwery to Emmanuel’s Plantation.” Bouwerie is Dutch for farm, and the street now named Bowery was indeed the road that led to tracts of Dutch farmland. The “Great Bouwery” most likely referred to the large tract of Company farmland that ran from Bowery Street to the East River, later to become Stuyvesant’s farm, but all these large farms were north of present-day Worth Street. And where was Emmanuel’s Plantation? Historian I.N. Stokes identified Emmanuel as Emmanuel Pietersen. No map shows the exact location of his farm, but Stokes notes that Emmanuel was previously known as Manuel Minuit, perhaps because he had been enslaved by Pieter Minuit, founder of New Amsterdam.[5]

The large Dutch farms were located east of Bowery [the dashed line from point 4 to 16] in what would now be the East Village and Lower East Side. The “Great Bouwery” is number 1 on the map just above #16 (the Brewery). The key says “No1 Comp Bouwery met Een Traffelleyck Huys” [Company’s Bouwery with an excellent house]. Eventually this would become Stuyvesant’s farm. The farms given to freed Blacks in 1644 likely stretched from numbers 9 to 10 on this map. Jan Pietersen’s Plantation (#9) was just above Spring Street near Minetta Creek. It is possible Emmanuel had worked this land and was given the northern portion. Manatus Map [detail], 1639. Courtesy Library of Congress.

Key to the Manatus Map, 1639. Courtesy Library of Congress.

Less than two months before the fence ordinance, on February 25th, 1644, the Dutch West India Company resolved the petition of ten enslaved men who were demanding their freedom. They were granted conditional freedom for themselves and their wives, but not for their children who remained enslaved to the Company. The Company gave them farmland north of the town that had been abandoned by white settlers during Kieft’s war. The area became known as the Land of the Blacks, and eventually remnants of it were called Little Africa. Emmanuel was not one of the ten men, probably having gained his freedom earlier, but he would later marry Dorothy Angola, the widow of Paulo Angola, one of the ten. Together, Dorothy and Emmanuel merged their farms and successfully petitioned for the freedom of Dorothy’s adopted son Anthony in 1661.

Map of the Herring Farm from 1869. Manhattan Farm Maps, NYC Municipal Archives. The corner of the property in the middle of Washington Square Park is where the Lenape path that became Old Sand Road intersected with Minnetta Creek. Stokes says these formed the border of the cattle enclosure.

The vertical line shows the path that would become known as Bowery Road, but was originally the same up island trail that was incorporated into Broadway. The path westward to the Hudson River became known as Sand Hill Road until it crossed Minetta Creek, and still exists past that point as Greenwich Avenue. Stokes thinks the 1644 cattle fence followed this path from Bowery to Minetta Creek. These paths connected Lenape villages, farms and hunting and fishing grounds. From Indian paths in the great metropolis by Reginald Pelham Bolton, published by the New York Museum of the American Indian and Heye Foundation, 1922.

All of this is fascinating history, but is this anywhere near Wall Street? No, it is not. It is in what are now the East and West Villages. Stokes suggested the cattle fence “ran west from the Bouwery Road, along ‘the old highway’ (the Sand Hill Road), as far as Minnetta Water, where the bridge crossed the road to Sapocanikan…. Then westerly along the line between the later Warren and Herring farms to Emanuel’s land (near the corner of West Third and Macdougal Sts.).”[6] This is a bit confusing, but Sand Hill Road was an old Lenape trail that “commenced at the Bowery, and ran across that part of the city now known as Waverley Place, on the north side of Washington-Square, then Potter’s Field…”[7] The eastern bit of this road still exists at Astor Place and Greenwich Avenue preserves its western terminus. “Minnetta Water” was a fresh water stream now buried under Minetta Street. It originally flowed from around Union Square southwest to the Hudson River and would have formed a natural border for the enclosure. The line described by Stokes can be seen on a map of native trails, and on the farm map above as the northern border of Herring Farm. And lastly, Sapohanikan was a Lenape fishing settlement on the other side of Minetta. Although the Dutch had violently pushed the Lenape out by 1644, the area known as Greenwich Village (Greenwijck in the original Dutch) was still called Sapocanikan until the English colonial period.

Sanitary & Topographical Map of the City and Island of New York (1865) by Egbert Ludovicus Viele. Courtesy New York Public Library. Minetta Creek ran through Washington Square and determined the border of the Herring Farm. A remnant of Sand Hill Road can be seen above Washington Square Park and at Astor Place in this map. In 1644 ten formerly enslaved men and their wives were given land grants south of this area.

Why was Hill so convinced the location of this pasture was so much further south? Perhaps he was confused by an 1897 map showing a marshy sheep pasture within the City limits in 1642, along with the original Dutch land grants. But there are no grantees named Emmanual shown on this map, nor any great farm. The name Emmanuel or Manuel is not Dutch, but it was a common name amongst many of the early enslaved Africans in New Amsterdam, suggesting that they had been seized from Portuguese or Spanish ships or were from Portuguese colonies in West Africa. Although there were other Manuel’s recorded in 1644, all of them were part of the group of freemen given properties in the Land of the Blacks.

This finally brings us to one more recent online myth about the wall, that part of the reason for its construction was to keep out the freed black colonists north of the wall. Perhaps the origin of this concept was the close timing between the February 1644 land grants and the March 1644 “fence” construction, but as we now see not only was this 1644 project not a wall, but if Stokes is right, it also ran right across the Land of the Blacks, with most of the farmland south of the fence.

New scholarship may reveal more definitive answers, but unless new information comes to light, March 13, 1653 remains the birthday of Wall Street.


After publishing this blog another reference to the fence turned up while trying to find the location of Emmanuel’s plantation. In D.T. Valentine’s 1866 Manual of the Corporation Council, writing about the lands given to freed Blacks in 1644 he writes:

“We find, as further corroboration of the idea that the negro settlement was designed as an outpost, the fact that in the same year a great inclosure was established in the center of the negro settlements for the protection of the cattle of the whites. It had been a prominent object in the economy of the newcomers to increase the number of domestic animals, and for that purpose they were allowed to run at large through the forests covering the island, insomuch that at a much later period it is recorded that the woods were filled with animals almost as wild as when in their native condition. They were yearly driven by a grand turn-out of the cattle proprietors into an inclosure for the purpose of branding the yearlings, when they were all set loose again. The Indian troubles required more careful herding of the cattle than that alluded to, and hence, by resolution passed in the Provincial Council in 1644, it was decided that a clearing be made on Manhattan Island, extending from the Great Bowery (afterward Stuyvesant’s) to Emanuel’s plantation (Manuel the negro); and all inhabitants who wished to pasture their cattle within the clearing, to save them from the Indians, were required to appear by a certain day to assist in building a fence around the same.”

Valentine was not great in citing his research, but further evidence of the location of the 1644 cattle fence.


[1] Fernow, Berthold, The Records of New Amsterdam from 1653 to 1674, vol. 1, pp. 65-66

[2] Van Laer, Arnold J.F., New York Historical Manuscripts, Dutch, v. 4, p.216

[3] Hill, Frederick Trevor, “The Story of a Street,” Harper’s Monthly Magazine, 1908, p. 688

[4] Hill, p. 690

[5] Stokes, I.N., Iconography of Manhattan Island, v.6, p.76

[6] Stokes, v. 6, p. 76

[7] Ibid, v. 6, p. 50

Mayor David N. Dinkins, A Photo Medley

New Yorkers went to the polls on election day, November 7, 1989, and elected David N. Dinkins as the City’s first black Mayor. Inaugurated on January 1, 1990, Dinkins served one term, through December 31, 1993.

Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Collections of mayoral photographs in the Municipal Archives date to the administration of Fiorello LaGuardia. This week’s blog is a picture essay, highlighting images from the Dinkins mayoralty.

Mayor Dinkins’ staff included photographers who documented his daily activities and the surrounding environment. The pictures begin with the January 1, 1990 inauguration ceremony and continue through his next-to-last-day in office, on December 30, 1993, when he held an Open House at City Hall.

As required by the City Charter, the Municipal Archives accessioned the collection of prints and negatives, along with the paper records in 1994. They constitute approximately 35,000 images, and total 70 cubic feet.

Although the activities of earlier mayors were documented by city photographers, the practice of employing full-time dedicated photographers to document mayoral activities began with the administration of Mayor Koch in 1977. Koch’s photograph collection is also maintained in the Municipal Archives.

Mayor Dinkins’ photographers, Joan Vitale Strong, Diane Bondereff, and Ed Reed continued the same system as devised by Mayor Koch’s chief photographer, Holly Wemple. The process began with a request from a mayoral staffer, usually a person in the press office, submitting a form to the “Mayor’s Photo Unit.” The form specified the name, date, time, and place of the event as well as the intended use of the photographs, i.e. publication, or “personal.”

The photographers used 35mm SLR cameras. Although the bulk of the pictures were shot on black and white film, some of the more important events, such as the reception and ticker-tape parade for South African leader Nelson Mandela, were also documented in color.

The photographs taken at each event are filed in individual folders labeled with the date and subject. The folders contain negatives of the pictures, cut into strips, stored in archival sleeves; contact sheets; and often, prints of selected images in a variety of sizes. The photographers generally chose one or two of the best shots—usually the most flattering of the Mayor—to be printed and distributed to newspapers and/or other persons who appear in the pictures.

The folders also contain other useful information and related paperwork such as press releases, memos with further details about the event, background information, and the names of media outlets where prints were sent for publication.

The bulk of the pictures in the collection document “meet-and-greet" events and press conferences at City Hall and Gracie Mansion. The photographers also accompanied the Mayor on visits and appearances he made throughout the city.

Mayor Dinkins was visiting Japan when the first bombing took place at the World Trade Center on February 26, 1993. He toured the site on March 1, and three weeks later he invited students from P.S. 91 to visit with him in City Hall. The class, one of several public school groups visiting the World Trade Center during the February 26th bomb blast, was stuck in an elevator for nearly six hours.

Mayor David Dinkins and First Deputy Mayor Norman Steisel tour the site of the World Trade Center explosion, March 1, 1993. Photographer: Diane Bondareff. Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.  

Mayor David Dinkins speaks with a class from P.S. 91, City Hall, March 24, 1993. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong. Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives. 

A tennis enthusiast, Mayor Dinkins negotiated an agreement with the United States Tennis Association that kept the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament at Flushing-Meadows. Mayor David N. Dinkins with John McEnroe (left) and Arthur Ashe (right), at the U.S. National Tennis Center, Queens, April 22, 1992. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong. Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Mayor Dinkins’ establishment of the “Safe Streets, Safe City,” program was one of the highlights of his administration. Mayor Dinkins receives a gift from Loisaida Inc. at a visit to a youth center expanded with funding from the new program, Lower Eastside Action Program, December 6, 1990. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Mayor David N. Dinkins celebrates the “Earth’s Birthday Party” with Carly Simon and a party of pre-schoolers who each released a butterfly that they had raised from caterpillars. April 20, 1990. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Mayor Dinkins announces accessible bus and transit options with Anne Emerman, Commissioner of the Office for People with Disabilities, at the 125th Street subway station, June 29, 1990. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Mayor Dinkins pays a courtesy call with Dalai Lama of Tibet, the Regent Hotel, September 11, 1990. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Mayor Dinkins jams with Paul Simon at a press conference announcing free summer concerts, City Hall, July 28, 1991. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Mayor Dinkins meets with graduates of the Volunteers of American Sidewalk Santa “school,” City Hall, December 24, 1990. Photographer: Joan Vitale Strong, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Mayor Dinkins helps serve Christmas dinner to members of the Grand Central Partnership Multi-Service Center, a drop-in site for the homeless, Grand Central Terminal, December 24, 1991. Photographer: Ed Reed, Mayor David Dinkins Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

A Charter for New Amsterdam: February 2, 1653

This week, For the Record recognizes a little-known, but significant anniversary in the history of the City of New York: February 2, 1653.

In 1977, City Council President Paul O’Dwyer successfully campaigned to have the date on the flag of New York City changed from 1664 (the year of the English takeover) to 1625, the year that the Dutch West India Company (the Company) directed a fort and settlement to be built in lower Manhattan. However, although the settlement in lower Manhattan was called New Amsterdam, it would be many years before it became a place that the Dutch would recognize with a separate municipal government.

View of New Amsterdam ca. 1653, copy of a 17th Century painting for I.N. Stokes, Iconography of Manhattan Island, vol. IV plate 9, NYC Municipal Library.

When General Petrus Stuyvesant arrived on the shores of Manhattan in 1647, the Dutch colony of New Netherland was in crisis. The prior Governor, Willem Kieft, was reviled and had been recalled to Holland after starting a brutal and disastrous war with the native peoples. Stuyvesant had been sent to restore order to the colony and reassure the colonists.

Stuyvesant asked the people of New Netherland to select eighteen representatives from whom he created an assembly of Nine Men.[1] The lawyer Adriaen van der Donck would later join the assembly and take a presiding role. Van der Donck soon set about gathering complaints from colonists to send to Holland. Stuyvesant forbade this and when the members continued to meet in secret, he had van der Donck arrested. Eventually van der Donck was released and he drafted a remonstrance, which he and two other members took to Amsterdam to present to the Dutch legislative body the States General. Amongst their demands was a call for a municipal government for New Amsterdam. They had little success at first but van der Donck’s 1650 publication, Vertoogh Van Nicuw Nederlandt, attracted public interest in the colony and raised concern that it was being mismanaged. Fearful that they might lose control over the colony, the Company eventually relented. On April 4, 1652, the Directors informed Stuyvesant via letter that he could form a municipal government with a schout, two burgomasters, and five schepens. Roughly analogous to a sheriff, two mayors and five city councilmen, but the burgomasters and schepens served as the lower court of justice as well as city administrators.[2]

The first page of a letter written by Jacobus Kip, first secretary of New Amsterdam, recounting Stuyvesant’s establishment of New Amsterdam’s government on February 2nd, 1653 as instructed by the Dutch West India Company on April 2, 1652. Kip probably sent this document in 1656 to the Company, where Hans Blumenthal, a director in Amsterdam, made his own copy. Both documents ended up in the Blumenthal papers at the New York Public Library. Reproduction from I.N. Stokes, Iconography of Manhattan Island, vol. IV plate 9. NYC Municipal Library.

Stuyvesant had received word by June 1652 that he could establish a city government, but waited until February 2nd, 1653, Candlemas Day. In Amsterdam, this was the day the Burgomasters and Schepens traditionally took their oaths of office. On this day he issued a lengthy document (a copy of this document is in the New York Public Library) that related how the Directors in Holland would “favor this new and growing city of New Amsterdam and the inhabitants thereof with a court of justice, to be constituted as far as possible… according to the laudable custom of the city of Amsterdam, name-giver to this newly developing city.”[3]

The new court was given legislative authority “between the two rivers to the Fresh Water [the pond at around Worth Street]” but in matters of criminal justice their authority extended the whole of the island and included “the inhabitants of Amersfoort, Breuckelen and Midtwout,” Dutch towns in present-day Brooklyn. The burgomasters were also charged with “alignment of houses, streets and fences… in an orderly fashion,” and developing any needed public buildings “such as churches, schools, a court house, weigh house, charitable institutions, dock, pier, bridges and other similar works….” And also, the ability to designate public officers such as “orphan masters, church masters, surveyors, fire wardens” as the need would arise. It was not quite the representative government that we think of today, but it was the start of the municipal government of what would become New York City.

The court minutes of New Amsterdam start with a prayer on the left page, and then on the right page the clerk recorded the first day of court on February 6th, 1653. Records of New Amsterdam, NYC Municipal Archives.

The Records of New Amsterdam in the Municipal Archives [minus some earlier ordinances issued by Stuyvesant] start a few days after the charter was issued, with a prayer for divine guidance. Some of the sentiments do not age as well as others, but this passage seems timeless: “Let us remember that we hold Court, not of men, but of God, who sees and hears everything. Let respect of person be far from us, so that we may judge the poor and the rich, friends and enemies, inhabitants and stranger according to the same rules of truth and never deviate from them as a favor to anybody, and whereas gifts blind the eyes of the wise, keep our hearts from greed, grant also, that we condemn nobody lightly or unheard, but listen patiently to the litigants, give them time to defend themselves.”

The prayer is undated but was probably written on the 2nd or on the first day of court, the 6th, because the next page starts with this:

“Thursday, February 6, 1653… Their Honors, the Burgomasters and Schepens of this City of New Amsterdam, herewith inform everybody, that they shall hold their regular meetings in the house hitherto called the City tavern, henceforth the City Hall, on Monday mornings from 9 o. c, to hear there all questions of difference between litigants and decide them as best as they can. Let everybody take notice hereof. Done this 6th of February, 1653, at N. Amsterdam.”

The most important feature of this lower court was that any person, male or female, could petition the court, citizen, and non-citizen alike. These court records form the backbone of the Dutch records held by the Municipal Archives and are part of a record of municipal government that extends until today.

The city tavern was renamed the City Hall, the Stadt Huys in 1653. It stood at the corner of what is now Broad Street and Pearl. George Hayward for I.N. Stokes, Iconography of Manhattan Island. NYC Municipal Library.


The government of New Amsterdam was formed when the Dutch were at war with the English. In March 1653, concerned over tensions with the English to the north, the court ordered a wall built to protect the colony. To learn more about the history of the wall that became Wall Street go to New Amsterdam Stories.

What did it mean to be a citizen of New Amsterdam? In 1657 the question was answered with the establishment of the burgher right – essentially city citizenship. To learn more, go to New Amsterdam Stories.


[1] Historical Society of the New York Courts, “The Nine Men and the 1649 Remonstrance of the Commonality of New Netherland” https://history.nycourts.gov/about_period/nine-men/

[2] See also, Russell Shorto, The Island at the Center of the World.

[3] Seymann, Colonial Charters, Patents and Grants to the Communities Comprising the City of New York. P. 177-189.

From Marketfield to the Greenmarket, Part I

Supplying a diverse and teeming city with fresh food has been a constant problem in New York. Farmers’ Markets, which have undergone a resurgence in recent years, are nothing new. In the early days of New Amsterdam, farmers and Native Americans simply brought their crops to town and set about hawking them, usually along the bank of the East River, known as the Strand. While references exist as early as 1648 to “market days” and an annual harvest “Free Market,” the process was unregulated and inefficient. Peter Stuyvesant, the Director General and the Council recognized this….