1871

 

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“When thieves could be kept in power by such means plunder was easy and brazen.” 

Benjamin Andrews

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March: The historian, Benjamin Andrews, notes the need for civil service reform in this era, citing a custom-house appraiser in Evansville, Indiana who informed his senator and the Secretary of the Treasury that his job entailed no actual duties. 

He could not be charged with neglect of duty, “for no officer was ever more faithful and diligent in drawing his salary than I was during those two years, and absolutely there was nothing else to do.” (11/60-61)

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An old American Heritage article, “The Wild, Wild West” by Peter Lyon (formatted on brown pages, without numbers) includes this nugget: 

A treaty of 1867 guaranteed that no white man would hunt buffalo south of the Arkansas River; by 1870, when the army officer commanding at Fort Dodge was asked what he would do if this promise were broken, he laughed and said, “Boys, if I were hunting buffalo I would go where buffalo are;” in 1871 the massacre began in earnest. One hunter bagged 5,855 in two months. It has been estimated that 4,373,730 were killed in the three years 1872-74.

 

Benjamin Andrews also describes the decimation: 

A still worse grievance [in the eyes of the Plains tribes] was the destruction of buffaloes by hunters and excursionists. Thousands of the animals were slaughtered for their hides, which fell in price from three dollars each to a dollar. In one locality were to be counted six or seven thousand putrefying carcasses. Hunters boasted of having killed two thousand head apiece in one season. Railroads ran excursion trains of amateur hunters, who shot their victims from the car windows. The creatures were at last well-nigh exterminated, so that in 1894 buffalo robes cost in New York from $75 to $175 each. (11/175)

 

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In 1871, the territorial legislature of Arizona begged Congress for protection. Affidavits were submitted, Andrews writes, “declaring that within two years 166 persons had been killed, 801 horse and mules and 2,437 cattle killed or stolen.” (11/171) 

In November governor A. P. K. Safford gave out an impassioned letter, of which we reproduce the substance. He said that with natural resources unsurpassed, with gold and silver mines that ought to be yielding annually $20,000,00, the people of his Territory were in poverty, and had undergone for years scenes of death and torture unparalleled in the settlement of our new countries. Instead of receiving sympathy and encouragement from their countrymen they were denounced as border ruffians, though nowhere were the laws more faithfully obeyed or executed than in Arizona. In but one instance had the people taken the law into their own hands. That, as the facts showed, was done under the most aggravating circumstances. In the possession of the Indians killed was found property belonging to men and women who had been murdered while the Indians were fed at Camp Grant. For this attack on the red men the whites were indicted by a grand jury…The Territory was out of debt, and was soon to have a free school in every district, indicating the law-abiding character of the population; yet men who were making money at the cost of the lives and property of the Arizona people denounce them as everything bad, and represented the Apache Indians, who had for four hundred years lived by murder and robbery, as paragons of moral excellence. The people of Arizona wanted peace and cared not how it was obtained; but they knew by years of experience that to feed Indians and let them roam over large tracts of lands simply placed them in a secure position to raid the settlers and return to their reservations for safety and rest. Though possessing one of the richest territories, all the Arizonians felt discouraged. At least five hundred had been killed, a large number of these horribly tortured. Those left, after fighting for years to hold the country, found themselves in poverty and looked upon as barbarians. (11/172) 

 

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July 18: William Marcy Tweed was born at 24 Cherry Street, New York City, in 1823. 

A youth devoted to business made him a fair penman and an adept reckoner, but not a businessman. He, indeed, once attempted business, but, as he gave his chief attention to speculation, gambling and ward politics, completely failed, so that he seems forever to have renounced legitimate money-making.

 

He became a volunteer fireman and was known as “Big Six,” gaining leadership of a band nicknamed the “Roughs.” 

When he became the head of Tammany Hall, “Tweed’s lambs” made sure voting went the way he wanted at party caucus and convention. 

Two days before election these venal cohorts would assemble in the 340 election districts, each man of them being listed and registered under several assumed names and addresses. From Tweed’s house in 1868 six registered, from Justice Shandley’s nine, from the Coroner’s thirteen. A State Senator’s house was put down as the home of thirty voters. One Alderman’s residence nominally housed twenty, another twenty-five, an Assemblyman’s fifteen. And so it went. Bales of fictitious naturalization papers were secured. One year 105,000 blank applications and 69,000 certificates were ordered printed. In one case thirteen men, in another fifteen, were naturalized in five minutes. The new citizens “put in” election day following their leaders from polling place to polling place as needed.

 

When thieves could be kept in power by such means plunder was easy and brazen. Contractors on public works were systematically forced to pay handsome bonuses to the [Tweed] Ring. One of them testified: “When I commenced building I asked Tweed how to make out the bills, and he said: ‘Have fifteen per cent. over.’ I asked what that was for, and he said, ‘Give that to me and I will take care of your bills.’ I handed him the percentage after that.” Innumerable methods of fraud were successfully tried. During the year 1863 the expenditures of the Street Department were $650,000. Within four years Tweed quadrupled them. A species of asphalt paving, dubbed “Fisk’s poultice,” so bad that a grand jury actually declared it a public nuisance, was laid in great quantities at vast cost to the city. Official advertising was doled to twenty-six daily and fifty-four weekly sheets, of which twenty-seven vanished on its withdrawal. But all the other robber enterprises paled before the city Court House job. This structure, commenced in 1868 under stipulation that it should not cost more than $250,000, was in 1871 still unfinished after an outlay of $8,000,000, four times as much as was spent on Parliament House in London. Its ostensible cost, at last, was not less than $12,000,000 as by witchcraft the city’s debt was in two years more than doubled. The Ring’s operations cheated the city’s taxpayers, first and last, out of no less than $160,000,000, “or four times the fine levied on Paris by the German army.” Though wallowing in lucre, and prodigal withal, Tweed was yet insatiably greedy. “His hands were every where, and every where they were they were feeling for money.” In 1871 he boasted of being worth $20,000,000, and vowed soon to be as rich as Vanderbilt.

 

With his coarse nature the Boss reveled in jibes made at the expense of his honor. He used gleefully to show his friends the safe where he kept money for bribing legislators, finding those of the “Tammany Republican” stripe easiest game. Of the contractor who was decorating his country place at Greenwich he inquired, pointing to a statue, “Who the hell is that?” “That is Mercury, the God of merchants and thieves,” was the reply. “That’s bully!” said Tweed. “Put him over the front door.” His donation of $100 for an altar cloth in the Greenwich Methodist Church the trustees sent back, declaring that they wanted none of his stolen money.

 

Andrews noted that the city papers, those not corrupted, were at first muted in protest. Prominent citizens, in on the graft, whitewashed Tweed’s reputation. Attempts were made to buy up the stock of the Times – and boycotts were organized against Thomas Nast’s  cartoons. The New York Bar Association was formed to keep watch over the judges who were in on the fix. 

On July 18, 1871, a disgruntled member of the Ring walked into the office of the New York Times, and handed over a bundle of documents, saying, “There are all the figures: you can do with them what you will.” Two days later, the story was printed in both English and German, showing the extent of the corruption. Samuel Tilden was one of the leaders of the fight to bring Tweed down, which led to his being elected governor, and then put forward as candidate for president in 1876. 

Tweed himself jumped bail, made it as far as Cuba, but was recaptured and turned in to authorities and sent back to the United States. (11/11-14)

 

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“One of the most stupendous frauds ever conceived and carried out.” 

This description of the Tweed Ring comes from Library of American History, by Edward S. Ellis, published by the Charles P. Barrett Co. in 1895. 

One of the most stupendous frauds ever conceived and carried out was that of the “Tweed Ring” in the city of New York. A short time before the Chicago fire, proofs were published that the metropolis had been swindled to the extent of millions of dollars by a gang of city officials, the leader of whom was “Boss” William M. Tweed, Superintendent of the Street Department. They had become supreme in the local organization known as Tammany Hall, and in 1868 managed the elections so as to carry the State for their party. They had a law enacted at Albany, which gave them control of the government in New York, and they began enriching themselves. 

 

A contract was made for building a new courthouse, at an estimated cost of $250,000. Its erection was begun in 1869. All persons having contracts for furnishing supplies and labor were made to double and treble the amounts of their bills. Tweed was a member of the board of supervisors, which promptly passed the bills. Auditor Watson, one of the criminals, immediately audited the bills. The contractors having received what honestly belonged to them, the “ring” divided the enormous surplus among themselves.

 

Tweed was a state senator, and by corruption secured a new charter for the government of New York City. The power of auditing or passing bills was given to a board of audit, composed of A. Oakey Hall, mayor; Richard B. Connelly, comptroller; William M. Tweed, commissioner of public works, and Peter B. Sweeney , commissioner of parks. This board audited bills for the new court-house in one evening to the extent of $6,000,000, of which the “ring” received two-thirds, Tweed’s share amounting to a million. Before the end of the year $2,000,000 more were charged against the account of the court-house. To check criticism, hundreds of people were placed on the pay-rolls of the city and paid large salaries for doing nothing. Others were hushed by means of “fat” contracts. Police justices were bribed and paid salaries double that of the governor of the State. The expenses of the city ran up to the astounding total of $24,000,000 a year. The debt sprang from $50,000,000 to $113,000,000, with a vast number of bills still to be heard from. The taxpayers were defrauded in the end out of fully $160,000,000, “or four times the fine levied on Paris by the German army,” and when Tweed was confronted with the amazing facts he coolly asked, “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

 

By and by discord came into the “ring.” Ex-Sheriff James O’Brien and State Senator Harry Genet revolted. O’Brien told the whole story to the New York Times, which, in July, 1871, published it. It shook the city like the rocking of an earthquake. It seemed too incredible for belief, but at a mass-meeting held at Cooper Institute, September 4, a committee of seventy was appointed to investigate and bring the criminals to justice. Tweed was arrested the following month, and gave a million dollars bail . A month later he was elected State senator, but did not take his seat.

 

Comptroller Connelly, being arrested, gave half a million dollars bail and fled the country. In 1872 several suits were brought against Tweed. A juror died during the trial of A. Oakey Hall, and the next jury disagreed. A similar result was reached in the trial of Tweed, who had not lost his power of corrupting men. However, in November, 1873, he was found guilty on each of the fifty-one indictments. He was ordered to pay a fine of $12,550 and was sentenced to twelve years’ imprisonment on Blackwell’s Island; but the Court of Appeals decided he must be set free, because he had been confined on a cumulative sentence. He was released June 22. Meanwhile other suits were brought against him, one of which was to recover $6,000,000. He was held to bail for $3,000,000, failing to find which he was sent to Ludlow Street Jail. On account of his health, he was allowed occasionally to ride in the park and to visit his residence. On December 4, while at his home, he escaped (or was allowed to escape) his keepers, and after remaining in hiding for several months, sailed in a yacht to Cuba, whence he made his way to Spain. We had no extradition treaty at the time with that country, and Tweed felt that at last he was safe; but Spain was inclined to help us, because of some courtesy received from Secretary Seward. Accordingly the fugitive was arrested at Vigo, sent back to this country, and lodged again in jail on Blackwell’s Island.

 

In the suit against the prisoner, the city received a verdict for $6,537,117.38, but only a small amount was ever recovered . Tweed promised, if released, to turn State’s evidence, but the offer was not accepted and he died in jail in April, 1878.

 

Ellis adds a footnote: 

The Tweed ring offered Thomas Nast, the artist, one hundred thousand dollars to cease drawing his cartoons of the ring and to leave the country. “I don’t care what is written about me,” said Tweed, “for mighty few of my constituents ever read a newspaper, but none of them can mistake those pictures: they hurt.” (pp. 1179-1182)

Caricature of Boss Tweed.

Stuffing ballot boxes, buying votes, were common practices.

 

Edward Eggleston’s novel, The Hoosier Schoolmaster is published. The historian John Bach McMaster, in his A Brief history of the United States, written in 1907 for elementary students, recommends it. At the very opening, a young schoolmaster, brand new to the task of teaching, visits the backwoods home of one of the school trustees:

 

“Want to be a school-master, do you? You? Well, what would you do in Flat Crick deestrick, I’d like to know? Why, the boys have driv off the last two, and licked the one afore them like blazes. You might teach a summer school, when nothin’ but children come. But I ’low it takes a right smart man to be school-master in Flat Crick in the winter. They’d pitch you out of doors, sonny, neck and heels, afore Christmas.”

 

The young man, who had walked ten miles to get the school in this district, and who had been mentally reviewing his learning at every step he took, trembling lest the committee should find that he did not know enough, was not a little taken aback at this greeting from “old Jack Means,” who was the first trustee that he lighted on. The impression made by these ominous remarks was emphasized by the glances which he received from Jack Means’s two sons. The older one eyed him from the top of his brawny shoulders with that amiable look which a big dog turns on a little one before shaking him. Ralph Hartsook had never thought of being measured by the standard of muscle. This notion of beating education into young savages in spite of themselves dashed his ardor.

 

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April 20: The Ku Klux Klan Act is passed, designed to protect newly freed African Americans in the South from violence. Congressman Joseph Hayne Rainey, from South Carolina, and other lawmakers who supported the act receive a letter written in red ink. It reads, “Here, the climate is too hot for you….We warn you to flee. Each and every one of you are watched each hour.” (See also 1873 and 1874.)

 

Andrews calls the law the “Force Act,” and outlines its provisions and purpose:

 

The Force Act of 1871 was a much harsher measure. It empowered the President to employ the army, navy, and militia to suppress combinations which deprived the negro of the rights guaranteed him by the Fourteenth Amendment. For such combinations to appear in arms was made rebellion against the United States, and the President might suspend habeas corpus in the rebellious district. By President Grant, in the fall of 1871, this was actually done in parts of the Carolinas. (IV, 203)

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October 8: The deadliest fire in U.S. history sweeps through the logging town of Peshtigo, Wisconsin. Eight hundred people in the town are killed – and possibly 2,400 across the region.

 

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October 8-10: Benjamin Andrews describes the terrible fire that swept much of the city of Chicago. I’m not sure who he was quoting here: 

“Niagara sank into insignificance compared with that towering wall of whirling, seething, roaring flame. It swept on and on, devouring the massive stone blocks as though they had been the cardboard playthings of a child. Looking under the flame one could see, in the very centre of the furnace, stately buildings on either side of Randolph Street whose beauty and magnificence and whose wealth of contents were admired by thousands the day before. A moment and the flickering flame crept out of a window; another and another hissing tongue followed; a sheet of fire joined the whirling mass above, and the giant structure was gone. One pile after another thus dissolved like snow on the mountain. Loud detonations to the right and left, where buildings were being blown up, the falling of walls and the roaring of flames, the moaning of the wind and of the crowd, and the shrill whistling of tugs endeavoring to remove the shipping out of the reach of danger, made up a frightful discord of sound that will live in every hearer’s memory while life shall last.” (11/6-7)

 

Andrews himself writes, “the glare could be seen for hundreds of miles over the prairie and the lake. The river seemed to boil and mingle its steam with the smoke.” 

Early Monday  morning, the Tribune building remains intact, “the only structure left in the business quarter.”  Two patrols are alert, sweeping up live coals, another watching the roofs. 

“Till four o’clock the reporters passed in regular reports of the fire. At five the forms were sent down….At that moment the front basement is discovered on fire. The water-plug at the corner is opened, but the water-works have been destroyed. The pressmen have to fly for their lives. By ten o’clock the block is in ashes.

 

“Streets, bridges, parks are gorged with panic-stricken throngs. Not a few are crazed by terror. One old woman stumbles along under a great bundle, crooning Mother Goose melodies. Anarchy reigns. The horrors of the night are multiplied by drunkenness, arson, burglary, murder, rape. Vigilance committees are formed. It was estimated that fifty ruffians first and last were shot in their tracks, among them five notorious criminals. Convicts locked in the court-house basement would have been burnt alive but for the Mayor’s timely order, which his son, with the utmost difficulty and danger, delivered after the building had began to burn.

 

“The morning after the fire the indomitable Chicago pluck began to show itself. William D. Kerfoot knocked together a shanty, facetiously called “Kerfoot’s block,” and unrivaled structure, for it was the only one in the neighborhood. To it he nailed his sign which well typified the spirit of the city. ‘W.. D. Kerfoot, all gone but wife, children, and ENERGY.’ Next Sunday the Rev. Dr. Collyer preached where his church had formerly stood, in the midst of the city, yet in the heart of a wilderness, more than a mile from human habitation.

 

“Not till Tuesday morning was the headway of the fire checked, and parts of the charred debris smoldered on for months. nearly three and a third square miles were burned over; 17,450 buildings were destroyed, 98,5000 persons rendered homeless; and over  250 killed.” (11/7-9)