Blog - For The Record — NYC Department of Records & Information Services

Robert Garber

Tracts, Farms, and the Great Reindexing Project of 1911-1917

Introduction: why archive? 

Archives preserve materials for many reasons, some of which are not immediately obvious. It’s certainly true that some archived items have obvious historic importance, such as the Grand Jury indictments for the murder of Malcolm X.

Indictment, People v. Hagan, Butler, Johnson, 1965, NYDA Closed Case File Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Other items combine artistic merit with their historic significance, such as Calvert Vaux’s drawings for the design of Central Park.  

Danesmouth Arch, Central Park, Rendering, 1859, Department of Parks Drawings Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Inventory List, Frederick Johnson, 1863, Draft Riot Claim Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Most archival collections derive their value from larger social or political themes that scholars discern in studying otherwise humble-appearing documents, such as a payment claim for losses incurred in the notorious New York City Civil War Draft Riots of 1863.    

In three related collections at the New York City Municipal Archives, thousands of cryptic slips of paper bear witness to an enormous but now nearly-forgotten project where dozens of New York City employees labored for years in the service of—you guessed it—Manhattan real-estate records. This is the tale of how New York devoted more than a million person-hours (well, man-hours according to personnel lists) to achieve an apparently quotidian goal: making Manhattan’s property deeds more accessible, in an era where digital searches weren’t possible and using a typewriter to store data was considered technologically advanced. Let’s unpack the story.


The Problem: 600,000 deeds and no single index

Real estate has always ruled Manhattan. By the late 19th century, it was clear that the remaining tracts of open property uptown would soon be developed, and the traditional system of describing property by “metes and bounds”—using descriptors such as a mark cut into the trunk of a large oak tree near the river—was obsolete. Real estate law relies on an unbroken list of transaction records, called a “chain of title,” to assure that someone selling a piece of property is its legitimate owner. The New York State Legislature passed a law in 1891 requiring all subsequent real estate transactions in New York City to use a new block-and-lot system to describe property—the same one used today—but it failed to reckon with 200 years of conveyance records. How to take the 600,000 accumulated deeds, called “conveyances” that were stored in 2,000 fat volumes in the office of the City Register, and convert them to the block-and-lot system?

Furthermore, those old records weren’t organized geographically: the volumes (called “libers”) had been filled sequentially as deeds were brought to the City Register for filing and were indexed volume-by-volume based on the names of the buyers and sellers. Searching through these thousands of volumes was the province of title searchers. Title companies, frustrated with the primitive and archaic system of deed indexing, created their own proprietary indexes which made their searches more efficient and reliable—but assured that access to these public records was for all practical purposes controlled by private firms!

Deed, 1804, Office of the City Register.


The Solution: Reindex 

In 1910 the state legislature addressed the problem by directing the office of the City Register to create its own index of real estate “instruments” that filled the gap between 1891 and the earliest recorded land grants of the 17th century, and to establish trustworthy title chains. The law allocated $100,000 per year for the task, which was expected to take a decade to complete. The City Register created a dedicated Reindexing Department and hired nearly 80 men at salaries ranging from $1,000 to $1,320 per year. The team was put to work preparing summaries of each deed, called an abstract. Once an Abstractor made sense of the deed description and summarized it on a slip of paper, a Locator interpreted the description and attempted to superimpose it on a modern block plan of Manhattan. Once located, a Draftsman drew a map summarizing the work of the Abstractor and the Locator. The work was checked by Examiners and finally signed off by the Chief Surveyor. An elaborate system of review was implemented because the City Register recognized that this was an effort that would never be repeated—it had to be done right the first time. Old property deeds were notoriously difficult to interpret—and often were a challenge just to read!    

Abstracting slip from the Reindexing Department, NYC Municipal Archives.

And yet just three years after the work began in January 1911, outgoing Register Max S. Grifenhagen called reporters into his office and announced that the index, “more comprehensive, more perfect, more exact than is to be found in any other large city in the world,” was complete.(1) The new index was organized geographically and took the form of 12 x 17.5-inch pages (typists were paid 25 cents for each completed index page) filled with chronologically-ordered conveyance data. Manhattan was divided into “key blocks,” each encompassing several city blocks. Every key block featured its own conveyance index with verified liber citations as well as a map showing the names of early owners during the period when Manhattan land was still owned in large pieces called “tracts.”       

Key block map and page from a reindexed block on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, NYC Municipal Archives.

Between 1914 and 1917, the abstracting work was extended to hundreds of thousands of mortgage records. At the same time, the Reindexing Department turned its attention to working out the boundaries of approximately 200 old “farms and tracts” that had once made up most of the privately-owned property above 14th Street. Many of these bore familiar names from Manhattan history: Dyckman, Stuyvesant, Delancey, Astor, Roosevelt. The old conveyance deeds did not contain sufficient information for this task, so the team also drew upon “records on file in the various city departments, historical societies, libraries and in the offices of Trinity Church, Trustees of Columbia College, Sailor’s Snug Harbor and many other similar offices.”(2) As the data was gathered in the form of 6.5 x 10-inch slips organized into more than 1,000 “Tract Reports,” draftsmen distilled the information into 46 plates collectively called the General Map of Tracts and Farms, encompassing all of Manhattan. The draftsmen used an interesting system of lettering:  the names of owners were written in a mashup of styles and sizes designed to make it easier to distinguish overlapping names.    

Tract and Farm Plate 34, R.D. Map Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.


Job (almost) Done! 

The Reindexing team still wasn’t finished—they next converted data on each original farm or tract into a narrative document called a Farm History. A Farm History begins with narrative text from 2 to 22 pages long describing the extent of the original property and presenting an outline of the transactions that broke it into pieces. Many of the Farm Histories include one or two beautiful maps superimposing the farm onto a modern Manhattan block map, as well as a kind of descendancy chart akin to a family tree, with landowners’ names presented as if they were generations of children who bought or inherited pieces of the original farm. Each line of descent terminated in a reference to the city blocks that make up the land owned by the most recent names on the chart. In a 1917 summary of the work of this office, City Register John J. Hopper wrote that “a reference to the proper farm history is made in the front of each block,”(3) by which he meant in the conveyance index volumes. This was never done, nor do the farm histories appear to be complete: only about two dozen out of 120 bear approval dates, and many lack texts, maps, or descendancy charts. Genealogist and historian Aaron Goodwin has speculated that World War I may have interfered with the project’s completion.(4) 

James W. De Peyster Farm, Farm Histories Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Ownership Descendancy Chart for the Dutch colonial era farm of Jacobus Van Orden, Farm Histories Collection, NYC Municipal Archives. 


So, How Much of this Stuff is in the Municipal Archives? 

This largest output from the Reindexing project were hundreds of index volumes.  Those remain in the City Register’s office in Jamaica, Queens, because after more than 100 years, they’re still in active use! The original conveyance libers through 1886 have been scanned and are available online.(5) The Municipal Archives holds three collections at its 31 Chambers Street location:

  • ACC 1983-037, consisting of large original sheet maps that show the location and boundaries of old tracts and farms together with the names of their owners and Tract Report references. 

  • ACC 1983-038, consisting of approximately 1,000 Tract Reports on slips of paper that were used to create ACC 1983-037 and ACC 1983-039. 

  • ACC 1983-039, consisting of approximately 100 Farm Histories with text, maps and descendancy charts of ownership. The Farm Histories are available on a microfilm in the Reading Room of the Municipal Library at 31 Chambers Street.   Please consult the Municipal Archives Collection Guide for additional information about the Office of the City Register Reindexing Department maps, tract reports, and farm histories. 


A Final Word 

Returning to the theme of modest-looking archival materials that bear witness to colossal efforts made by city employees performing tasks that must have been tedious at best, the efforts of the World War I-era Reindexing Department of the City Register have benefitted generations of property owners, local historians, and—yes—attorneys. The names and addresses of the Reindexing Department team members were published in The City Record along with their salaries and hire dates.(6) A handful were even photographed for a 1913 newspaper story about the department,(7) so let them be anonymous no more!  

Members of the Reindexing Department, July 1916, NYC Municipal Archives. 

The reindexing team at work in 1913, NYC Municipal Archives. 


(1) “Title searching in N.Y. County Simplified.” NY Tribune 21 Dec 1913, page 34.

(2) John J Hopper 1917, Four Years Report Showing the improvements made during the years 1914-1917 in the Register’s Office, of New York County, with recommendations for its future growth and advancement, pages 43-44

(3) Hopper, loc. cit.

(4) Aaron Goodwin. 2016 New York City Municipal Archives: An Authorized Guide for Family Historians, page 104

(5) “United States, New York Land Records, 1630-1975.” https://www.familysearch.org/search/collection/2078654

(6) The City Record 31 Jul 1916 Supplement 9, page 245.

(7) “Title Searching in N.Y. County Simplified,”loc. cit.

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

Last week, For the Record reviewed Estate Inventories and demonstrated how documents in the collection offer unique insights into Manhattan life from the era of George Washington’s presidency through the runup to the Civil War. Remarkably rich with detail, these records simultaneously remind us of how different—and yet how familiar—New York City life was, 200 years ago. 

This week, For the Record continues the analysis of the collection focusing on three themes: Enslaved people in New York City, Tools of the trade: artisans and shopkeepers, and Booksellers and personal libraries


Enslaved people in New York City 

Ownership of human beings was not outlawed in New York State until 1827. The estate files therefore cover several decades when the practice was still legal. References to enslaved persons can be found in some of the estates. For example, consider the short asset list of Samuel Clews who died in 1808 and who owned a boarding house and livery stable on Water Street. His estate included a “Negro Man Slave,” whose appraised $100 value was greater than the combined value of all of Mr. Clews’ other possessions. The appraisers saw fit to note that Samuel Clews also owned a female slave who “ran away 14 Months ago.”  

Estate assets of Samuel Clews, 1808. Estate Inventories. NYC Municipal Archives.

Similarly, Samuel Kips of the Kips Bay family left a modest collection of household furniture, tableware, and “6 old books” whose combined value came to barely $350 at his death in 1804. But he also listed three “negro girls” whose appraised value was $492. 

Estate assets of Samuel Kip, 1804, page 1 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

Estate assets of Samuel Kip, 1804, page 1 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

A different story emerges from the estate of James Arden, a wealthy merchant whose estate inventory is notable for the methodical and detailed picture it paints of his home at 12 Greenwich Street. Arden’s appraisers worked floor-by-floor and room-by-room, allowing us to reconstruct how his residence was organized and appointed. The appraisers even distinguished between what was in his desk (silver knee buckles and certificates for bank shares) and what was on the desk (“ink stand paper quills & pencils”). James Arden’s estate file says nothing about enslaved people, although it lists the modest contents of a “Garret & Servants Bed Room:” 

Estate assets of James Arden, 1822. Estate inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

More of the story emerges from Arden’s actual will, which is not part of the estates collection at the Municipal Archives. [The James Arden will record is accessible via Ancestry.com, New York, U.S., Wills and Probate Records, 1659-1999.] His will manumits “my two female slaves Nancy and Nan” as well as Nan’s son Frank. Arden may have had in mind something other than a guilty conscience or even benevolence, however—his will goes on to say that these manumissions were to be conducted “according to law so as to discharge my estate from all future responsibility on their account.” James Arden’s story shows the ways in which the estate lists may be combined with other sources to reconstruct life in old New York.  


Tools of the trade: artisans and shopkeepers 

As the United States developed its own workshops and factories and weaned itself from dependence on imported goods from Europe, how were these establishments stocked? What tools, equipment, and finished products might be encountered upon entering a cabinetmaker’s shop, or that of a cooper, a printer, or a weaver? New York became America’s largest city in 1790, and it manufactured a remarkable variety of products. One example of a workshop’s contents is found in the 1821 estate of Christopher Corley, a gunsmith on Water Street. 

Estate assets, Christopher Corley, 1821. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

Corley’s assets included a wide and formidable array of weapons, as well as the accoutrements needed to deploy them. Some of Christopher Corley’s weaponry from his estate inventory include manufacturing equipment such as “Two sets of gun smith tools,” anvils and bellows, a “lathe and apparatus,” vises, and emery. The large number of gun stocks (800!) and the presence of cannonades (a short cannon used at close-range) suggests that Morley’s customers may have included the military. 

The printer Jonas Booth’s 1850 estate inventory offers a window into developments of interest to historians of information technology as well as historians of advertising, and even of the circus! Booth was an Englishman from Manchester, which has been called “the first industrialized city.” Booth learned the printing trade and arrived in America in 1822 with knowledge not merely of how to print, but how to design and even manufacture every component of the printing process, from making ink to designing and building the printing press itself. His business at 147 Fulton Street became known for Booth’s ability to print jobs fast (he built the first steam-powered printing press in America) and large. One of Booth’s specialties were enormous color posters, used especially to advertise traveling circuses. His estate inventory includes a Napier Printing Press, complete with steam engine, as well as large quantities of colored printing ink and a Harris paint mill that ground color ingredients for mixing up inks. Circus posters, some of which measured ten feet on a side, exemplify ephemera and examples from Booth’s shop are extremely rare and prized as works of art. 

Estate assets, Jonas Booth, 1850, 1 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

Estate assets, Jonas Booth, 1850,2 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

Driesbach & Co. Menagerie, published by Thomas W. Strong, 1851. Courtesy the Ringling Museum. Jonas Booth’s estate inventory lists materials and equipment for printing such extraordinary items as this 9x10 foot circus poster, now preserved at the Ringling Circus Museum. This poster is one of the earliest large-scale pictorial posters still in existence. The four-color print depicts Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Paradise and includes the names of the three printing pioneers who created it: printer Jonas Booth, engraver Joseph Morse, and engraver and publisher T.W. Strong.

Rope, twine, string: cordage was a big part of 18th and 19th century life. A large sailing ship could be rigged with up to 40 miles of rope of various sizes. Maps of Manhattan showed surprising numbers of ropewalks, where pre-industrial technology created all types of cordage by having men walk and twist fiber. The few surviving ropewalks document the equipment and supplies working ropemakers required 200 years ago. The 1848 estate of Samuel Abbott offers a scholar of industrial technology a wealth of detail, with an arcane set of specialized terms: crown wheel, side wheel, Jenny wheel.

Estate assets, Samuel Abbott, 1848, 1 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives 

Estate assets, Samuel Abbott, 1848, 2 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives. 


Booksellers and personal libraries 

Portrait of Richard Harison, 1929. Painting by Albert Rosenthal, copy after Unidentified Artist. Columbia University. From a Catalog of American Portraits, National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution.

The estate files contain numerous lists of books. Some were impressive personal libraries containing both literature and professional titles, such as law books or medical treatises. An example was the collection of Richard Harison (1747-1829), one-time law partner of Alexander Hamilton, whose obituary called him “the patriarch of the New-York Bar; a man of great legal acquirements, and much general erudition.”

Harison’s estate included a remarkably large library consisting of 1,200 titles, most of which were sets ranging from two to 25 or more separate volumes. His library therefore had perhaps 3,000 to 5,000 bound books! Most were kept at his “country seat,” which was a mansion on property stretching all the way from 8th to 9th Avenues and from West 30th to 31st Street! Harison’s library was astounding in its range and sophistication, supporting his reputation of having “much general erudition”—unsurprisingly it included Shakespeare, Cervantes, Milton and the 20 volume Encyclopedia Britannica but also Isaac Newton on physics, Samuel Johnson’s seminal Dictionary, and such obscurities as a two-volume poem entitled Botanic Garden written by Charles Darwin’s grandfather and Jean Baptiste Bellegarde’s long-forgotten Reflexions Upon Ridicule. Harison still found time to be the first United States Attorney for New York, a state assemblyman, and Alexander Hamilton’s law partner. 

Estate assets, Samuel Bartlett, 1822. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

Another fascinating book list is that of Samuel Bartlett, who operated a combined bookshop, publishing house, and circulating library at 78 Bowery until his death in 1822, after which his brother Caleb took over the business. 

A portion of Samuel Bartlett’s estate inventory, listing items from his shop that included books, plates for printing, sets of chessmen, and old songs valued at ½ cent each, more than 5,000 quills, and pinions—mechanical pieces used in hand-operated printing presses. Try finding a shop selling that combination today! 

Advertisement for Mrs. Bower’s Corset Establishment and Circulating Library (Evening Post, 1824 November 13) 

In the 18th and early 19th centuries there were no public libraries in New York, and few private libraries—The New York Society Library, founded in 1754, is a rare surviving example. However, small “circulating libraries” were not uncommon, offering subscribing members borrowing privileges. An idea of the cost to join a circulating library can be found in a startling ad for a combined “Corset Establishment and Circulating Library” operated on Maiden Lane by Mrs. Bower in 1824: $5 per year. Nonsubscribers could borrow individual volumes for 6 or 12½ cents, depending on their size.

The contents of Samuel Bartlett’s bookshop and library at his death in 1822 is in his estate file. Bartlett’s lending library of 1,384 volumes was described as “nearly all old books…mostly novels, plays, romances and similar works of little value,” and was valued altogether at just $200. However, three densely packed pages are devoted to books for sale. The list is particularly valuable because it indicates the number of copies of each work that were in inventory, giving us an idea of how many of each book Mr. Bartlett thought he could sell.

Many of the books represented by dozens or even hundreds of copies were evidently for student use, such as 485 copies of “Key to Dilworth.”  This was A Key to Dilworth’s Arithmetic, written by an anonymous “Teacher of Arithmetic” and intended to serve as a companion volume to the widely used arithmetic textbook by Thomas Dilworth. Twenty-two copies of American Cookery, followed by 387 copies of Dream Books represents an interesting juxtaposition in Samuel Bartlett’s estate inventory. 

American Cookery, widely considered to be the first fully American cookbook, was published in 1796. Samuel Bartlett had 22 copies in his shop in 1822.

Dream Books purported to associate dream imagery with specific numbers. Bartlett had over 1200 in stock.

American Cookery, widely considered to be the first fully American cookbook, was published in 1796. Its author, Amelia Simmons, is credited with being the first cookbook author to pair turkey with cranberry sauce, and to use the Dutch term cookey for little baked desserts. Samuel Bartlett kept almost two dozen copies in his shop. 

What about 387 copies of the next entry in Bartlett’s inventory, for “Dream Books”—plus more than 900 additional copies listed on another page? Did large numbers of pre-Freudian New Yorkers record or otherwise analyze their dreams? Hardly—Dream Books were cheap publications that purported to associate dream imagery with specific numbers, which in turn could be wagered on in popular but illegal Policy games. Samuel Bartlett appears to have had a thriving business selling Dream Books.  

Let’s close with a look at an unexpected record to emerge from the Municipal Archives’ estate inventories: a description of the elements of a funeral service in 1826! Elias Baldwin died in a voyage to Curacao in November 1825, and his body was returned to the New York area for burial. Unusually, his estate appraisers elected to list in considerable detail the costs associated with his funeral rather than confining themselves to his assets at death. Many of the items are self-evident (“the sailors who assisted on board the ship inlaying Mr. Baldwin out”); others less so (12 cents for “pyrogenous acid,” also known as wood acid. It has antimicrobial properties and may have been used to help preserve the corpse). There were clerks and coffin attendants and a hearse driver, and even—as in mythology—$8 to pay the ferryman to bring the deceased to New Jersey. 

Estate assets, Elias Baldwin, 1826, 1 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

Estate assets, Elias Baldwin, 1826, 2 of 2. Estate Inventories, NYC Municipal Archives.

In contrast to the detail lavished on Elias Baldwin’s funeral, the rest of his appraised estate listed only a handful of assets—but one stands out for its brush with history: an “uncertain” amount due from “Col Aaron Burr, for services rendered by deceased in his life time.” 

Readers are welcome to explore the updated collection inventory in the Collection Guide.

“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.

The New York City Civil War Draft Riot Claims Collection

The Municipal Archives holds numerous of collections relating to the city’s role in the American Civil War. Many relate to the fraught topic of service in the military, an issue that simmered at the intersection of immigration and racism, finally boiling over in New York in July 1863. Archives collections document military recruiting efforts, aid for families of volunteer soldiers, and the explosive issue of paying substitutes to be soldiers. The Draft Riot Claims collection has garnered particular interest from scholars. To explain the importance of this collection, some background is in order.

New York and the Civil War 

When it comes to the Civil War, New York City presents a Jekyll and Hyde personality to the historian. On one hand, New York (Manhattan, to be precise, because the boroughs weren’t amalgamated until 1898 and Brooklyn’s attitude towards the war differed from Manhattan’s) was the site of Abraham Lincoln’s legendary February 1860 Cooper Union speech, which propelled him to national prominence as a potential presidential candidate. Moreover, Manhattan rapidly assembled an army regiment composed of firefighters in response to President Lincoln’s call for troops to protect Washington DC immediately after the fall of Fort Sumter in April 1861. But New York City was also the “City of Sedition,” in the phrase of historian John Strausbaugh. It voted decisively—twice—in favor of Lincoln’s opponent, and on the day of Lincoln’s inauguration Mayor Fernando Wood declined to allow the American flag to be flown over City Hall. Much worse was to come. In July 1863 Manhattan was the site of what is still the worst spasm of urban domestic violence in American history—the New York City Draft Riots.

The Colored Orphan Asylum, Fifth Avenue between 43rd and 44th Streets, Valentine’s Manual, 1864. NYC Municipal Library.

1863: the Critical Year  

The Union Army was in trouble in mid-1863. After two years of battlefield failure, the two-year tour of duty for large numbers of volunteers was coming to an end. Confederate commander Robert E. Lee, knowing the industrial superiority of the Union was something his generals and their troops could not overcome in the long term, made the decision to invade the North. Lee hoped to win a decisive military victory and convince the Union to enter peace negotiations. The Confederate army entered Pennsylvania in June and drew not just Federal troops but the militias from several nearby states, including nearly 16,000 from New York (1).

In March 1863, Congress passed the first national conscription law in American history to replenish the army. Mandatory military service was not popular anywhere, but in New York City there was an especially powerful reaction to the prospect of a draft. When Lincoln made his momentous decision to release the Emancipation Proclamation in early 1863, it confirmed that the goal of the conflict was eliminating the institution of slavery, not merely preserving the Union as Lincoln had previously insisted. Irish immigrants in New York City feared that emancipation would result in Black workers migrating to the North and competing with them for jobs. Their concern was not unfounded. In the months immediately prior to the implementation of the new draft law, Black workers had been hired to replace Irish longshoremen who had struck for higher wages (2).

In the early 1860s, Irish New Yorkers, who represented around a quarter of the city’s population (3), were overwhelmingly working class. The Tammany Hall political machine courted the Irish vote, and the city elected a Democrat mayor despite New York State overall voting Republican in the 1860 presidential election. This created a highly combustible mix, with many local politicians openly hostile to the war, which had become a dreadful source of carnage. The new draft law had an enormous loophole allowing those with $300 to buy their way out of service—an amount out of reach for the working class—and when posters went up in July announcing the conscription process, the city exploded.    

 

Claim made by Ann Garvey for the death of her husband during the riots. Draft Riot Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

The Draft Riots and Draft Riot Claims  

The first week of July 1863 was a turning point for the military prospects of the Union. The titanic battle at Gettysburg resulted in a decisive victory for the North, driven more by battlefield heroics than inspired generalship. After Gettysburg, Lee never again threatened the North. Immediately after Gettysburg’s conclusion, Grant’s siege of Vicksburg succeeded on July 4, ensuring Union control of the Mississippi and launching Grant’s rise to eventual command of all Union armies.  Although the victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg were front-page stories in New York newspapers, they neither portended a near-term end to the war nor eliminated plans for the draft. Although an initial drawing of names took place without incident on July 11, the resumption of the draft on July 13 was disrupted by an outburst of violence. The ensuing three days saw arson, looting, and widespread violence. Thousands of rioters roved through the streets from Lower Manhattan to Harlem, concentrating their fury on Blacks, on police who attempted to quell the violence, and on anyone they associated with abolition or pro-Union sentiments. Armories, factories, shops, newspaper offices, churches, and police stations were attacked, as were private dwellings.

In one of the riot’s most notorious acts the Colored Orphan Asylum on Fifth Avenue was destroyed by arsonists, although more than 200 children escaped. With the police outnumbered and the majority of the city’s militia sent to Gettysburg, the city was, in the words of one historian, in a state of “utter anarchy.” (4) Toward the end of the third day of riots, army and militia units arrived in Manhattan. When 4,000 troops marched through the city on July 16, the riots quickly ended. The death toll from the riots has been debated for 160 years—119 has often been cited, but numbers ten times larger have been proposed. The violence against Black New Yorkers was especially horrific, although studies have concluded that most riot deaths were rioters, killed by police or the army.   

 

Claim of Frederick Johnson. Draft Riot Collection, 1863. NYC Municipal Archives

Inventory list in claim of Frederick Johnson, 1863. Draft Riot Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

The City’s Response and the Draft Riot Claims Collection  

In the aftermath of the violence, city officials and some merchants and wealthy citizens responded to the riots in unexpectedly impressive ways. Rioters were identified, arrested, tried, and sentenced to prison--although many additional Grand Jury indictments were never pursued. A few police officers were brought before the Board of Police Commissioners on charges of dereliction of duty during the riots. These included one Sergeant Jones, whose trial—and newspaper coverage of it—produced an early use of the concept and phrase “equal protection under the law,” to be codified in 1868 in the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution. (5) A committee of merchants raised $40,000 and distributed it to Black families, an effort in private philanthropy that was independent of official efforts. The City Council and Board of Supervisors authorized up to $2 million to cover the $300 commutation fee for “firemen, policemen, member of the militia, or indigent New Yorker who could prove that his induction into the army would cause hardship to his family,” a remarkable provision that historian Adrian Cook noted could have prevented the draft riots in the first place. (6) Finally, the city and state authorized $2 million in bonds to reimburse claimants for losses incurred during the riots. Claims began to flood into City Comptroller Matthew T. Brennan’s office just ten days after the riots. They were reviewed by insurance examiners, then scrutinized painstakingly by a Special Committee on Draft Riot Claims appointed by the Board of Supervisors.

The Special Committee performed its work by meeting claimants in person, questioning them directly about their experiences. The documentation of the Special Committee’s work constitutes the Draft Riot files held at the Municipal Archives. Most of the Draft Riot Claim files were thought to be lost before hundreds were discovered in 2019 in a Brooklyn warehouse. The recommendations of the Special Committee—subject to a vote of the Board of Supervisors—resulted in payments of more than $970,000, (7) equivalent to $24 million today. (8)

Although the great bulk of claim reimbursement dollars were distributed to White property owners and businesses, the Special Committee publicly committed itself to prioritizing the review of Black claimants given the degree of suffering and need that resulted from their losses in the riots. This was in fact done, assisted by support from the Police Department-actions that legal scholar Andrew Lanham characterized as “a remarkable degree of race-conscious remedies for the time.” (9) Still, because Black New Yorkers were overwhelmingly poor, the sum of their claims amounted to less than $20,000, barely 1% of the claims by Whites. (10) Overall, Black riot claim compensation was “negligible,” in the opinion of historian Barnet Schechter.(11)  

 

Claim made by Maria Barnes, teacher at the Colored Orphan Asylum. Draft Riot Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

The Municipal Archives collection of Draft Riot Claims offers historians a variety of insights into this important historical event and into the lives of mid-19th century New Yorkers. Ann Garvey requested compensation for the death of her husband Patrick, “caused by a gun-shot wound inflicted upon his body…while the said Patrick was peacably [sic] attending to his usual business avocations” (the claim was denied). At one end of the economic spectrum, attorney Abram Wakeman, New York’s postmaster and a friend of Abraham Lincoln, listed hundreds of books from a lost library that he estimated at more than 2,000 volumes. His claim’s list of possessions ran to more than 700 lines on 32 pages. In contrast, Black claimants such as Frederick Johnson listed their lost possessions on just a couple of dozen lines. Despite their modest size, the requests made by Black claimants were treated with casual contempt by examiner Frederick R. Lee, who wrote of Anna Addison’s claim, “the jewellery [sic] of Negroes is invariably nothing but gilt.” 

Such insights may emerge when an archival collection is examined closely: what may have been created for one purpose will reward the historian for other reasons. In the case of the Draft Riot Claims collection, the documents provide not only the poignant descriptions of lives and possessions lost through violence but also evidence of social and political themes: how “ordinary black women were profoundly committed to respectability during and following the Civil War;” (12) an insistence by claimants on assertions of the emotional as well as financial value of lost objects that “drew on the material history of their possessions;” (13) and “a remarkable degree of race-conscious remedies [that] offers an intriguing prehistory on the strategic use of administrative agencies to advance civil rights claims in the twentieth century.” (14)

The Draft Riot Claims Collection has been recently inventoried.  Visit CollectionGuides

 for further information.

 Mr. Robert Garber is an intern in the Municipal Archives.

The New Colored Orphan Asylum, Tenth Avenue and 143rd Street, Manhattan. Valentine’s Manual, 1870. NYC Municipal Library.

Sources 

1.      Strausbaugh, John. 2016. City of Sedition: The History of New York City During the Civil War.  Hachette, page 267.  

2.      Albon P. Man Jr. 1950. The Irish in New York in the Early Eighteen-Sixties. Irish Historical Studies 7(26): 88-89; “The Right to Work”, Daily News 14 April 1863 page 4. 

3.      nyirishhistory.us/wp-content/uploads/NYIHR_V19_01-The-New-York-Irish-In-The-1850sLocked-In-By-Poverty.pdf  

4.      Strausbaugh, page 272.  

5.      Lanham, Andrew J. 2023. “Protection for Every Class of Citizens”: The New York City Draft Riots of 1863, the Equal Protection Clause, and the Government’s Duty to Protect Civil Rights.  UC Irvine Law Review 13(4): 1067-1118  

6.      Cook, Adrian. 1974. The Armies of the Streets: The New York City Draft Riots of 1863. The University Press of Kentucky, page 174.  

7.      [Brennan, Matthew T.] Communication from the Comptroller, Relative to Expenditures and Receipts of the County of New York, on Account of the Damage by Riots of 1863.  Document No. 13, Board of Supervisors.  Volumes I-IV. [Note: all four volumes are in the library of the NewYork Historical Society; volume II is also online at https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/45fd8ea0-cb9c-0130-ab53-58d385a7bbd0/book].  $970,000 represents totals from vol I page 66 and vol II page 61.  

8.      https://www.in2013dollars.com/us/inflation/1863?amount=970000  

9.      Lanham, page 1103.  

10.  Schechter, Barnet. 2005. The Devil’s Own Work: The Civil War Draft Riots and the Fight to Reconstruct America.  Walker & Co, page 250.  

11.  Schechter, op. cit.  

12.  Dabel, Jane E. and Marissa Jenrich. 2017. Co-Opting Respectability: African American Women and Economic Redress in New York City, 1860-1910. J. Urban History 43(2): 312-331.  

13.  Cohen, Joanna. 2022. Reckoning with the Riots: Property, Belongings, and the Challenge to Value in Civil War America.  J. American History 109(1): 68-89.  

14.  Lanham, page 1103. 

 

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