Chapter XXIV

Our largest merchants, or those doing the most extensive commercial business at the present day, did not all commence with large capitals and credits or extensive connections. On the contrary very many of the heaviest capitalists commenced their course in the most humble and limited manner. The old John Jacob Astor commenced with peddling cookies and cakes. In those days, it was not so humble to do that as now. Then the largest bakers sent their apprentices out to peddle the luxuries from the oven, and it was probably in this capacity that Astor peddled cakes.

Many of our afterward large merchants commenced life as porters in the large mercantile establishments. Such was the case with Barney Graham, who became a partner in the heavy foreign house of Peter Harmony & Co. Mr. Graham was an excessively hard-featured man, at the same time he was a capital business man, and Mr. Harmony was obliged to take him into the firm or lose his services altogether. He made himself useful. He never put on airs. It is a singular fact, that a foreign-born boy, or one from the New England States, will succeed in this city, and become a partner in our largest firms, much oftener than a born New York boy. The great secret of this success is the perfect willingness to be useful and do what they are required to do, and cheerfully.

Take for instance such a firm as Grinnell, Minturn & Co. In their counting-room, they have New York boys, and New England boys. Moses H. Grinnell comes down in the morning and says to John, a New York boy,—"Charley, take my overcoat up to my house in Fifth Avenue." Mr. Charley takes the coat, mutters something about "I'm not an errand boy. I came here to learn business," and moves reluctantly. Mr. Grinnell sees it, and at the same time, one of his New England clerks says, "I'll take it up." "That is right. Do so," says Mr. G., and to himself he says, "that boy is smart, will work," and he gives him plenty to do. He gets promoted—gets the confidence of chief clerk and employers, and eventually gets into the firm as a partner. It's so all over the city. It is so in nearly every store, counting-room or office. Outside boys get on faster than New York boys, owing to two reasons. One is, they are not afraid to work, or to run of errands, or do cheerfully what they are told to do. A second reason, they do their work quickly. A New York boy has many acquaintances—New England boy has none, and is not called upon to stop and talk, when sent out by the merchant.

The histories of many of the merchants in this city are quite romantic.

How many of the thousands who pass up and down the Sixth Avenue, and at No. 200, between Thirteenth and Fourteenth streets, notice the sign of Joseph Batten, over a moderate hosiery store, would ever dream that volumes could be written about the man who started that store?

I remember the aged John Batten as well as if he had called upon me yesterday. What a spry old gentleman, he was! He used to be one of the "Old Battery walkers," or "Peep o' day boys," that up to 1837 used to go down to the lonely Battery by day-light, and walk about there until breakfast, and then the same class would go to their stores.

I remember these old gentlemen well. There were many of them, such as John J. Labagh, Peter Harmony, John Laing, Wm. R. Morrill, John Batten, and many more whose names do not occur to me.

Peter Bayard could furnish a list of the old school Battery walkers, for Peter Bayard's place on State street next to the old Morton House, was one of the institutions of New York before the Battery, once lively and respectable, became the resort of all that is vile and murderous. The decline of Bayard's House and the Battery began at the same moment, and when both culminated, Peter took it very quietly, and one of our most esteemed New Yorkers, a perfect philosopher in his way, can be seen near the neighborhood of old St. Paul's, noting the cars of the useful Eighth Avenue, as though he had entirely forgotten what a King Pin he ever was, when New York was a moderate city of a quarter of a million of good people, and before the populations of Germany and Ireland had precipitated themselves upon us, and made a monster city of a million who don't know anything about each other, or who is who!

But to return to the hosiery merchant, old John Batten. The last time I saw him he was 101 years old, and came into the store No. 68 Washington street, as spry as a cricket, and addressing the aged Francis Secor, (who was then 75 and is now 96), said "Boy, how are you this morning?"

John Batten was a soldier; he belonged to the body guard of George the Third, and came out in the early part of the Revolutionary War. He used to say in a pleasant, joking way-"I fought hard for this country," and then after enjoying the patriotic admiration of some of the youngsters, would cock his eye at some old person present who knew his history, and add, "But I didn't get it."

Many a time, days and hours, has the now aged man, (who was better educated than the rest of his majesty's soldiers) taught school in the old Dutch Reformed Church, where the post office now is, when it was in the possession of the British troops, and his mates. When the city was evacuated by the British, Mr. Batten slid off to Long Island, a few days previous to the embarkation, and his absence was only discovered when it was too late to arrest and punish him. He at once started on his own account and opened a tavern in Slote lane,-it was afterwards called Exchange street-a little narrow street that commenced at William, where Beaver now is, and crooked around into Pearl street, not very far from where Beaver intersects Pearl street to-day. He kept the Fulton House from 1782, for some time. He afterwards opened a large tavern in Nassau street, No. 37-on the west side, in the large building afterward occupied by Mrs. Mix and Mrs. Trippe, as a large boarding house. Mr. Batten kept it as a crack tavern many years. He afterwards opened a store in Broadway, on the west side, between Dey and Cortlandt streets. He was there in 1817. From there he removed his store to Greenwich on the west side, and two doors below Warren street. He died in this house. His son Joseph carried on the business, and continues it now in the Sixth avenue. Peter Embury lived near Mr. Batten in Greenwich street; and both were very old men. They were always together—eternally cracking jokes—and those 90 years old boys were daily playing some pranks with each other or the public.

On one occasion, Mr. Batten was repairing the basement, and a plank extended from the walk to the first floor. Mr. Batten had passed across it into the house. Old Mr. Embury came by and removed the plank, and then hid himself behind a box. Mr. Batten wanted to come down the plank, when he missed it, and then discovered Mr. Embury: "Ah, you scamp, let me catch you, and I will give you this cane over your shoulders," said he, shaking his cane at Mr. Embury. Both laughing heartily, they started off for a walk to the Battery. Old Mr. Batten was a noble old fellow. His son resembles him in all his good qualities.

On one occasion a grand dinner was given on the 4th of July, and Mr. Batten was present. Of course he was a revolutionary soldier. Some of the guests got very much excited about the aged man, and drank his health in patriotic toasts. At last the old veteran was called upon to reply. He did so. He spoke of the events of the war very touchingly—some of the female portion of the party cried. All were affected. The old minister got excited. "Yes, I did fight all through the old Revolution. I fought as bravely as the rest. I liked this country—I decided to remain in it, and the day when our commander evacuated this city to the American troops, I was hid on Long Island, and there I remained until my regiment had sailed for old England."

The looks of the astonished company, who by this time had become fully aware of the meaning of the words, and that they had been cheering a fierce old tory and British soldier, reminded old Batten that it was high time for him to hold up.

It may seem strange to many of our readers, that our ancestors would have permitted men besmeared with the blood of Americans, to settle down in our city immediately after the war, and go into business unmolested. It was so, however. It was done in many instances, and it is a convincing proof that all parties must have been tired of the war, and anxious to fraternize, when they could forgive the worst of their oppressors.

Not a child in town even now that has not heard of the horrors of the Jersey Prison ship. Yet one of our most successful and wealthiest merchants made an immense sum as keeper of that ship, and by starving our unfortunate countrymen who fell into his hands. He resided down in Broadway, a few doors from the old Grace Church, south corner of Rector street. There he lived in famous style. He built and owned vessels, and did a large commercial business after the revolution. It was a very frequent occurrence in after years, to meet some of his old prisoners, and to be cursed by them, as the most cruel and inhuman British bloodhound that ever escaped unhung for his toryism.

Mr. Batten escaped reproach. He did his duty bravely, but after the war was over, he was let alone. By-gones became by-gones, and no man was more respected than the ancient British warrior.

A neighbor of Mr. Batten, was Israel Cook. He bought the house next to old Peter Embury's (No. 331), and built and owned by a son of Mr. Embury, who died. Mr. Cook came to this city from Washington county, in this State. He remained here some time, and when quite young commenced business. His first occupation was selling a little butter in the Washington market. Then he married and went to house and "store" keeping on his own hook, directly opposite the market. His rent was $40—rents were cheap in those days. His store was in the hall bed-room, on the second floor. Here they lived, ate, slept, and sold butter. He would go in the market, buy a firkin, take it up-stairs, retail it out, and then go and buy another. This was probably about 1815, just after the war. From that time he kept extending his business, slowly but surely, for many years. He believed that all the property around Washington Market would in a short space of time become very valuable. Acting upon this idea, he bought up all the leases he could find. In this way he buttered his daily bread for himself and family, and in addition accumulated a great deal of money. He has an office now in Chambers street. He lives in style up town, and keeps his carriage.

When old Mr. Cook gave up the butter business, his sons took it up, and went into business, occupying one of their father's stores near the market. After a while, the fancy to get rich suddenly seized upon them, as it does upon many others of the human race. They had money, large credit, and a rich father. With these aids the young Cooks determined to buy up all the sugar in the market, control it, by having a monopoly, and make fabulous sums. They succeeded in buying immense quantities, but not enough to prevent a decline in the price of sugar. They failed, and as old Mr. Cook was heavily upon their paper, his loss was very heavy.

"Never should I have been so disgraced," said the old man, in the bitterness of his heart, "if them boys had been poor, and had to work their way up as I did."

One son of Mr. Cook married a daughter of Charles Dennison. He started business also in Fulton street, opposite Washington Market, and for a long time kept a retail liquor store and sold liquor in small quantities. He followed the business for many years. He was burned out in the old store. He afterwards opened a wholesale grocery under the firm of C. & L. Dennison, and also with a company attached. They did the largest grocery business on the north side of the town for many years. The business is still carried on by the sons. The elder Charles Dennison is President of the Grocers' Bank. They are all rich, and live in splendid mansions up town. Yet, as an evidence of how things once were, there still stands in Franklin street, north side, between Hudson and Greenwich streets, two elegant brick houses, that were ahead of any thing in the house line not many years ago. Those two houses, the father, Charles Dennison, built for his children, and young Charley occupied one, and Mr. White, a son-in-law, the other. In a few years more, they will be pulled down and stores erected upon their sites.

Charles Dennison, Jr. is a thorough-bred merchant. A quarter of a century ago, he used to take an active part in the good and useful Mercantile Library Association, and when it was removed from Cliff street to Clinton Hall, still kept with it, and with Fletcher Westray, and a host of other young clerks we could name, now eminent merchants, struggled successfully to get the institution into the hands of a liberal management.

Another brother of Mr. Charles Dennison, Sen., was Mr. Asher Dennison. I believe he was of the firm of Dennison & Belden. They did an immense grocery trade for many years on the corner of Murray street. That house failed, and settled with their creditors. By the unexpected rise of land in Chicago and other places, he became very rich many years afterwards.

The old house of C. & L. Dennison was kept in Dey street, forming the letter L on West street.

Dominic Hardenbrook, who used to preach in the little Dutch Reformed church in Franklin street near Chapel (in West Broadway) a few doors below the French church—where Appleton's great printing establishment now stands—was very intimate with Asher Dennison, and he became a leading man in that church.