NEW YORK CITY TIMELINE / 1745-1749

NOTE:

The Manhattan death notices of 1748 and 1749 are taken from a semi-random search of the coroner’s records of John Burnet, published by the New York Genealogical Society:

Minutes of Coroners Proceedings, City and County of New York, John Burnet, Coroner, 1748-1758

Volume XVI of the Collections of The New York Genealogical and Biographical Society (2004)



Edited by Francis J. Sypher, Jr.

http://www.newyorkfamilyhistory.org/download/catalog/catalog.pdf

1745

Jul 31

John Burnet is licensed as an attorney in New York City.

Aug 19

John Burnet is appointed clerk of the Colonial Court of Chancery in New York City.

City

Archibald Kennedy, eleventh Earl of Cassillis, builds a home overlooking Battery Park, later site of the Washington Building (No. 1 Broadway). ** Lawyer-historian William Smith graduates from Yale, returns to New York, reads law in his father William's office.

1746

Mar 16

The brig King George, Charles Dickinson captain, arrives at New York from Barbados.

Jul 28

Printer-editor John Peter Zenger dies in New York City, in his late forties.

City

Henry De Forest's Evening Post begins publication, puts out a few issues, this year and next.

1747

Jan 19

Early Pittsford settler Josiel Farr is born in Acton, Massachusetts.

City

Edward Holland is appointed mayor for the next ten consecutive one-year terms. ** The Common Council considers passing rules regulating teawater men, commercial providers of drinking water. It does nothing. ** A debate is begun over the possible location of King's College, inside the city or in the countryside. ** Coroner John Van Cortlandt dies, unmarried, in his late twenties. ** New Yorkers own approximately 99 ships.

Literature

William Livingston of New York City, publishes Philosophic Solitude; or The Choice of a Rural Life.

1748

Jan 16

William Smith, Jr. succeeds John Burnet as clerk of the Colonial Court of Chancery.

Jan 28

John Burnet is commissioned Coroner of the City and County of New York, succeeding the late John Van Cortlandt, calls for a panel of 24 jurors to appear before him by at 4 PM, at the home of Hugh Crawford near City Hall. He creates a series of forms to be used in all coroners’ cases. His panel meets and determines that Sarah Fisher has committed suicide yesterday in the Crawford home by strangling herself.

Apr 4

Workman Peter DeWitt is killed while working on a hillside site near the home of James Darcy, in the city's Montgomerie Ward, when a rock falls on him.

Jun 5

John, a thirteen-year-old black belonging to John Pinhorn, drowns in New York City after falling out of a boat.

Jun 11

James Miller, a servant of New York City brewer Robert Benson, attacks Nicholas Stilwell, causing his death by a blow to the head.

Jun 26

A Francis Davis drowns off New York City’s Blackwell’s Island while swimming.

Jul 20

New York City resident Henry Jenkins, kills himself with a musket at the home of widow Deborah Burger, who testifies at the coroner’s inquest that day.

Aug 20

James Dean, missionary to the Oneida Indians, is born in Groton, Connecticut.

Oct 6

New York City coroner John Burnet, reappointed by the Common Council, takes his oath of office.

Oct 25

Piere Olieve falls in the hold of the snow Swallow, while it is moored in the East River at New York; is killed instantly.

Oct 30

Finnish explorer and botanist Peter Kalm arrives in New York City. He makes observations on the local oyster fishermen.

Oct 31

Kalm explores oystering further, provides recipes, and learns the "r" rule for months in which to eat them.

Nov 1

Kalm discusses some of the diseases common to the New York area. He also mentions the clamming industry and the Indians' use of the shells for wampum. He visits the city's synagogue.

Nov 2

Kalm revisits the synagogue.

Nov 3

Kalm leaves New York for Philadelphia.

Nov 11

New York City resident John Marschalk commits suicide, shooting himself in the head with a pistol.

Dec 25

An intoxicated James Wisely falls of a New York City wharf belonging to Stephen Bayard and drowns.

City

When the price of European logwood, a dye source, begins climbing steeply, local merchants begin purchasing it in Central America, the source of the bulk of the trade through 1761.

Bronx

A mansion is built for Frederick Van Cortlandt in what will later become Van Cortlandt Park.

Brooklyn

To protest its control by Manhattan interests, residents burn the Fulton Ferry house.

1749

Jun 27

A coroner’s jury meets in New York City to hold an inquest on a male infant. Midwives Baffie VandeWater and Johanna Gardland are sworn in. The panel is then adjourned until the 30th.

Jun 30

The coroner’s jury reconvenes. It’s determined that an unknown person or persons murdered the male infant by drowning him in the Hudson River.

Aug 8

An intoxicated Cornelius Quick takes a fall in a Manhattan alley and dies.

Aug 20

The free mulatto woman Isabella, servant of Daniell Shatford, strangles a male infant, her illegitimate son, in the garret of Shatford’s home.

Aug 21

Isabella is jailed. Her health begins failing.

Sep 13

John Killmaster of New York City hangs himself from a cellar beam.

Sep 14

Isabella dies in jail.

Sep 24

A drunken Daniell York tumbles from a pier in lower Manhattan and is drowned.

Oct 14

John Burnet takes his oath of office as coroner of the City of New York.

Nov 17

A New York coroner’s jury determines that an infant found dead in the Hudson River was probably stillborn.

Dec 4

A James Holliday attempts to board the ship Mary during a stormy evening in New York City, slips from the gangway and is drowned.

Dec 13

The widowed Mary Nicholls, daughter of New York City’s County Court examiner Richard Nicholls, marries future Trinity Church rector Samuel Auchmuty.

Dec 25

An ill Mary Russell, wife of Nicholas Russell, suffers a fit on New York’s Smith Street around six in the morning and dies instantly.

© 2011 David Minor / Eagles Byte

CITY OF WATER DAY

Tomorrow, July 16th, is going to be a very big one for Save Our Seaport, and should be lots of fun as well.

It’s City Of Water Day! The Metropolitan Waterfront Alliance says, “From the upper Hudson to Raritan Bay, we are a City of Water — yet too many of us are cut off from this tremendous resource. Help revitalize the waterfront with a festival for the entire family.”

What part will we be playing in this event?

We will have tables at both land locations – Governors Island and Liberty State Park – where we will provide information, speak to folks, and add signatures to our petitions. We’ll need lots of help at both locations, please give us a hand.

There’s more: The historic ships participating in the flotilla will be showing their support for our mission to save the South Street Seaport Museum by flying our banners. It should be spectacular!

If you can volunteer for the day, or even part of the day, please let us know now so we can plan for you. You can email us at saveourseaport@gmail.com or call us at (347)6-PIER16.

Yet one more added bonus: rather than waiting in line for the morning ferry to Governors Island, we can offer the option of riding out to the island on a beautiful historic sailing ship, thanks to one of our supporters. Can’t beat that, can you?

Hope to see you tomorrow!

Town Made to Order

Sep 6, 2003

Spectators gathered, in 1908, on new docks at the harbor entrance to Gary, Indiana, peered off to the west, watched as small dots slowly grew in size just off shore. The dots separated, became four distinct vessels, steaming toward the piers jutting out into Lake Michigan. First to arrive was the gunboat Wolverine, followed in turn by the training ship Dorothea, the revenue cutter Tuscarora, and the fourth vessel, the steam vessel E. H. Gary. As the latter neared her dock the Stars and Stripes was run up a flagpole where it flapped in the breeze as the Wolverine loosed a 21-gun salute into the July air. On board the steamer was the reason for all the celebration, 12,00 tons of iron ore. Before the unloading there were speeches from officials standing on the Gary's bridge, including a candidate for the U. S. vice-presidency. It was the final years of the Gilded Age, so we can be sure the oratory and the toasts followed each other in rapid succession. Somebody was sure to have uttered the words, "a new era" and, for better or worse, it was. By the end of the shipping season close to a million tons of raw ore would enter the iron maw of the Gary blast furnaces.

If anyone in that welcoming crowd hadn't known of the guiding force behind this magic city that appeared out of the swamps and dunes, its name and the name of the first cargo carrier was a dead giveaway. It had become evident to United States Steel Corporation president Elbert Gary, sitting in his quietly bustling New York office in the early 1900s, that much of the far-reaching empire under his control was limping along with antiquated equipment, decrepit, rusting machinery that cut into efficiency and, most importantly, profits. Retrofitting existing plants would be hideously expensive and labor-intensive; far better and cheaper in the long run to start from scratch. It had to be along the western Great Lakes, near ore sources and existing factories in the Chicago area. Waukegan was already too congested. Land immediately around Chicago was expensive and carried a heavy tax burden. The answer lay just east of the Illinois-Indiana border. Mile after mile of swamp and sand dunes, practically uninhabited. Parcel by parcel the giant corporation began quietly buying up the needed property. The final acquisitions were made by 1906. 9,000 acres of beachfront property: 7.2 million dollars. A few billion sand fleas: Free. Dune grass and sluggish swamp water: Free. A brick-and-steel cash cow that should never run dry - PRICELESS!!

The science-fiction term 'terra-forming' had not been coined in 1906, but the concept was well understood. Crews began shoving huge sand dunes into inlets along a half mile stretch of lakefront. Part of the winding, east-west Calumet river was straightened and shifted half a mile to the south, acting as a dividing line between the workers' residences and commercial buildings to the south, and the blast furnaces and factories to the north. A grid pattern emerged as building lots were marked off and streets laid down. Running like reinforcing rods through the ruler-straight, criss-crossing, sidewalk-lined roadbeds, two major thoroughfares appeared. They were quite impressive, but there wasn't a lot of imagination put into their naming - Fifth Avenue running east-west, and Broadway running north-south. A twenty-five foot deep canal was gouged away to run through the middle of the industrial area, and piers were run out into the wind-driven surf. The Pittsburgh of the West was on its way.

Script 328

(c) 2003 David Minor / Eagles Byte

Wooden World

September 23, 2000

If you were inland from Menominee, Michigan, on the evening of October 8th, 1871, and you looked eastward toward town, you might see the glow of the setting sun. Wrong direction? Of course. It was the glow of not-distant-enough flames. On this day major fires would begin raging in Illinois, Wisconsin and Michigan. The first two (Chicago and Peshtigo) were decidedly deadly. Chicago's flames killed 300 and left 90,000 homeless. Peshtigo's dead numbered somewhat over 1200. Menominee faced the same threat.

The western Great Lakes had seen very little rain since spring. Wood frame houses in the lumber towns lined streets covered in sawdust. The surrounding land was studded with piles of scrap from the sawmills; dust filled the hot, dry air. And then. Deer were erupting out of the woods, as well as wolves, and smaller wild animals. The roads eastward were soon filled with cattle, horses and wagons as those on the small outlying farms headed rapidly toward the town and the waters of Green Bay. The passenger steamer Northern City could be seen off across the waters to the east, headed toward town. Exiles from Peshtigo were making their way into town, as well as escapees from nearby flame-killed villages. The steamer docked and the captain agreed, even as crew members stomped out wind-born sparks, to take women and children aboard. Said he'd stay moored there as long as possible.

There can be moments of humor, even under the threat of annihilation. A drayman unloaded a cargo of furniture destined for one of the mansions on the far side of town. As he moved away from the pier a passer-by told him the house wouldn't survive. He should take the furniture back to the boat. He kept going, telling the advice-giver that the insurance company would pay for the furniture if it went up in flames. But not if it were back on the ship.

The fires could be seen from village now. Men formed into crews and began digging a trench across the road that led into town, beating out flames that leapt the barrier with their shirts, laying face down briefly in the marshy water when waves of scorching heat flowed over their heads. Their efforts paid off. As dawnlight overcame flamelight, they knew they'd saved their town.

There were a two surprises left, non-threatening ones. As women began coming down the steamboats gangplank, some leading children. a few tallish forms kept their faces hidden, struggled with long skirts. A townsman walked up to one of the latter, and with a curse planted a boot firmly in the seat of the skirt and knocked a few other figures to the ground. Seems a half-dozen men of the town were more afraid of fire fighting than they were of cross-dressing. Getting in touch with their feminine side, no doubt. The other surprise? The waters of Green Bay had been lowered a bit by the intense heat. The Northern City was stuck firmly on a sandbar.

Script 189

© 2000 David Minor / Eagles Byte

Right Place at the Right Time (script 178)

© 2000 David Minor / Eagles Byte

The lady just happened to be in town that day. The day was May 12th, 1883, a Saturday. The town was Fayette, Michigan. And the lady was a boat, a boat by the name of Lady Washington. Fayette's harbor, called Snail Shell due to its shape, offered protection from the lake's storms, and vessels often took refuge in its shelter. If there was enough of this once-thriving smelter town in 1959 to fashion into a ghost-town tourist attraction, a lot of the credit goes to the lady.

Foundries ran around the clock then, what we today would call 24/7, and most people worked Saturdays anyway, so it wasn't unusual for a clerk in the warehouse to be on the job. He happened to glance off toward the waterfront where the stock building was located. It's purpose was to hold the fuel, coke by this period, before it went into the furnaces. Suddenly he took another look. Flames were emerging from a corner of the building. No time to hesitate. There was a wind, a few sparks could set the whole wooden village ablaze. He turned in the alarm and it wasn't long before every inhabitant that could walk, including the kids, was on the scene. The timbers of the stock house, coated with years of coal dust, spread the fires like fuses in a melodrama. 65,000 bushels of charcoal caught, and finished the stock house. The fire engine had been dragged in and bucket brigades formed. But the former didn't have sufficient power, mere pails of Lake Michigan were next to useless, and the wind continued to blow. Fayette was going to go up in flames. Town in distress and, damsel to the rescue.

The discouraged townspeople were suddenly aware of the sound of an engine, coming from the docks. The Lady Washington was moving into position with engines revved up and pumps churning. With her help the battle finally turned. When the last flames were extinguished the Jackson Iron Company had been heavily damaged, but its town had survived. A number of smelter buildings were lost, to the tune of $40,000. The two stacks, the blast furnaces, the casting house and the engines that operated the machinery were also spared. As were the docks, coal bins, and stacks of cord wood.

What the fire didn't destroy that evening the passage of time and the depletion of local forests eventually polished off. In 1920 the iron works and the town it owned, was sold off for $10,000. The population dwindled, almost to the vanishing point. Over the next 39 years what was left changed hands several times. Eventually the state of Michigan took over, decided the place was worth rescuing as a tourist attraction, and set out on a massive restoration project.

Every August now, boaters gather in Snail Shell Harbor to watch as a local high school girl, the annual Queen of the Fleet, tosses flowers on the water to honor the fishermen who lost their lives on the Lakes. The guardian spirit of another, much older lady is most likely present.