The recent riot in Cincinnati proved that neither the Cincinnati Police nor the militia knew how to deal with a mob. The story of this wild Western frenzy, in fact, presents a remarkable contrast to the story of the famous barricade or Abolition riot, which took place before the war here in New York, and which promised at first to be as terrible an affair as that at Cincinnati, but which was completely quickly and bloodlessly quelled by the combined pluck and common sense displayed by a few leadin’ men.
The Abolitionists in New York had been makin’ a big fuss, and had, by their goin’ too strong on one side, raised up a mob against ‘em on the other. And this mob had been doin’ all sorts of foolish and disorderly things, as a mob will do.
At last the Mayor ordered out the militia, and the Twenty-seventh Regiment came to the front. In two hours’ time from the Mayor’s proclamation, over four hundred of the boys put in an appearance in the Arsenal yard. Then the Mayor ordered Colonel Stevens to march with ‘em down to the City Hall and wait for further orders.
Colonel Stevens said all right, and asked for a supply of ammunition. This the Mayor didn’t feel inclined to Grant at first. He felt a little timid himself about callin’ out the military, and wanted ‘em more for show than use, more to frighten the mob than to fight it.
But Stevens meant business, and he wasn’t goin’ to take his chance at aggravatin’ the mob without havin’ a chance to be even with ‘em in case of an attack, so he told the Mayor plump that if he didn’t give the boys powder, why, the boys shouldn’t leave the Arsenal yard.
So the Mayor gave in to the colonel and directed that six rounds of ball cartridges should be served to the regiment. Stevens had gained his first point, but now he was anxious to see how the men would behave with their ball cartridges. The regiment had never been in active service, the men were all clerks and store-keepers and civilians, and some of them probably never had seen a ball cartridge before. Some of the boys turned over these ball-cartridges in their hands, as if they were surprised at their appearance, which they probably were. But the novelty soon wore off, and the boys, findin’ matters likely to be serious, became men, full-grown men all at once, and conducted ‘emselves like veterans.
The troops were then marched down Broadway to City Hall Park, through the midst of a hissin’ and howlin’ mob, who insulted ‘em, and all but assaulted ‘em. But they kept marchin’ steadily along, and when they got to City Hall Park, they marched and counter-marched for some time, so is to show the mob what they might expect if they tackled ‘em.
In the night, about ten o’clock, news was brought that the mob was goin’ to attack the old Spring Street Church between MacDougal and Varick streets, where the Rev. Dr. Ludlow, a red-hot abolitionist, preached. Colonel Stevens was requested by the Mayor to march as quickly as he could to defend the church. So he gave orders to his men “to load with ball-cartridges.” The men obeyed instructions, and “rammed down” with a vigorous, determined jerk. Colonel Stevens watched ‘em and smiled when he saw this, for he felt now that his troops were to be depended upon in any emergency.
Then the orders were given to move, and the regiment marched along to the scene of the riot.
The regiment met the rioters first in Thompson street, above Prince, where they were getting ready to sack the parsonage of the Spring Street Church. The troops, however, soon put a stop to such intentions by pressin’ on the mob with fixed bayonets, driving ‘em along.
Then the mob raised a fearful yell, and fired stones at the soldiers, woundin’ some of the men severely. Some of the stones hurled by the mob struck the bayonets of the soldiers and knocked a shower of sparks out of ‘em. The men got mad, of course, and it was with the utmost difficulty that Colonel Stevens prevented them from firin’ on the mob.
As the regiment wield from MacDougal into Prince street to protect the church, the crowd yelled worse than ever and commenced hurlin’ stones from houses and roofs upon the heads of the soldiers. Six or seven of the men were seriously cut and wounded. Still Colonel Stevens wouldn’t let ‘em fire.
Right near and all around the church the mob had made a regular barricade. They had taken tables, carts, barrels, and ladders and had chained ‘em all together, plantin’ ‘em, as it were, right across the street. On top of this barricade some men were haranguin’ the mob, incitin’ them to violence. But they didn’t get a chance to incite it long. As soon as the troops came the speakers were seized and sent to the rear, under guard, and the barricade was, as far as possible, demolished.
But at last the rioters had forced their way into the church itself, and were breakin’ down pews and throwin’ the furniture into the street. One of the rioters had climbed into the steeple and was makin’ all the noise he could by ringin’ the church bell, so as to attract a greater mob.
But a few of the men, rushin’ up after him, soon stopped his performance, and the church was cleared.
By this time some of the Aldermen, who had been requested by the Mayor to accompany the military, and to direct ‘em, as magistrates, began to get frightened and tried to talk taffy to the mob and patch up a compromise.
The mob, of course, preferred to talk to the Aldermen than to get driven along with bayonets by the soldiers, so the mob promised to disperse if the soldiers promised to depart.
“All right,” said Colonel Stevens, when he heard of this. “Let the mob disperse first.”
That was just it. That was precisely where the laugh, or cry, came in. And so the negotiations for a compromise came to nothin’. Neither party would leave first.
Then some of the Aldermen told Colonel Stevens that there would be serious trouble soon, if he didn’t take care. The mob were gettin’ more and more powerful and numerous every minute. He had better retreat to the City Hall.
“All right,” said Colonel Stevens, “I’ll retreat. But,” pointin’ to the mob, “the only way I can or will retreat will be to retreat ‘through’ that crowd, not ‘from’ it.”
This kind of retreatin’ didn’t suit the Aldermen a bit and they commenced some more taffyin’ with the leaders of the mob.
But Stevens had got tired of talk now, and wanted to do somethin’.
The Aldermen told him to wait, but he told them that he wouldn’t wait. They forbade him to move on, or do anythin’ more without their orders, but he simply ordered his men to march against and demolish what was left of the barricade. The mob began howlin’ again, and frightenin’ the Aldermen out of their wits, and hurlin’ big paving stones at the soldiers. But two companies went right to the barricade, under a perfect shower of stones and brickbats, broke it up, scattered it pell-mell along the street, and wheeled into Varick street, drivin’ the mob along before ‘em at the point of bayonet, a “point” which admits of no arguin’ with, and always makes itself felt.
Still the mob by this time was gettin’ very large and very furious, the stones in their hands were gettin’ bigger and were doin’ more damage, the soldiers were getting more and more exasperated, when, just at the nick of time, a force of the police joined the soldiers, under the command of Justice Lowndes, who called himself “a fightin’ law and order” man.
The soldiers gave a cheer when the police joined ‘em, but the mob howled and groaned, like baffled devils.
The police and militia together were too much for the mob. The rioters were pushed back into Sullivan street, where Colonel Stevens did a first-class bit of strategy.
He divided his regiment into four parts. He halted his first division, holdin’ Spring street, then he wheeled his second division along and across Sullivan street, then he faced these two with the other two divisions to the right and left, so he held all the streets, divided the mob into four pieces, and was in a position to make mincemeat of each piece.
It was very cleverly done, much more cleverly than the way the troops were handled in the Astor Place or the draft riots afterwards. The Twenty-seventh Regiment proved its pluck, and Colonel Stevens proved that he could command others by showin’ that he could command himself. Had he at any moment lost his temper, and ordered his troops to fire, many would have certainly been killed, and the city would probably have been given over, for a while at least, to rack and ruin.
But though laughed at, cursed at, hissed at, stoned at, though his men were hit with missiles, though some of ‘em were seriously injured, and had their limbs broken, though a friend and sergeant-major of his was stoned into insensibility right at his side, yet Colonel Stevens held himself at bay, kept his head cool, and trusted to the bayonet, not the bullet.
He proved himself, though only a militia colonel, a first-class warrior and general, and he was perfectly justified in reportin’ his meeting with the mob as: “a victory without firin’ a shot.”
[Editor’s notes: The above account jibes with contemporary newspaper accounts, and with previously published histories of New York City. Today, police employ a different tactic, “boxing in” or “kettling,” to hem unruly mobs (or, sometimes, peaceful protestors) in by blocking a street or intersection from two sides or four sides. In this case, the National Guard was charged with protecting a target–the Spring Street Presbyterian Church– and needed to move the mob, rather than box it in.
Contemporary newspaper accounts failed to fully name the officers who kept their heads and resolutely did their jobs: Colonel Linus W. Stevens and Police Justice Oliver W. Lowndes. Harry’s column rightly highlights their actions to control the violent situation.
The Museum of the City of New York, around 2012, found a map in their collection that depicts the moment of standoff between the barricaded mob and the National Guard. A closeup on the map shows two figures in the intersection of Spring and Varick Streets, surrounded by troops at the ends of each street. These figures are likely Col. Stevens and one of his captains, waving their swords and shouting orders. The pebbled area is the mob.
The presentation sword of Col. Linus W. Stevens was recently sold by a private dealer. It was given to him in 1831, three years before this riot. The sword is shown at the head of this post.
