NEGRO HATRED AT THE NORTH.
The prompt manner in which colored men in the North had enlisted in
the army to aid in putting down the Rebellion, and the heroism and
loyalty of the slaves of the South in helping to save the Union, so
exasperated the disloyal people in the Northern States, that they
early began a system of cowardly warfare against the blacks wherever
they found them. The mob spirit first manifested itself at a meeting
held in Boston, December 3, 1860, to observe the anniversary of the
death of John Brown. A combination of North End roughs and Beacon
Street aristocrats took possession of the Tremont Temple, the place of
holding the meeting, appointed Richard S. Fay as Chairman, and passed a
series of resolutions in favor of the slave-holders of the South, and
condemnatory of the abolitionists.
This success induced these enemies of free discussion to attempt to
break up the meeting of the Twenty-eighth Congregational Society at
Music Hall the following Sunday, at which Frederick Douglass was the
speaker. Wendell Phillips addressed the same society at the same place,
on the 19th following, when the mob spirit seemed even more violent
than on any previous occasion. These events were still fresh in the
minds of the haters of negro freedom, when, on the 10th of July, 1863,
the great mob commenced in the city of New York.
The mob was composed of the lowest and most degraded of the foreign
population (mainly Irish), raked from the filthy cellars and dens of
the city, steeped in crimes of the deepest dye, and ready for any
act, no matter how dark; together with the worst type of our native
criminals, whose long service in the prisons of the country, and whose
training in the Democratic party, had so demoralized their natures that
they were ever on the hunt for some deed of robbery or murder.
This conglomerated mass of human beings were under the leadership of
men standing higher than themselves in the estimation of the public,
but, if possible, really lower in moral degradation. Cheered on by men
holding high political positions, and finding little or no opposition,
they went on at a fearful rate.
Never, in the history of mob-violence, was crime carried to such
an extent. Murder, arson, robbery, and cruelty reigned triumphant
throughout the city, day and night, for more than a week.
Hundreds of the blacks, driven from their homes, and hunted and chased
through the streets, presented themselves at the doors of jails,
prisons, police-stations, and begged admission. Thus did these fiends
prowl about the city, committing crime after crime; indeed, in point of
cruelty, the Rebellion was transferred from the South to the North.
The destruction of the colored Orphan Asylum, after first robbing
the little black children of their clothing, seemed a most heartless
transaction.
Nearly forty colored persons were murdered during this reign of terror.
Some were hung at lamp-posts, some thrown off the docks, while others,
shot, clubbed, and cut to pieces with knives, were seen lying dead in
the streets.
Numbers of men and boys amused themselves by cutting pieces of flesh
from the dead body of a black man who was suspended from a lamp-post at
the corner of Prince Street.
Hundreds of colored men and women had taken shelter in the buildings
reached by passing through the “Arch,” on Thompson Street. The mob made
several unsuccessful attempts to gain admission to this alley, where,
in one of the buildings, was a room about thirty by forty feet square,
in the centre of which stood an old-fashioned cook-stove, the top of
which seemed filled with boilers, and all steaming away, completely
filling the place with a dense fog. Two lamps, with dingy chimneys,
and the light from the fire, which shone brightly through the broken
doors of the stove, lighted up the room. Eight athletic black women,
looking for all the world as if they had just returned from a Virginia
corn-field, weary and hungry, stood around the room.
Each of these Amazons was armed with a tin dipper, apparently new,
which had no doubt been purchased for the occasion. A woman of
exceedingly large proportions--tall, long-armed, with a deep scar
down the side of her face, and with a half grin, half smile--was the
commander-in-chief of the “hot room.” This woman stood by the stove,
dipper in hand, and occasionally taking the top from the large
wash-boiler, which we learned was filled with boiling water, soap, and
ashes.
In case of an attack, this boiler was to be the “King of Pain.”
Guided by a friend who had furnished us a disguise, the writer entered
the “hot room,” and took a view of its surroundings. As we saw the
perspiration streaming down the faces of these women, we ventured a few
questions.
“Do you expect an attack?” we asked.
“Dunno, honey; but we’s ready ef dey comes,” was the reply from the
aunty near the stove.
“Were you ever in slavery?” we continued.
“Yes; ain’t bin from dar but little while.”
“What State?”
“Bred and born in ole Virginny, down on de Pertomuc.”
“Have you any of your relations in Virginia now?”
“Yes; got six chilens down dar somewhar, an’ two husbuns--all sole to
de speclaturs afore I run away.”
“Did you come off alone?”
“No; my las ole man bring me ’way.”
“You don’t mean to be taken back by the slave-catchers, in peace?”
“No; I’ll die fuss.”
“How will you manage if they attempt to come into this room?”
“We’ll all fling hot water on ’em, an’ scall dar very harts out.”
“Can you all throw water without injuring each other?”
“O yes, honey; we’s bin practicin’ all day.” And here the whole
company joined in a hearty laugh, which made the old building ring.
The intense heat drove us from the room. As we descended the steps and
passed the guards, we remarked to one of them,--
“The women seem to be prepared for battle.”
“Yes,” he replied; “dem wimmens got de debil in ’em to-night, an’ no
mistake. Dey’ll make dat a hot hell in dar fur somebody.”
And here the guards broke forth into a hearty laugh, which was caught
up and joined in by the women in the house, which showed very clearly
that these blacks felt themselves masters of the situation.
As the mob made their last attempt to gain an entrance to the alley,
one of their number, a man bloated with strong drink, and heaping oaths
upon the “niggers,” succeeded in getting through, and made his way to
the “hot room,” where, it is said, he suddenly disappeared. It was
whispered that the washerwomen made soap-grease of his carcass.
The inhabitants of the “Arch” were not again disturbed.