Heavy rain on Sunday night turned to sleet, then to snow just after midnight, and continued for almost two days. Most roads were impassable by sunrise on Monday morning, although gale-force winds, registering up to 60 m.p.h., cleared a few areas while piling snow up to second-story windows on other streets. At 7:00 a.m., the snowstorm gathered strength, as winds gusted to 75 m.p.h. and temperatures ranged from 11° to 1°. Almost 17 inches of snow fell on Monday, and four more on Tuesday.

New York City was virtually immobilized. Businesses, markets, and schools closed or never opened; few street transports operated; nine ferry boats were sunk, driven ashore, or otherwise abandoned; ice on rails and snow-clogged switches forced the railroads to stop running (some in mid-trip); telegraph and telephone communications were cut; and the mayor (like most others) stayed home. One makeshift entrepreneur placed a ladder up to a stranded elevated car and charged passengers 50 cents to climb down.

The unlucky individuals who had left their homes early enough to make it to work, found that the only way home was afoot or by paying exorbitant prices to the few cabdrivers braving the weather. Besides the cold, wind, and snow, the streets were littered with downed or falling electric wires, business signs, barber poles, cigar-store Indians, and other debris. Hotels, lodging houses, and clubs were filled to capacity, even with corridors transformed into sleeping areas; the Astor House had to turn away 400 people who were seeking shelter.

Undeterred by a bit of snow was Roscoe Conkling, New York’s former U.S. senator and one of the city’s most prominent lawyers. The stubborn, tempestuous Conkling showed up Monday morning for a court hearing on a high-profile case involving the widow of A. T. Stewart, the department-store millionaire. Conkling was aghast to find that the judge was snowbound and had rescheduled the hearing for Tuesday. Oblivious to the weather, he returned to his office and worked until 6 p.m.

After hailing a cab for the New York Club at Madison Square, Conkling indignantly refused to pay the $50 charge, so set off on foot. The two-and-a-half mile journey through the darkened, snow-packed city took him three hours, including one hour trying to extricate himself from a snowdrift into which he (like Father Knickerbocker) had fallen up to his armpits. Once inside the door of the club, exhausted and caked with snow and ice, he collapsed unconscious. The next day he was back in court, even though the snow was still falling.

On Tuesday, the city began digging out, producing huge snow piles in the gutters. Sleighs appeared to carry groceries, coal, and other necessities, and the elevated railways began functioning again. That morning, an ice-bridge allowed thousands of people to walk across the East River between Brooklyn and Manhattan. On Wednesday, residents built bonfires to melt the gargantuan snowdrifts, and the trains to the suburbs resumed operation. By the end of the week, the streetcars were running and the sun was shining.