Stephen H. Branch's Alligator, Vol. 1 no. 21, September 11, 1858

In Short

This document is a single issue of a mid-19th-century satirical periodical that serves as a blistering critique of New York City’s political elite. Through biting commentary, the text dissects the extravagant public celebrations surrounding the Atlantic Cable, mocks the ineptitude of "City Fathers," and rails against the perceived corruption of the judiciary. It stands as a vivid, pugnacious artifact of urban journalism, preserving the vernacular, prejudices, and intense political rivalries of its era while highlighting the deep cynicism felt by those outside the halls of power.

The Story

The narrative begins with a scathing report on the grand celebration of the Atlantic Telegraph Cable in New York City. The publication dismisses the event as a "cut and dried" affair, mocking the orators—particularly one "Peter"—for their flowery, nonsensical speeches. The editors argue that the cable is effectively a British triumph, yet the city has squandered a fortune on fireworks and self-congratulatory pageantry, all while ignoring the needs of the working class. This leads to a broader indictment of the city's leadership, whom the publication labels as masters of a "jobbing system"—a method of splitting public contracts into tiny, secretive pieces to avoid scrutiny and line the pockets of political cronies.

The focus then shifts to the internal rot of the city’s institutions. The publication targets specific officials, like Alderman McSpedon and Mr. Lowber, for their authoritarian treatment of the press during the cable festivities. It moves into a deeper, more serious argument regarding the elective judiciary. The editors contend that allowing judges to be elected rather than appointed has invited "politicians instead of judges" onto the bench, resulting in a system populated by incompetent, self-interested figures who are beholden to the "gangs of shoulder hitters" that dominate city streets. The text suggests that this process has surrendered the dignity of the law to the lowest vices of the tavern.

As the publication progresses, it moves from systemic critique to sharp personal lampooning. A figure known as "Puttyman"—a derogatory nickname for a prominent local official—is mocked for his perceived stupidity and his desperate attempt to appear witty. The editors use his public blunders to illustrate the absurdity of the current administration. Simultaneously, they champion the cause of a man named Mr. Branch, who is presented as a victim of a rapid, unjust legal prosecution. By comparing the treatment of Branch to the protection of wealthy, influential wrongdoers, the text paints a picture of a city where justice is a commodity for the highest bidder.

The publication concludes with a series of biting observations on the "gullibility" of New Yorkers, who are being sold useless scraps of the cable as souvenirs, and a final, weary look toward the future. The tone remains one of aggressive defiance, warning that such corruption cannot stand indefinitely. The issue ends not with a resolution, but with a call to arms for the ballot box, urging citizens to reclaim their government from the "paupers at the town table" before the city’s character is irreparably lost to the greed of its own leaders.

How It Unfolds

The cable spectacle The publication opens by deconstructing the Atlantic Cable celebration, portraying it as a hollow, manufactured display of municipal vanity. It ridicules the speakers and the cost to taxpayers, framing the entire event as a distraction from the city’s mounting debts.

The jobbing critique The editors transition to an analysis of city management, specifically the "jobbing system" used to repair public buildings. They argue that this secretive process is designed to hide graft and ensure that contracts are awarded to political allies rather than the most capable workers.

The judicial crisis The narrative deepens by attacking the elective judiciary, which the text claims has replaced learned magistrates with corrupt, unqualified hangers-on. It contrasts this decline with the past, lamenting the loss of integrity in the city's criminal courts.

The persecution of Branch The publication pivots to the specific case of Mr. Branch, using his rapid trial and sentencing as a case study for the death of individual rights. This serves as a rallying point for the text, illustrating the consequences of a judiciary controlled by the wealthy and the corrupt.

The final assessment The issue closes with a cynical observation of the public’s eagerness to be swindled by cable souvenirs and a final jab at the city fathers. It leaves the reader with a bleak, albeit energized, view of the municipal landscape on the eve of upcoming elections.

The People

The text is defined by its sharp, often mocking characterizations of public figures. Cyrus W. Field is cast as the "electrical eel" and the primary architect of the cable folly; he is presented as a man of immense influence who uses public money to fund his personal legacy. Peter Cooper is mentioned with a mix of awe and derision, often referred to as "Peter" or part of the "Cooper guild," and is criticized for his role in the cable celebration and his perceived stinginess in charging rent for his own Institute. "Puttyman"—likely a stand-in for a contemporary politician like Mayor Daniel F. Tiemann—acts as the central target of the publication’s satire, depicted as a bumbling, hypocritical figure whose sole talents are paint-mixing and political maneuvering. Mr. Branch is the sympathetic figure, a man wronged by a system that finds it easier to silence him than to grant him a fair trial. Finally, the "City Fathers" and "Reformers" appear as a collective, faceless group of opportunists who feed at the public trough, their greed and incompetence serving as the constant fuel for the publication's indignation.

In Its Own Voice

God made man, and he rested; then he made woman and rested; then he invented the Beecher family and rested again, and then he created the Field family; and there, let us hope, we come to a full stop.

The publication uses this colorful, biting remark to express its utter exhaustion with the perceived self-importance of the Field family following the Atlantic Cable project.

It matters little to us whether the guzzler at the Metropolitan feeds at the public expense, or Brown at the Pewter Mug drinks from the involuntary contributions of Jones or any other private individual.

This line is used to highlight the editor's core belief that political corruption at the highest level of government is morally indistinguishable from common, petty thievery.

What It's Really About

At its core, this publication is a protest against the erosion of civic virtue in a rapidly commercializing New York. It asks whether a city can remain a republic when its leadership prioritizes pyrotechnics and private gain over the well-being of the disenfranchised. The text serves as a desperate inquiry into the nature of power: who truly owns the city's infrastructure—the people or a small cabal of connected financiers? It explores the tension between technological progress, represented by the cable, and the regressive state of municipal ethics. Ultimately, the publication argues that the "moral aspect of human affairs" is being sacrificed to the "gullibility" of a public that prefers expensive, meaningless spectacles to the hard, necessary work of honest, transparent governance.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of American journalism will find this publication fascinating for its unfiltered, "no-holds-barred" style. It is a precursor to modern muckraking, written with a sense of urgency and a sharp, often cruel sense of humor that makes the 1850s feel startlingly immediate. You will experience the frustration of a citizenry that feels its voice has been stolen by powerful elites, a sentiment that resonates clearly even today.

However, the reader must be prepared for the dense, period-specific political references—names like "Albany Regency" or "Recorder Barnard"—which may require some historical context to fully appreciate. The publication is also rife with the prejudices and coarse language of its time; it is not a gentle read, and the editors do not shy away from using derogatory nicknames or exclusionary rhetoric to make their points. The prose is often sprawling, weaving advertisements into political polemics in a way that can be jarring to a modern eye. Despite these hurdles, what stays with you is the raw, pulsing energy of a writer who refuses to be silenced, capturing the frustration of a city where the "paupers at the town table" are the ones holding the keys to the future.