Stephen H. Branch's Alligator, Vol. 1 no. 02, May 1, 1858

In Short

This second issue of Stephen H. Branch's Alligator is a hybrid of autobiography and political broadside. Written by an eccentric and self-styled truth-teller, it chronicles his early struggles as a young, wayward laborer in Boston and New York, while simultaneously launching a fierce, populist assault against the city’s political elite. It survives as a fascinating, chaotic primary source that captures the raw, sensationalist spirit of the 1850s press, where individual vanity and civic outrage were often indistinguishable from one another.

The Story

The narrative begins with a picaresque account of the author’s youth, characterized by impulsive departures and strained authority. As a boy, he and his companion John Horsewell attempt to run away from Providence to Boston, only to be turned back by a sharp-eyed hotelier and the realities of their own poverty. What follows is a series of misadventures: from pawning clothes to attend the theater, to being baked in an oven by a frustrated aunt, to stowing away on a steamer to New York. The author describes a life of constant motion and shifting allegiances, working as a bar-tender, a clerk, and a printer’s apprentice while navigating a series of exploitative employers.

These recollections serve as the foundation for the author’s current persona: a man who has seen the underbelly of urban life and emerged with a grudge against the powerful. He frames his own turbulent biography as a training ground for his current role as a journalistic agitator. By the time the narrative shifts to the present—May 1, 1858—the author is no longer the run-away boy but a self-proclaimed "Alligator" editor. He describes the chaotic morning of his printing office, where newsboys and crowds clamor for his latest sheets, and his own physical exhaustion manifests as nightmarish visions of spiders and hemorrhaging.

With his identity as a crusading editor established, the author turns his attention to the "Fra Diavolo and his Italian Brigands"—his derogatory term for the city’s political figures. He alleges massive misappropriation of funds related to government record-keeping, accusing specific politicians of enriching themselves at the expense of the laboring classes. He positions himself as a lonely, courageous voice speaking truth to power, claiming that he would rather rot in prison than stop exposing the theft of public money.

He contrasts these "corrupt" figures with those who have shown him personal loyalty, such as James Gordon Bennett, whose support during the author’s past financial or personal crises is recounted with immense gratitude. The narrative culminates in a sweeping condemnation of the political class, including figures like Horace Greeley and Simeon Draper. He argues that the country is on the brink of ruin, driven by the greed of "traffic politicians" rather than any noble debate over slavery or freedom. He concludes with a call for a new, revolutionary figure—a Cincinnatus or Brutus—to rise up and "stab the incarnate devils down," thereby restoring integrity to the American republic before it follows the path of the Roman Empire into chaos.

How It Unfolds

The runaway years The author recounts his childhood attempts to flee Providence for Boston, detailing his encounters with skeptical landlords and his eventual return home. These formative experiences highlight a pattern of reckless behavior, physical hardship, and a lifelong tendency toward dramatic, self-aggrandizing storytelling.

The descent into the city The narrative moves to the author’s arrival in New York, where he drifts through various low-level jobs in saloons and printing houses. He paints a vivid picture of the cramped, chaotic living conditions of the period and his frequent clashes with petty, exploitative bosses.

The printer’s morning The focus shifts to the present day at the printing office, where the author describes the physical exertion and near-manic atmosphere of producing his broadsheet. This sequence serves as a bridge between his past life as a laborer and his current, self-appointed role as an agitator.

The political indictment The author levels specific charges of corruption against New York’s municipal officials, alleging they have plundered the city treasury for their own gain. He uses aggressive, alarmist language to describe these leaders as "robbers" and "conspirators" who threaten the very fabric of the nation.

The prophetic conclusion The piece ends with a dire warning about the future of the United States, linking municipal graft to the eventual dissolution of the Union. He calls for a violent purification of politics, invoking classical imagery to demand the removal of the current ruling class.

The People

Stephen H. Branch is the central, dominating figure. He is a man of intense, shifting emotions, oscillating between deep gratitude toward his benefactors and vitriolic hatred toward those he deems corrupt. His narrative is defined by a desperate need to be heard and a firm conviction that his personal experiences give him the moral authority to act as a public conscience.

John Horsewell appears as the author’s childhood foil, a "poor boy" with "duck legs" who serves as a partner in their initial, failed adventures. Unlike the author, John lacks the same restless, combative drive and eventually yields to homesickness, representing the tether to the author’s domestic past.

The political figures, such as Richard Connolly, Richard Busteed, and Peter Cooper, are portrayed as caricatures of greed. They are depicted not as individuals, but as "bandits" or "paupers" in fancy clothing, whose primary purpose is to be unmasked by the author. He treats them with a mix of mockery and genuine rage, often inventing satirical, infantile backstories for them to diminish their status.

James Gordon Bennett emerges as a rare exception, elevated to the status of a protector. His presence in the text provides a contrast to the author’s general cynicism, representing the only reliable ally in a world that the author perceives as being populated by predators.

In Its Own Voice

“John cried all night, and at daylight we crawled softly from our hard nests, while Bob was asleep, and softly turned the key, and descended the stairs in our stockings, and fled for our lives.”

The author recalls the anxiety and desperation of his youth while attempting to escape a restrictive Boston hotel.

“These are truths, and we will proclaim them from the steeples of the metropolis, and strive to arouse a people who slumber on the confines of volcanoes, while thieves, and rapes, and incendiaries, and midnight assassins are softly crawling towards their throats.”

The author uses apocalyptic rhetoric to justify his journalistic campaign against local government corruption.

“The human heart, like the muffled drum, Is ever beating funeral marches to the grave!”

The author pauses his narrative to interject a somber reflection on the fleeting nature of life and human connection.

What It's Really About

At its core, this work is an exploration of the power of the individual voice to disrupt the status quo. It asks whether a single, self-appointed agitator can truly hold a corrupt system accountable or if such attempts at "truth-telling" are merely a product of personal vanity. The author grapples with the tension between private suffering and public duty, suggesting that his own life of instability has uniquely qualified him to witness the rot at the center of American democracy. It is a fundamental argument for the necessity of the "gadfly" in politics—someone willing to use shock, insult, and extreme rhetoric to force a lethargic public to confront the theft and moral decay occurring in their own streets.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the history of American journalism, particularly the sensationalist "penny press" of the 19th century, will find this a fascinating specimen. The prose is wildly energetic, colorful, and occasionally exhausting, capturing a voice that feels both deeply antique and oddly familiar to anyone acquainted with modern populist polemics. It is an honest look at the chaotic, often unhinged nature of public discourse during a time of immense social tension.

However, the reader should be prepared for the author’s intense prejudices and his penchant for hyperbolic, sometimes incoherent, vitriol. His attitudes toward race, class, and social inferiors are deeply embedded in the period’s uglier sentiments, and his self-centered narrative can be difficult to navigate. The book is less a coherent political tract and more a window into the psyche of an angry, marginalized man who used the printing press as a weapon. If you are willing to look past the prejudices of the era, you will find a vivid, idiosyncratic snapshot of a city in flux and a man determined to be the loudest voice in the room. It remains a stark reminder that the intersection of personal grievance and political outrage has long been a potent, if volatile, force in the American story.