In these days of bribery and corruption and political jobbin’, when it seems to be a rule among politicians of all stripes to look upon the public treasury as a cow to be milked (all the milk to go into their private pails), it may be a novelty to relate a fact–for it is a fact, as the official records will prove–that a big job of public work was once–remember, I only say once–carried through in this big city of ours–the scene of so much public robbin’–in first class style for about one-eighth of the original estimates.
The man to whose honesty, as well as capacity, the public was indebted for this startlin’, because money-savin’ sensation, was the late Edward H. Tracy, who was engineer in charge of the Croton Aqueduct at the time. He was a smart engineer, as well as an upright man, this Tracy, and the matter I allude to was as flatterin’ to his head as to his heart.
He lowered two lines of thirty-six inch pipe in Fifth avenue, between Thirty-fourth and Fortieth streets, without breakin’ bulk, and at a cost of less than $13,000 ($12,633), when the work had been before that estimated by several bidders at over $100,000, almost eight times as much. This engineer Tracy was one of the most conscientious men I ever knew, and his skill secured him the position of engineer-in-chief of the Croton Water Department when Tweed took charge of the Public Works, a year or two before the Boss went down. Tweed made up his mind that there should be no mischief in a department so important to the people as the Croton water, and, as Tracy often told me before he died, Tweed used to let him run that one department on first class business principles.
Strange to say, the Water Department was about the only department where “the stock wasn’t watered,” as they say in the lingo of Wall Street when there is any shenanigan.
I am reminded of these points by observing in the papers that the big bugs and property owners up-town, the Vanderbilts, Webbs and Astors, have got one of their pet bills at Albany passed at last, and that the old reservoir of Croton water on Fifth avenue between Forty-second and Forty-third streets, known as the Murray Hill Reservoir, is about to be taken away and converted into a pleasure park for the swells, or perhaps into somethin’ else that may suit their purposes better. It really won’t be much of a loss, after all, to the public, as the reservoir there is no longer absolutely needed; still, it will be another old landmark gone, and puts me forcibly in mind of the high old time old New York had years and years ago, when this old reservoir was new.
People have got so used to Croton water nowadays that not one man in a thousand stops to think what a time there was in gettin’ this Croton water into the city and yet it took just about seventy years to get this great city of New York its present system of water works.
Old Christopher Colles, some of whose descendants are now livin’ in New York, was about the first man who got up a scheme to supply New York City with water. He proposed a reservoir on the east side of Broadway, between Pearl and White streets.
Other prominent old New Yorkers had their hands and heads in schemes for furnishin’ the metropolis with water. Such men as Samuel Ogden, John Lawrence, Samuel Crane, Benjamin Taylor, Joseph Brown, R. J. Roosevelt, Judge Cooper, Zebrina Curtis and others.
Once Philadelphia kindly offered to attend to New York’s water works for her, for a consideration, usin’ Rumsey’s engine, which was then, like Keeley’s motor, a big thing–in idea. This was very kind, indeed, in Philadelphia, but the scheme didn’t pan out any better than Philadelphia’s idea for selling off the old Centennial stuff to New York for a World’s Fair has panned out lately. The Philadelphians are all too disinterested.
Robert Macomb offered to furnish the city with water from a dam or reservoir on the Harlem River, and he offered to do all this, too, without any expense to the city. All he wanted was the privilege of selling the water to the public. But the public didn’t see it. All that remains of that idea is the name, Macomb’s dam, with which all horsemen and old residents are familiar.
By-the-by, the people of old New York used to sell water to each other sometimes, and turned a good many honest pennies by doin’ it. Some wise men and women got big cisterns and let the rain water fill ‘em, and then sold the rain water at a cent or two a pail-full. The more rain there was, of course, the more money there was for these prudent people who were thus enabled to make, as it were, “a point on rain water” or “a corner in clouds.”
By-the-by, there used to be wells and pumps all over old New York, and some of these old pumps used to be regular places of public resort. The old pump in Pearl street used to be quite a meetin’ place for a young men and maidens–in the good old times.
But after a while, all sorts of schemes and all sorts of fights between the different schemers, and a big quarrel between the New York Water Works company and the Sharon Canal Company, it was found out that of all schemes the best, because the most practical, was the supplyin’ New York from the Croton River.
Then there was the old Tea-Water Pump, near where the Tombs now stands, from which the old women in the neighborhood used to get the water for their tea. This was almost as great a resort then as the Tombs is now–only for a very different class.
So the city got hold of the Manhattan Company’s charter, which embraced the counties of New York and Westchester, as far as the right to supply ‘em with water was concerned, and formed the Croton Aqueduct Board’s charter out of that.
The Manhattan Company started originally as a water works company, and in order to keep its charter it had for a long while a sort of “dummy” reservoir in a house on Reade street. Out of this company the Manhattan Banking Company was formed.
Well, at last, after about seventy years’ circus, the water works of New York got fairly underway, and once started kept right on till they were finished. John L. Lawrence was the president of the original Croton Aqueduct Board, and J. Phillips Phoenix, and old Van Schaick, and Samuel B. Ruggles (who is still livin’) were members of the board.
Strange as it may sound now and funny, it is a fact that quite a large number of the voters of old New York were dead opposed to the introduction of Croton water–while there were over 17,000 votes recorded for it, there were nearly 6,000 votes against it. There were three wards in the city that didn’t want the Croton water at all, and three pretty big and influential wards at that, the old Ninth Tenth and Thirteenth wards. This makes curious readin’ now, but then the old rounders in these wards in those days hadn’t any idea of what a big town this New York of theirs was going to be.
Then the big freshet took place, after New Year’s day week, in the Croton River and carried away a part of the dam, and smashed things generally, destroyed thousands of dollars’ worth of property and two or three lives, then these old rounders in the three wards that had voted against the Croton Aqueduct shook their heads said “we told you so” and prophesized all sorts of mischief before the Croton water ever got to New York. But these croakers didn’t have any more accidents or disasters to feed on. This was the only one, and at last, on the 4th of July, the first drop of Croton water got into the Murray Hill Reservoir just at sunrise.
What a time there was! The reservoir was all covered with star spangled banners. A band of music played, cannons were fired, and the crowd went wild. Then the temperance societies, who saw a chance in this excitement about water to work their cold water racket, came along and sang temperance hymns, and then some temperance orator made a speech and asked everybody to endorse the temperance platform. Just about this time the platform on which they were standin’ broke down, and a man who was sittin’ underneath it was crushed.
“The temperance platform” proved too much for him. He nearly died of it. It broke his leg and injured him internally. There weren’t any more temperance speeches made that day. It rained, too, durin’ the day just a little, and the wag said that it was perfectly shameful that on such an occasion as this even the clouds had taken a drop too much. Altogether there was a deal of good-natured fun and excitement, but the great fuss over the matter took place some months after, when the water had been introduced all over the city. Then all New York, for the first, and I guess last, time in its history went wild over water.
There was a big parade. There was a sort of fountain carried along in the procession, and all the public fountains–especially the fountains in the City Hall Park and Union Square–were kept goin’ at high pressure. The military turned out by the thousands, and the crack regiment of the parade was what was known at then as the “Highland Regiment,” preceded by bagpipes, the men bein’ all in Scotch kilt and stockin’s. Then the firemen came along, all the hand engines and hose carriages covered all over with flags and flowers. In the parade were all the New York pilots and the naval apprentices, and the workmen who had been engaged on the aqueduct, and who went through the mysteries of layin’ pipes, in which they beat even the present pipe-layers up in the Albany Legislature.
Then the Governor of New York State came along in a carriage, and two other carriages came right behind, carryin’ seven mayors of seven different cities. Then a pretty carriage came along with the British Union Jack and the stars and stripes, twined together, round it. This contained the British consul, and made the boys crazy with delight. Then the silversmiths marched in a body, carryin’ a lot of precious frames and pretty things, which brought the water to the women’s eyes without the aid of any aqueduct.
And last of all came the butchers. Every butcher in the city turned out on horseback, or in a cart, in full rig. Before the butchers was borne in triumph a mammoth stuffed ox, and after ‘em, in carts, came sheep and calves under charge of butchers’ boys, who were in the olden time quite an institution in the city of New York. The procession wound up with a big car drawn by richly caparisoned horses, containing the priests and minstrels of the Ancient Order of Druids, which at that time was very popular. These Druids were dressed like the ancient Britons are in the Opera of “Norma,” and looked very picturesque.
Altogether it was a very different and much more interestin’ procession than one is likely to see in New York nowadays. When the parade was through the Sacred Music Society sang “A Croton Ode,” by Gen. George P. Morris, which was a little bit too long, and made everybody glad when it was over (one fellow in the crowd said the city “owed” for the Croton quite enough as it was), and then New York went home and everybody had Croton water at dinner to put into their whiskey.
There have been some items of interest connected with this reservoir, among ‘em two suicides years and years ago, and an attempt at a duel. But, on the whole, its history has been very quiet and respectable, and pretty soon all that will be left of it will be this chapter and a memory.
[Editor’s notes: Several civil engineers took part in the creation of the old Croton Aqueduct, but Edward H. Tracy held the position of Chief Engineer of the Croton Water Department. He died in 1875 and was buried in Greenwood Cemetery in the Bronx. No images of him can be found.]
