Gay was heading back to the office at about 8 p.m. when he heard rumors that the Tribune building had been "sacked and burned." He proceeded down Broadway and arrived "just as the police were driving off the rear-guard of the rioters." Gay found the reports had been exaggerated, but the first floor was indeed ransacked. "Gas burners were twisted off, counters and desks were overturned, and, in the centre of the room, two charred pots, littered over with paper cinders, showed where fire had been kindled to reduce the building to ashes."
Of the Tribunes 150 employees, Gay found only seven in the building, and he had to produce and distribute forty thousand copies of the newspaper by sunrise. Seeing from his office that the mob had fled, Gay ventured into the street and persuaded a dozen more printers to come back inside. Once they had set to work, others followed, and "in half an hour the types were clicking, and the monstrous press was rumbling."
As soon as the police moved on to other flash points, however, Printing House Square began to fill once again with thousands of rioters intent on destroying the Tribune building. By 9 p.m., the whole area "had become one swaying sea of battered hats, lit by the flaring glare of the street lamps, and flecked with the foam of perhaps ten thousand human faces." A half hour later, a reporter who had been mingling with the crowd burst into Gay's office to announce that the rioters would attack at 11 p.m. Gay tucked a pen behind his ear, looked down at the growing crowd, and kept working.
The financial district, home to the banks and the U.S. Sub-Treasury, had been spared by the police victory at the Tribune, and by the heavy defenses at financial institutions. However, the boardinghouses where black sailors, cooks, and waiters lived were also concentrated in Lower Manhattan, particularly near the East River waterfront, and they were attacked ferociously.
One of the "colored" boardinghouses that the Fourth Precinct had reported were under attack earlier that evening was the Seamen's Home owned and occupied by the Lyons family, where Albro and his wife, Mary, continued to stand guard. "Before dusk arrangements had been effected to secure the safety of the two children of the family who were at home," Maritcha Lyons recalled. "As the evening drew on, a resolute man and a courageous woman quietly seated themselves in the exposed hall, determined to protect their property, to sell their lives as dearly as maybe the need should arise."7
On Dover Street, William Powell finally had to cede his house to the mob. "I remained till the mob broke in, and then narrowly escaped." He joined his family and boarders on the roof of the adjacent building. "This was about 8:30 p.m. We remained on the roof for an hour; still I hoped relief would come." Powell's neighbors, expecting the mob to burn his house down, were in a flurry of activity, pulling their own furniture and possessions out of their homes to protect them from fire. However, the mob was so busy plundering Powell's home that they did not torch it.
"How to escape from the roof of a five-story building with four females— and one a cripple—besides eight men, without a ladder, or any assistance from outside," Powell declared, was simply beyond him. Help came from the Jewish neighbor next door.
But God that succored Hagar in her flight came to my relief in the person of a little, deformed, despised Israelite—who, Samaritanlike, took my poor helpless daughter under his protection in his house . . . He also supplied me with a long rope . . . and though pitchy dark, I took soundings with the rope, to see if it would touch the next roof, after which I took a clove hitch around the clothesline which was fastened to the wall by pulleys, and which led from one roof to the other over a space of about one hundred feet. In this manner I managed to lower my family down to the next roof, and from one roof to another, until I landed them in a neighbor's yard.8
Through tireless effort, the police downtown did manage to rescue many blacks from attack, but far more might have been saved if General Sandford had not held the militia in reserve all day while waiting for retired officers and veterans actively recruiting volunteer regiments to respond to a printed announcement summoning them to the Seventh Avenue arsenal that evening. Starting at 8 p.m., Sandford met with two hundred of these "gentlemen," and "measures were adopted for the enrollment and organization of volunteers in various parts of the city, and suitable commanders were designated," wrote William Stoddard, an adviser to President Lincoln who happened to be in New York that week. "The commanding general was thereby relieved of a mass of work and responsibility."9
Sandford had also kept some federal troops under his immediate command out of the action and had protested to General Wool that General Brown was not following his orders with regard to the other federal forces. When Wool reprimanded Brown and reminded him that Sandford was in charge, Brown's patience finally snapped. At 9 p.m., he burst into Wool's suite at the St. Nicholas Hotel, where he denounced Sandford for failing to go on the offensive against the rioters. Brown insisted on an independent command putting him in charge of all federal troops in the city. Wool, who had never liked Brown, instead replaced him with Colonel Nugent, again specifying that Sandford was in overall command.10
By 9 p.m., the Fourth Precinct had repaired its telegraph lines and told the Central Office: "Things awful bad here. Inspector D.C. [Daniel Carpenter] here with big force, but excitement increases. Two colored men brought in almost dead." The adjacent Sixth Precinct reported "a large crowd tearing down colored dwellings in Park Street." Farther south the First Precinct station house was "taking in a good many colored lodgers for protection."
Once black refugees were inside, the station houses became targets, and the few officers left to guard them had to bluff their way through when mobs threatened to attack. A sergeant at the Second Precinct station guarding dozens of blacks brandished his revolver and cowed the mob while he and one patrolman waited for reinforcements. At the Fourth Precinct station, eight officers used their revolvers and two empty muskets to scatter a mob. Acton granted the besieged officers of the Eighteenth Precinct permission to "shut up shop" and flee at 9 p.m., and their station house was later burned to the ground.11*
"The drinking shops down town are all closed, nominally at least, doing business only with closed doors," the World reported. "The proprietors of eating-houses where colored waiters are employed were closed during the day, and few will be open [tomorrow]. Some have discharged their colored waiters, and will employ others."12
The city was essentially controlled by the rioters at dusk; the night was hot, and columns of black smoke rose from burning structures all over town.13At General Wool's headquarters, confusion reigned. Lieutenant T. P. McElrath arrived in Manhattan from Fort Hamilton and reported for duty at the St. Nicholas Hotel. The lieutenant recalled: "Approaching Major [Christian] Christensen, General Wool's Adjutant-General, I enquired what had been going on in the city that day, for as yet I was ignorant of the details. Major Christensen's reply was characteristic: 'Good God, McEIrath, this is the one spot in New York where the least is known of what is taking place!' "14 When McEIrath learned that General Brown had been relieved of duty, he reported to General Wool, who sent him to the Seventh Avenue arsenal, where General Sandford simply assigned him and his men to quarters inside.15
Back at the hotel, civic leaders of both parties had started to arrive, anxious to consult with the mayor and General Wool about putting down the riots. The violent demonstration of that morning had escalated far beyond the expectations of even the most determined antidraft Democrats. However, the means of stopping the riots quickly became a new source of dispute.
George Templeton Strong and other members of the Union League Club called for the immediate imposition of martial law and occupation of the city by federal troops for as long as it might take to silence all opposition to the draft and ensure that the lottery was completed without further interruption.16 According to Strong, Opdyke and Wool each claimed that the other had sole authority to declare martial law in the city, and both refused to take action.
"Then, Mr. Mayor, issue a proclamation calling on all loyal and law-abiding citizens to enroll t
hemselves as a volunteer force for defense of life and property," Strong suggested.
"Why, that is civil war at once," Opdyke replied.
Strong had a long talk with Colonel Thomas Cram, Wool's chief of staff, who said all was well, and they had plenty of troops to handle the situation. "Don't believe it," Strong wrote.17
Also vying for Mayor Opdyke's attention that night were Tammany Democrats—including William Tweed, District Attorney A. Oakey Hall, and Isaiah Rynders—who felt martial law would further enrage the rioters and result in even more widespread destruction and loss of life. They hoped to combine limited military force with the kind of persuasion Judge Barnard had used in front of Opdyke's house that day: a sympathetic but firm voice urging obedience to the law and redress through the courts.
Opdyke believed that the worst of the rioting was over, and, swayed by the Democrats, chose not to request a federal imposition of martial law.18According to Opdyke, both he and General Wool believed
nothing could have been more suicidal. That extreme measure, in the absence of military strength to inforce it, would have savored of the folly of flaunting scarlet cloth in the face of a mad bull in the absence of means of defence or escape. It would have exasperated the rioters, increased their numbers, and those in sympathy with them, for the Democratic party were, to a man, opposed to the measure. The probable result would have been the sacking and burning of the city, and the massacre of many of its inhabitants.19
Opdyke promised the Union League Club representatives that he would keep the military option open and use it if the situation did not improve in the next few days. The staunch Republicans telegraphed President Lincoln from Wool's suite, pleading for "instant help in troops and an officer to command them and to declare martial law."20Then they left the hotel in disgust. The culprits, they believed, were not only the agitators in the streets—but Democratic politicians and editors. The rioters, Strong wrote in his diary, "will either destroy the city or damage the Copperhead cause fatally. Could we but catch the scoundrels who have stirred them up, what a blessing it would be!"21
Lucy Gibbons continued to believe the rioting would soon be over, but for the city and for her family in particular, the onslaught had just begun.
As the evening approached, Aunt Rachel sent one of her servants to get a loaf of bread at the baker's shop around the corner; the girl came back without the bread, and crying. She said that while she was in the baker's shop, a man had come in and announced, "We are going to burn Gibbonses and Sinclair's tonight."*
I asked father if it was a threat important enough to make it wise for us to carry into Uncle Samuel's—two doors away—some of the things which money could not replace. He answered quickly: "Decidedly yes!" and as soon as it was dark enough in the street for us probably to escape observation, he carried over the heavy marble bust of our beloved Willie, who had died a few years before, at Harvard.22
Lucy took down every picture of Willie in the house, while James also carried two drawers full of Willie's possessions and keepsakes associated with him. His room had been kept vacant as a shrine to him. James also carried his youngest son's baby clothes. With her aunt Rachel's help, Lucy also took her mother's dresses, jewelry, silver, and letters.23
• • •
Rowing vigorously against the strong current of the East River, the longshoreman had reached Governors Island in fifteen minutes. James Gilmore had paid and dismissed the old sailor and set off to find the commander of the garrison, but soon discovered that the island was nearly deserted.24 Gilmore's shouts finally roused a young officer with his arm in a sling, who summoned the commandant and twelve privates forming the skeleton crew left to defend the island's vast supply of guns and ammunition while the rest of the garrison fought the rioters on Manhattan. It took almost an hour to load the heavy boxes of muskets and cartridges onto a small steamboat in which Gilmore set off for the Battery. "The moon was down," he recalled, "and a thick veil of clouds muffled the stars; but a deep glow lit up the whole northern horizon. Here and there great banks of lurid light were rising in the night,—the reflection of half a hundred conflagrations. Evidently the upper part of the city was in a blaze."
A little before 10 p.m., the steamer landed at the Battery. "I saw the boat a-coming and came down to warn you," said the old longshoreman who had rowed Gilmore to the island. "The Trybune is burned to the ground, and a mob of ten thousand is emptin' all the banks in Wall Street. If ye go up, every musket'll be taken." The captain of the steamer agreed, and Gilmore hesitated. However, looking north, he saw no signs of a fire around City Hall Park and offered the old man more money to find a wagon. "I've had pay enough," the longshoreman replied. "I'm at your orders the rest of to-night free gratis."
Within ten minutes, he had found an Irish drayman, who agreed, for a price, to transport the boxes of guns and ammunition on his cart. Then Gilmore confided in the longshoreman: "Old man, I can trust you, or I'm no judge of faces. These are muskets to arm the Tribune building. I must go ahead to see that the coast is clear, and I want you to take this revolver and ride along with the drayman. See that he goes directly up Pearl Street, and stops at the corner of Franklin Square, and does not exchange a word with anyone." Gilmore recalled that the man's eyes were "glowing like coals in the gaslight" when he replied: "Ay, ay, sir. I'll stand by ye, sir, if you are a black Republican."
Not knowing if the Tribune building had been gutted by fire, Gilmore "mounted to the top of an omnibus" at about 10 p.m. and went ahead of the cart loaded with muskets. "My way was slow," Gilmore remembered, "for the street was a turbulent river of men and wagons; but at last I came abreast of the Park, and saw the well-known [Tribune] sign and a flame of gaslight streaming down from the upper windows. A dense mass of men, hooting, shouting, and yelling, filled every open space around the building."
Gilmore went around to the Spruce Street entrance, which the staff unbolted to let him in. He informed Gay that he had one hundred muskets nearby and asked him to send as many patrolmen as possible to protect the cart during the final few blocks of the trip. Then Gilmore went to Franklin Square, where the cart had just arrived, and replaced the Irishman at the reins. "Soon after we turned into Spruce Street," according to Gilmore, "some thirty policemen emerged from the shadow of the opposite warehouses, and quietly formed a cordon around the slow-moving vehicle." The sight of the policemen's clubs was enough to part the crowd, and ten minutes later, "the huge boxes were hoisted into the second story of the Tribune building."
By this time, about 125 staff members were on hand, some having returned with their own firearms to defend the offices. Nonetheless, Gilmore wondered how they would hold off the mob that was "surging in black waves all around the building" and envisioned himself "being roasted like a live eel upon a gridiron." For Gilmore, the view of the street from the fourth-floor windows was a literal vision of hell: "total depravity, and the devil and his angels, shouting, and hooting, and yelling, in living reality on the pavement. A hundred muskets discharged among the rioters would have no more effect than a bundle of firecrackers." He urged the longshoreman to go home, but the old man insisted on keeping his promise to be available for the rest of the night.
At that moment, a reporter quietly summoned Gilmore into Gay's office, where he explained what he had told the managing editor and no one else: After the muskets from Governors Island were taken out of the crates and spread out on a long table in the library, he had tried to load several of them and discovered that the ammunition did not fit. Gilmore decided they would have to bluff their way through until morning. The massive crates filled with guns and forty rounds of ammunition for each must have looked "like a complete arsenal" to the rioters who watched them brought into the building. He sent the old longshoreman across to the police station in City Hall to tell them that the mob planned to attack at 11 p.m. and request that a few plain-clothesmen spread the word among the crowd that the newspapermen were "loaded up to the muzzle."
Fifteen minutes la
ter, the longshoreman had completed his mission, and the mob "seemed to sway to and fro, as if moved by some invisible force," Gilmore wrote; its "more savage-looking" members were conferring in small groups. While the mob hesitated, the staff continued to produce the next morning's paper: reporters writing stories, printers setting type, and Gay composing an editorial "that branded the mob as the rear-guard of Lee's army."
As 11 p.m. approached, however, "a long yell echoed through every corner of the building, coming up as if from the very bowels of the earth," Gilmore wrote. Thinking it was the signal for the attack, every man grabbed his weapon and rushed to the windows. "Streaming from Broadway into the Park was a gang of about three hundred ruffians, mostly in red shirts, shouting and yelling like fiends," according to Gilmore. By the "flaring light of the Park lamps," it was clear that they were armed and moving swiftly, with military precision. "They were the fiery nucleus of the entire riot," according to Gilmore. "It was for them that the mob below had waited, and the long yell they had sent up was a shout of welcome."
The attack on the Tribune Building
As it headed straight for the Tribune building, the phalanx picked up speed, "and clear and loud their tread sounded, like blow after blow on the cover of a coffin," Gilmore wrote. However, just as they were coming out of City Hall Park, Inspector Carpenter "sprang from the shadow of the high iron fence" and gave the order "Up, boys, and at them!" His squad of 110 patrolmen aimed their clubs at the rioters' temples, and one Tribune editor recalled hearing "the tap, tap, of the police clubs on the heads of the fugitives."25
The Devil's Own Work Page 22