THE BAROMETER CONTINUES TO FALL.
Having made trial of the strong arm of the mob as an instrument for
putting down the Abolitionists, and been quite confounded by its
unexpected energy and unmanageableness, Boston was well disposed to lay
the weapon aside as much too dangerous for use. For the wild-cat-like
creature might take it into its head, when once it had got a taste of
blood, to suppress some other isms in the community besides
Abolitionism. No, no, the gentlemen of property and standing in the
community had too much at stake to expose their property and their
persons to the perils of any further experiments in that direction, even
for the sake of expressing their sympathy for their dear brethren in the
South, or of saving the dear Union into the bargain. Another method more
in accord with the genius of their high state of civilization, they
opined, might be invented to put the agitation and the agitators of the
slavery question down. The politicians thereupon proceeded to make this
perfectly wonderful invention. Not the strong arm of the mob, quoth
these wiseacres, but the strong arm of the law it shall be. And the
strong arm of the law they forthwith determined to make it.
Massachusetts was hearkening with a sort of fascination to the song of
the slave syren. And no wonder. For the song of the slave syren was
swelling and clashing the while with passionate and imperious energy.
South Carolina had led off in this kind of music. In December following
the Boston mob Governor McDuffie, pitched the key of the Southern
concert in his message to the legislature descriptive of anti-slavery
publications, and denunciatory of the anti-slavery agitation. The
Abolitionists were, to his mind, "enemies of the human race," and the
movement for immediate emancipation ought to be made a felony punishable
"by death without benefit of clergy." He boldly denied that slavery was
a political evil, and vaunted it instead as "_the corner stone of our
republican edifice_." The legislature upon the receipt of this
extraordinary message proceeded to demand of the free States the
suppression, by effective legislation, of anti-slavery societies and
their incendiary publications. The burden of this demand was directly
caught up by North Carolina, Alabama, Virginia, and Georgia. But there
were some things which even a pro-slavery North could not do to oblige
the South. Neither party, much as both desired it, dared to undertake
the violation by law of the great right of free speech and of the
freedom of the press. Not so, however, was it with sundry party leaders,
notably the governors of New York and Massachusetts, who were for trying
the strong arm of the law as an instrument for suppressing Abolitionism.
Edward Everett was so affected by the increasing Southern excitement and
his fears for the safety of the dear Union that he must needs deliver
himself in his annual message upon the Abolition agitation. He was of
the opinion that the Abolitionists were guilty of an offence against
Massachusetts which might be "prosecuted as a misdemeanor at common
law." He evidently did not consider that in the then present state of
political parties and of public opinion any repressive legislation upon
the subject could be got through the legislature, and hence the immense
utility of the old machinery of the common law, as an instrument for
putting down the agitation. But in order to get this machinery into
operation, careful preparation was necessary. Proof must not be wanting
as to the dangerous and unpatriotic character and tendency of the
movement to be repressed. There should be the most authoritative
utterance upon this point to warrant the effective intervention of the
Courts and Grand Juries of the commonwealth in the prosecution of the
Abolitionists, as disturbers of the peace. Ergo the Governor's
deliverance in his annual message against them. Now, if the legislature
could be brought to deliver itself in tones not less certain, the third
coördinate branch of the State government might catch its cue and act
with energy in suppressing the disturbers of the peace of the
commonwealth and of the dear Union as well. This was the scheme, the
conspiracy which was in a state of incubation in Massachusetts in the
year 1836. The pro-slavery portion of Governor Everett's message,
together with the Southern demands for repressive legislation against
the Abolitionists were referred to a joint legislative committee for
consideration and report. The chairman of the committee was George Lunt,
of Newburyport, a bitter pro-slavery politician, who saw no sign,
received no light which did not come out of the South.
The Abolitionists perceived the gravity of the new danger which
threatened them, and rallied promptly to avert it. They shrewdly guessed
that the object of the committee would not be the enactment of any new
law against themselves but the adoption of condemnatory resolutions
instead. This course they rightly dreaded more than the other, and to
defeat it the managers of the Massachusetts Anti-slavery Society
requested a public hearing of the committee, which was granted. On March
4th Garrison and many of the anti-slavery leaders appeared before the
committee, with a carefully planned programme of procedure. To each of
the selected speakers was assigned a distinct phase of the great subject
of discussion before the committee. Samuel J. May was appointed to open
with an exposition of the anti-slavery movement and of the object and
motives of its founders; Garrison to follow with an exhibition of the
pacific character of the agitation as contained in official publications
whereby forgiveness, submission, and non-resistance were steadily
inculcated; Ellis Gray Loring was next to demonstrate the perfectly
constitutional character of the agitation. The Abolitionists had in no
wise contravened the National or the State Constitution, either in
letter or spirit, and so on through the programme. It was thus that the
Abolitionists dexterously killed two birds with one stone; for at the
same time that they made their defence before the committee, they
managed to present their cause to the attention of the public as well.
Appearing before the committee to prevent hostile action on the part of
the legislature against their movement, they skillfully turned the
occasion into the most notable meeting for agitating the subject of
slavery in the State during the year.
The pro-slavery malignity of the chairman helped not a little to bring
this result to pass. He again and again interrupted the speakers with
the greatest insolence of behavior. Garrison, for a wonder, was allowed
to finish his remarks without interruption. Here is a specimen of the
way in which Paul addressed himself to King Agrippa's master--public
opinion:
"Sir," spoke he to the committee, "we loudly boast of our free country,
and of the union of these States, yet I have no country! As a New
Englander and as an Abolitionist I am excluded by a bloody proscription
from one-half of the national territory, and so is every man who is
known to regard slavery with abhorrence. Where is our Union? ... The
right of free and safe locomotion from one part of the land to the other
is denied to us, except on peril of our lives.... Therefore it is, I
assert, that the Union is now virtually dissolved.... Look at McDuffie's
sanguinary message! Read Calhoun's Report to the U.S. Senate,
authorizing every postmaster in the South to plunder the mail of such
Northern letters or newspapers as he may choose to think incendiary!
Sir, the alternative presented to the people of New England is this:
they must either submit to be gagged and fettered by Southern
taskmasters, or labor unceasingly for the removal of slavery from our
country."
This was a capital stroke, a bold and brilliant adaptation of the
history of the times to the advancement of the anti-slavery movement in
New England. Missing Garrison, the anger of the chairman fell upon
Goodell and Prof. Follen, like a tiger's whelp. Follen was remarking
upon the Faneuil Hall meeting, how it had rendered the Abolitionists
odious in Boston, and how, in consequence, the mob had followed the
meeting.
"Now, gentlemen," the great scholar continued, "may we most reasonably
anticipate that similar consequences would follow the expression by the
legislature of a similar condemnation? Would not the mob again undertake
to execute the informal sentence of the General Court? Would it not let
loose again its bloodhounds upon us?"
At this point Mr. Lunt peremptorily stopped the speaker, exclaiming:
"Stop, sir! You may not pursue this course of remark. It is insulting to
this committee and the legislature which they represent."
The Abolitionists, after this insult, determined to withdraw from the
hearing, and appeal to the legislature to be heard, not as a favor but
of right. A new hearing was, therefore, ordered, and the reformers
appeared a second time before the committee. But the scenes of the first
were repeated at the second hearing. The chairman was intolerably
insolent to the speakers. His violent behavior to William Goodell, who
was paying his respects to the Southern documents lying on the table of
the committee, terminated the second hearing. These documents Mr.
Goodell described as fetters for Northern freemen, and boldly
interrogated the chairman in respect of them thus:
"Mr. Chairman, are you prepared to attempt putting them on?" But the
chairman was in no mood to listen to the question. His insolence reached
a climax as he exclaimed passionately to Mr. Goodell, "Stop, sir! Sit
down, sir! The committee will hear no more of this." But the temper of
the Abolitionists had risen also, as had also risen the temper of the
great audience of citizens who were present at the hearing which was had
in the hall of the House of Representatives. "Freemen we came," retorted
Goodell, "and as freemen we shall go away." Scarcely had these words
died upon the ears when there rose sharply from the auditory, the stern
protest "Let us go quickly, lest we be made slaves."
The attempt to suppress the Abolitionists was a failure. It but
stimulated the agitation and deepened the popular interest in the
subject. Strong allies within and without the legislature were enlisted
on the side of freedom. The turning of the tide of public sentiment in
the grand old State had come. Slowly did it rise for awhile, but from
that event it never ceased to flow in and with increasing volume. The
condemnatory report of the insolent chairman proved as innocuous as the
baying of dogs at the moon. The legislature refused to indorse it and
the pro-slavery resolutions attached to it. They were both ignominiously
laid upon the table, and what is more to the purpose as a straw to show
the drift of popular opinion on the slavery question in Massachusetts,
their author failed of a renomination as Senator at the hands of his
dissatisfied constituents.
The conflict was raging not alone in Massachusetts but all through the
free States. In Congress the battle was assuming an intensely bitter
character. Here the South was the agitator. Here she kept the political
waters in a state of violent ebullition. As the discord grew,
sectionalism threw darkening and portentous shadows over the face of the
Union. The South was insisting in all stages of passion that the tide of
Abolition be checked in the North, that the flood of incendiary
publications be suppressed at their sources in the free States. The
Southern slave-holding President had suggested the suppression of these
by Congress. He would "prohibit, under severe penalties, the circulation
in the Southern States, through the mail, of incendiary publications
intended to instigate the slaves to insurrection." But when Webster and
a few Northern leaders objected to such a proceeding as unconstitutional
and in derogation of the freedom of the press, the South treated the
objection as inimical to Southern interest and security. Thereupon the
Southern excitement increased all the faster. The slave-power was not
disposed to accept anything short of complete submission on the part of
the North. And this the North could not well yield. While the
slave-holding States were clamoring for the suppression of Abolitionism
in the free States, Abolitionism was giving evidences of extraordinary
expansion, and activity. It had risen well above the zero point in
politics. It was gaining numbers and it was gaining votes. A new element
had appeared at the polls and both of the old parties began to exhibit a
certain degree of impressibility to the latest attraction. The
slave-power with quick instinct recognized in the new comer a dangerous
rival, and schemed for its destruction. Southern jealousy took on the
character of insanity. Neither Northern Whigs nor Northern Democrats
were permitted to show any regard for the rival. They were to snub and
utterly abolish her, otherwise they should be snubbed and utterly
abolished by the slave-power. They could not with impunity give to
Abolitionism the scantiest attention or courtesy. Not even a gallant
like John Quincy Adams, who was able to see nothing attractive in the
little band of reformers. They seemed to him, in fact, "a small,
shallow, and enthusiastic party preaching the abolition of slavery upon
the principles of extreme democracy." If Mr. Adams had little love for
the South, he had none whatever for the Abolitionists. By no stretch of
the imagination could he have been suspected of any sentimental
attachment to the Abolition movement. For his unvarying attitude towards
it was one of grim contempt. But if the old Roman had no love for the
Abolitionists, he did have a deep-seated attachment and reverence for
certain ancient rights appertaining to free institutions, which nothing
was able to shake. Among these was the great right of petition, viewed
by the ex-President as a right of human nature. For a dozen years he
stood in Congress its sleepless sentinel. And herein did he perform for
freedom most valiant service. It made no difference to the dauntless old
man whether he approved of the prayer of a petition or not, if it was
sent to him he presented it to the House all the same. He presented
petitions for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, and
one, at least, against it, petitions from black and white, bond and
free, with superb fidelity to the precious right which he championed.
This characteristic of the aged statesman kept the Southern members in a
state of chronic apprehension and excitement. They bullied him, they
raged like so many wild animals against him, they attempted to crush him
with votes of censure and expulsion all to no purpose. Then they applied
the gag: "That all petitions, memorials, and papers touching the
abolition of slavery, or the buying, selling, or transferring slaves, in
any State, or district, or territory of the United States, be laid on
the table without being debated, printed, read, or referred, and that no
action be taken thereon." Mr. Adam's denunciation of this action as a
violation of the Constitution, of the right of the people to petition,
and of the right to freedom of speech in Congress, found wide echo
through the North. The violence, intolerence, and tyranny of the South
were disgusting many of the most intelligent and influential minds in
the non-slave-holding States, and driving them into more or less close
affiliation with the anti-slavery movement.
And so it was wherever one turned there were conflict and uproar.
Everywhere contrary ideas, interests, institutions, tendencies, were
colliding with inextinguishable rage. All the opposites and
irreconcilables in a people's life had risen and clashed together in a
death struggle for mastery. Freedom and slavery, civilization and
barbarism had found an Armageddon in the moral consciousness of the
Republic. Now the combatants rallied and the battle thickened at one
point, now around another. At Washington the tide rolls in with
resounding fury about the right of petition and the freedom of debate,
then through the free States it surges and beats around the right of
free speech and the freedom of the press. Storm clouds are flying from
the East and from the West, flying out of the North and out of the
South. Everywhere the chaos of the winds has burst, and the anarchy of
the "live thunder."
Benton with his customary optimism from a Southern standpoint, rejoiced
in the year 1836 that the people of the Northern States had "chased off
the foreign emissaries, silenced the gabbling tongues of female dupes,
and dispersed the assemblies, whether fanatical, visionary, or
incendiary, of all that congregated to preach against evils that
afflicted others, not them, and to propose remedies to aggravate the
disease which they pretended to cure." Calhoun's pessimism was clearer
eyed. The great nullifier perceived at once the insuppressible nature of
the Abolition movement and early predicted that the spirit then abroad
in the North would not "die away of itself without a shock or
convulsion." Yes, it was as he had prophesied, the anti-slavery reform
was, at the very moment of Benton's groundless jubilation, rising and
spreading with astonishing progress through the free States. It was
gaining footholds in the pulpit, the school, and the press. It was a
stalwart sower, scattering broadcast as he walked over the fields of the
then coming generation truths and antipathies of social principles,
which were to make peace impossible between the slave-holding and the
non-slave-holding halves of the Union.
In the year 1836 the anti-slavery leaven or residuum for instance, was
sufficiently potent to preserve the statutes of the free States, free
from repressive laws directed against the Abolitionists. This was much
but there was undoubtedly another phase of the agitation, a phase which
struck the shallow eye of Benton, and led him into false conclusions. It
was not clear sailing for the reform. It was truly a period of stress
and storm. Sometimes the reform was in a trough of the sea of public
opinion, sometimes on the crest of a billow, and then again on the bosom
of a giant ground swell. In Boston in this selfsame year which witnessed
Benton's exultation over the fall of Abolitionism, the Massachusetts
Anti-Slavery Society was not able to obtain the use of hall or church
for its annual meeting, and was in consequence forced into insufficient
accommodations at its rooms on Washington street. The succeeding year
the society was obliged, from inability to obtain the use of either hall
or church in the city, to occupy for its annual meeting the loft over
the stable connected with the Marlborough Hotel. It is a long way from
this rude meeting-house to the hall of the House of Representatives, but
in this storm and stress period the distance was traversed in a few
brief hours. The society applied in its exigency for the use of the hall
for an evening meeting, and the application was granted by the members.
It was a _jeu d'esprit_ of Henry B. Stanton, "That when Boston votes we
go into a stable, but when the State votes we go into the State House."
It was even so, for the incident served to reveal what was true
everywhere through the free States that the anti-slavery reform was
making fastest progress among people away from the great centres of
population. It found ready access to the simple American folk in
villages, in the smaller towns, and in the rural districts of New
England and the North. And already from these independent and
uncorrupted sons and daughters of freedom had started the deep ground
swell which was to lift the level of Northern public opinion on the
question of slavery.
This Walpurgis period of the movement culminated on November 7, 1837, in
a terrible tragedy. The place was a little Illinois town, Alton, just
over the Mississippi River from St. Louis, and the victim was Elijah P.
Lovejoy. He was a minister of the Presbyterian Church, and the editor of
a weekly religious newspaper, first published in St. Louis and removed
by him later to Alton. His sin was that he did not hold his peace on the
subject of slavery in the columns of his paper. He was warned "to pass
over in silence everything connected" with that question. But he had no
choice, he had to cry aloud against iniquities, which, as a Christian
minister and a Christian editor, he dared not ignore. His troubles with
the people of St. Louis took in the spring of 1836 a sanguinary turn,
when he denounced the lynching of a negro by a St. Louis mob,
perpetrated under circumstances of peculiar atrocity. In consequence of
his outspoken condemnation of the horror, his office was broken into and
destroyed by a mob. Lovejoy thereupon removed his paper to Alton, but
the wild-cat-like spirit pursued him across the river and destroyed his
press. He replaced his broken press with a new one, only to have his
property a second time destroyed. He replaced the second with a third
press, but a third time the mob destroyed his property. Then he bought a
fourth press, and resolved to defend it with his life. Pierced by
bullets he fell, resisting the attack of a mob bent on the destruction
of his rights. Lovejoy died a martyr to free speech and the freedom of
the press.
The tidings of this tragedy stirred the free States to unwonted depths.
The murder of an able and singularly noble man by a mob was indeed
horrible enough, but the blow which took his life was aimed at the right
of free speech and the freedom of the press. He was struck down in the
exercise of his liberties as a citizen of the town where he met death,
and of the State and country to which he belonged. What brave man and
good in the North who might not meet a similar fate for daring to
denounce evils approved by the community in which his lot was cast? Who
was safe? Whose turn would it be next to pay with his life for attempts
to vindicate the birthright of his citizenship? What had Lovejoy done,
what had he written, that thousands of people who did not agree with
Garrison would not have done and have written under like circumstances?
He was not a disciple of Garrison, he did not accept the doctrine of
immediate emancipation, and yet a pro-slavery mob had murdered him. Yes,
who was safe? Who was to be the next? A great horror transfixed the
North, and bitter uncertainty, and tremendous dread of approaching
perils to its liberties.
Ah! had not Garrison spoken much plain truth at the public hearing of
the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society before the insolent chairman and
his committee when he said: "The liberties of the people of the free
States are identified with those of the slave population. If it were not
so, there would be no hope, in my breast, of peaceful deliverance of the
latter class from their bondage. Our liberties are bound together by a
ligament as vital as that which unites the Siamese twins. The blow which
cuts them asunder, will inevitably destroy them both. Let the freedom of
speech and of the press be abridged or destroyed, and the nation itself
will be in bondage; let it remain untrammeled, and Southern slavery must
speedily come to an end." The tragedy at Alton afforded startling
illustration of the soundness of this remark. Classes like individuals
gain wisdom only by experience; and the murder of Lovejoy was one of
those terrific experiences which furrow themselves in the soul of a
people in frightful memories and apprehensions which do not disappear
but remain after long lapse of years.
Twelve days after the murder--it was before the development of the
telegraph and rapid postal facilities--the news reached Boston. It
produced the most profound sensation. Many of the leading citizens felt
straightway that if the rights assailed in the person of Lovejoy were to
be preserved to themselves and their section, immediate action was
required. A great meeting was proposed, and Faneuil Hall applied for.
The application was denied by the municipal authorities on the plea that
its use for such a purpose might provoke a mob. The city was, however,
dealing now not with the despised Abolitionists, but with men of
property and standing in the community and was soon brought to its
senses by the indignant eloquence of Dr. Channing, appealing to the
better self of Boston in this strain: "Has it come to this? Has Boston
fallen so low? May not its citizens be trusted to come together to
express the great principles of liberty for which their forefathers
died? Are our fellow-citizens to be murdered in the act of defending
their property and of assuming the right of free discussion? And is it
unsafe in this metropolis to express abhorrence of the deed?"
A second application for the hall was granted, and a meeting, which is
an historical event in the annals of the old town, was held December 8,
1837--a meeting memorable as an uprising, not of the Abolitionists, but
of the conservatism and respectability of the city in behalf of the
outraged liberties of white men. Ever memorable, too, for that marvelous
speech of Wendell Phillips, which placed him instantly in the front rank
of minds with a genius for eloquence, lifted him at once as an
anti-slavery instrument and leader close beside William Lloyd Garrison.
The wild-cat-like spirit which had hunted Thompson out of the country
and Lovejoy to death, had more than made good the immense deficit of
services thus created through the introduction upon the national stage
of the reform of this consummate and incomparable orator.
The assassination of Lovejoy was an imposing object lesson to the North,
but it was not the last. Other and terrible illustrations of the triumph
of mobs followed it, notably the burning of Pennsylvania Hall in
Philadelphia on the evening of May 17, 1838. As the murder of Lovejoy
formed the culmination of outrages directed against the rights of
person, the burning of Pennsylvania Hall furnished the climax of
outrages committed against the rights of property. The friends of the
slave and of free discussion in Philadelphia feeling the need of a place
where they might assemble for the exercise of the right of free speech
in a city which denied to them the use of its halls and meeting-houses,
determined to erect for themselves such a place. At a cost of forty
thousand dollars they built Pennsylvania Hall and devoted it to "Free
Discussion, Virtue, Liberty, and Independence."
Two days after the dedicatory exercises were had the hall was occupied
by the annual convention of American Anti-Slavery Women. On the evening
of May 16th, Garrison, Maria Weston Chapman, Angelina Grimké Weld and
others addressed the convention in the new temple of freedom. The scenes
of that evening have been graphically described by the first speaker as
follows: "The floor of the hall was densely crowded with women, some of
the noblest specimens of our race, a large proportion of whom were
Quakers. The side aisles and spacious galleries were as thickly filled
with men. Nearly three thousand people were in the hall. There seemed to
be no visible symptoms of a riot. When I rose to speak I was greeted
with applause by the immense assembly, and also several times in the
course of my remarks. As soon, however, as I had concluded my address, a
furious mob broke into the hall, yelling and shouting as if the very
fiends of the pit had suddenly broken loose. The audience rose in some
confusion, and would undoubtedly have been broken up, had it not been
for the admirable self-possession of some individuals, particularly the
women. The mobocrats finding that they could not succeed in their
purpose, retreated into the streets, and, surrounding the building,
began to dash in the windows with stones and brick-bats. It was under
these appalling circumstances that Mrs. Chapman rose for the first time
in her life, to address a promiscuous assembly of men and women--and she
acquitted herself nobly. She spoke about ten minutes, and was succeeded
by A.E.G. Weld, who occupied nearly an hour. As the tumult from without
increased, and the brick-bats fell thick and fast (no one, however,
being injured) her eloquence kindled, her eye flashed, and her cheeks
glowed, as she devoutly thanked the Lord that the stupid repose of that
city had at length been disturbed by the force of truth. When she sat
down, Esther Moore (a Friend) made a few remarks, then Lucretia Mott,
and finally Abby Kelley, a noble young woman from Lynn.
"The meeting broke up about 10 o'clock, and we all got safely home. The
next day the street was thronged with profane ruffians and curious
spectators--the women, however, holding their meetings in the hall all
day, till towards evening. It was given out by the mob that the hall
would be burnt to the ground that night. We were to have a meeting in
the evening, but it was impossible to execute our purpose. The mayor
induced the manager to give the keys of the building into his hands. He
then locked the doors, and made a brief speech to the mob, assuring them
that he had the keys, and that there would be no meeting, and requesting
them to retire. He then went home, but the mob were bent on the
destruction of the hall. They had now increased to several thousands,
and soon got into the hall by dashing open the doors with their axes.
They then set fire to this huge building, and in the course of an hour
it was a solid mass of flame. The bells of the city were rung, and
several engines rallied; but no water was permitted to be thrown upon
the building. The light of the fire must have been seen a great
distance."
At midnight Garrison was spirited out of the city, and conveyed in a
covered carriage by a friend to Bristol, about twenty miles, where in
the morning he took the steamboat for Boston. The light of that fire was
visible a great distance in more senses than one. The burning of
Pennsylvania Hall proved a public enlightener. After that occurrence the
gentlemen of property scattered through the free States devoted
themselves less to the violent suppression of Abolitionism and more to
the forcible suppression, upon occasion, of the alarming manifestations
of popular lawlessness, which found significant demonstration just a
week later in the city of Boston.
Mr. Garrison has preserved for us an instructive account of this affair,
too, and here is the story as told by him to his brother-in-law, George
W. Benson, in a letter dated May 25th: "The spirit of mobocracy, like
the pestilence, is contagious; and Boston is once more ready to reënact
the riotous scenes of 1835. The Marlboro' Chapel, having just been
completed, and standing in relation to our cause just as did
Pennsylvania Hall, is an object of pro-slavery malevolence. Ever since
my return, threats have been given out that the chapel should share the
fate of the hall. Last evening was the time for its dedication; and, so
threatening was the aspect of things, four companies of light infantry
were ordered to be in readiness, each being provided with 100 _ball_
cartridges, to rush to the scene of riot on the tolling of the bells.
The Lancers, a powerful body of horsemen, were also in readiness. During
the day placards were posted at the corners of the streets, denouncing
the Abolitionists, and calling upon the citizens to rally at the chapel
in the evening, in order to put them down. An immense concourse of
people assembled, a large proportion doubtless from motives of
curiosity, and not a few of them with evil designs; but owing to the
strong military preparations, the multitude refrained entirely from any
overt acts of violence. They did not disperse till after 10 o'clock, and
during the evening shouted and yelled like a troop of wild savages. Some
ten or twelve were seized and carried to the watch-house, and this
morning fined for their disorderly conduct."
The frightful excesses of the Walpurgis period of the agitation reacted
through the free States to an extraordinary extent in favor of
Abolition. The greater the horror committed by the wild-cat-like spirit,
the greater the help which the reform derived therefrom. The destruction
of property, and the destruction of life instead of putting down the
hated Abolitionists aroused in the public mind apprehensions and
antagonisms in respect of mobs, which proved, immediately and
ultimately, of immense advantage to freedom. This revulsion on the part
of the North from lawless attempts to abolish Abolitionism, affected
almost unavoidably, and in the beginning of it almost unconsciously, the
friendly dispositions of that section toward slavery, the root and
mainspring of these attempts. Blows aimed at the agent were sure,
regardless of the actor's intention, to glance and strike the principal.
In spite of mobs then, and to a remarkable degree because of mobs,
Abolitionism had become a powerful motor in revolutionizing public
opinion in the free States on the subject of slavery.