S.

Minetta Lane is a small and becobbled valley between hills and dingy
brick. At night the street lamps, burning dimly, cause the shadows to
be important, and in the gloom one sees groups of quietly conversant
negroes, with occasionally the gleam of a passing growler. Everything is
vaguely outlined and of uncertain identity, unless, indeed, it be the
flashing buttons and shield of the policeman on his coast. The Sixth
Avenue horse-cars jingle past one end of the lane, and a block eastward
the little thoroughfare ends in the darkness of M'Dougall Street.

One wonders how such an insignificant alley could get such an assuredly
large reputation, but, as a matter of fact, Minetta Lane and Minetta
Street, which leads from it southward to Bleecker Street, were, until a
few years ago, two of the most enthusiastically murderous thoroughfares
in New York. Bleecker Street, M'Dougall Street, and nearly all the
streets thereabouts were most unmistakably bad; the other streets went
away and hid. To gain a reputation in Minetta Lane in those days a man
was obliged to commit a number of furious crimes, and no celebrity was
more important than the man who had a good honest killing to his credit.
The inhabitants, for the most part, were negroes, and they represented
the very worst element of their race. The razor habit clung to them with
the tenacity of an epidemic, and every night the uneven cobbles felt
blood. Minetta Lane was not a public thoroughfare at this period. It was
a street set apart, a refuge for criminals. Thieves came here
preferably with their gains, and almost any day peculiar sentences
passed among the inhabitants. "Big Jim turned a thousand last night."
"No-Toe's made another haul." And the worshipful citizens would make
haste to be present at the consequent revel.

As has been said, Minetta Lane was then no thoroughfare. A peaceable
citizen chose to make a circuit rather than venture through this place,
that swarmed with the most dangerous people in the city. Indeed, the
thieves of the district used to say: "Once get in the lane and you're
all right." Even a policeman in chase of a criminal would probably shy
away instead of pursuing him into the lane. The odds were too great
against a lone officer.

Sailors, and any men who might appear to have money about them, were
welcomed with all proper ceremony at the terrible dens of the lane. At
departure they were fortunate if they still retained their teeth. It was