RIOT, PANIC, SEARCH AND CONFISCATION
While on the 11th of May, the day succeeding the capture of Camp
Jackson, the frenzy evoked by that startling event had measurably passed
away, it had been succeeded, in the minds of many of the disloyal, by a
grim determination to take summary vengeance on the victorious
Unionists. On that very day, at the evening twilight, the opportunity
presented itself for carrying out their vindictive purpose. It was
rumored that a regiment of Home Guards, made up largely of Germans, was
about to return from the Arsenal, where it had just been armed. In some
way a band of fiery secessionists ascertained the route that the
regiment would take on its return march, and for the purpose of
harassing and attacking it, hid themselves behind the pillars of a
Presbyterian Church, at the corner of Fifth and Walnut Streets. In
dwelling-houses opposite the church were some of their allies. They had
planned to attack the regiment simultaneously on both flanks. And when
in the gathering darkness, these newly armed men were peacefully passing
westward along Walnut Street, their concealed foes at first jeered and
hissed them. This was followed by unprovoked and dastardly attack.
Missiles of various kinds, from both sides of the street, were hurled
into the ranks of these new, undisciplined volunteers. A revolver was
fired at them from behind the pillars of the church and a soldier fell
dead. Two shots then rang out from the windows of the houses opposite
the church. The soldiers in the van, now thoroughly demoralized, wheeled
about and wildly fired down the street. The musket-balls flew in every
direction. Some hit the church, some the houses opposite the church,
while some were poured into their own ranks. When the firing ceased six
men lay dead on the pavement: four of their own regiment, three of whom
they themselves had killed, and two unarmed citizens; while several
innocent passers-by were wounded.[30] This sad event stirred up much
vengeful passion. There was crimination and recrimination. Feeling on
both sides ran high. It was intense, bitter, hot. Portentous rumors
filled the air. Apprehension of something awful pervaded many minds.
Disaster seemed impending. On a city thus agitated and torn midnight
darkness at last graciously fell. A merciful Providence had at least
held the contending multitudes back from general riot.
Morning dawned. It was Sunday, the 12th of May. The heavens were
partially overcast, and there was a chill in the air. Very few besides
the newsboys were seen in the streets. The general silence seemed in
some way to foretoken the near approach of some overwhelming calamity.
Abject fear had taken possession of many minds. The doors of hundreds of
dwelling-houses were shut and bolted, and the windows darkened by blinds
and shades were securely fastened. No one passing along the nearly
deserted thoroughfares could escape a certain weird influence that
enwrapped him and all things about him. Objects the most familiar wore
an unusual and an uncanny aspect. What power was this which, from
enfolding shadows, reached out its formless yet mighty hand and grasped
thousands in our city and held them quivering with terror in its
relentless grip? This, for want of a better name, men have called a
panic. How it comes no one has ever been able to tell; how it departs
never to return is equally mysterious. But on that Sunday morning, so
long ago, it had thrown its horrid spell over St. Louis. And while men
according to their varied constitutions were differently affected, none
wholly escaped its dread touch. Still, what it was, no one was astute
enough to explain, but that it was an awful reality thousands in the
evening of that day of inexplicable alarm could testify.
The day before, General Harney had returned from Washington and resumed
his old command. Before the gray dawn of the day of panic, some
prominent citizens, incited by fear of which they could give no rational
explanation, implored the General to protect them against the murderous
Dutch (Germans), who were about to kill them and loot and burn their
houses. When Harney asked them for the evidence of their declarations
they had nothing more substantial to offer than Dame Rumor. Still,
wishing to quiet their fears, he decided to yield to their entreaties so
far as he could do so with dignity. So he sent from the Arsenal
detachments of soldiers to those parts of the city, represented to be
most exposed to the incursions of what he himself believed to be purely
imaginary foes. He also issued a proclamation and posted it up in all of
the most frequented streets and public places, declaring to the people
that he nowhere saw any evidence of special danger, and appealed to them
to lay aside their groundless fear. These considerate acts of the
General had exactly the opposite effect from what he intended; instead
of quieting the people they excited them still more; instead of
allaying, they intensified, their alarm. And such an outcome was
altogether natural. Bodies of armed men marching hither and thither
through the city and stationed at different points as guards, and a
proclamation hurriedly issued on Sunday morning, seemed to them to be
tangible proof of the existence of greater danger than they had
supposed. And, as the hours of the morning wore away, the apprehension
of some awful calamity about to fall upon the inhabitants of the city
grew until a great multitude were filled with terror.
At the usual hour for morning service, I went to church. On my way
thither, I saw but few going to the different houses of worship. My own
congregation was about one third of its usual size. Most of the church
officers were absent. At the close of the service, groups of the small
audience exchanged with each other a few words, declaring that in their
judgment there was no danger, that the general fright was baseless, and
then evidently with some degree of anxiety quickly departed for their
homes.
It was now between twelve and one. The clouds of the morning were gone.
The sun shone brightly. But the few people venturing out into the
streets seemed even more cheerless and terror-stricken than earlier in
the day. Here and there a carriage, filled with anxious faces, was
driven hurriedly along. Just after my dinner, about two o’clock, my
landlord and next-door neighbor, a moderate secessionist, cautious,
conservative, phlegmatic, called to see me. He asked, apparently with
great coolness: “Do you think that we are in any special danger?” I
answered, “No, I do not think we are. The Germans, who have inspired so
many with alarm, have no ill will towards us. The fear, now agitating so
many in the city, has not a particle of foundation.” “Well,” he replied,
“that is just what I think, but”—and here he betrayed his suspicion that
there might be some danger which did not appear on the surface—“do you
think when General Harney declared this morning in his proclamation that
there was no cause for alarm, he concealed anything from the public?” I
assured him that I fully believed that the general was acting a truthful
and honorable part. He said: “I think so too,” and bade me good day; but
within thirty minutes, an open two-horse carriage drove up to his door;
his family brought out satchels, bags and pillow-cases, hastily stuffed
with necessary articles of clothing, threw them pell-mell into the
vehicle, and unceremoniously clambering in after them, drove away at
breakneck speed as though they were pursued by some invisible demon.
This led me to go out and walk hither and thither through the central
part of the city. The scene presented to my view was surpassingly
strange. Carriages and wagons filled with trunks, valises, hastily made
bundles, and frightened men, women and children were flying along the
streets towards every point of the compass. Some scared souls, unable to
obtain a vehicle of any kind, were walking or running with breathless
haste, carrying all sorts of bundles in their hands, under their arms or
on their shoulders. All these were fleeing from imaginary danger. But
the fancied conflagration and slaughter which they believed themselves
to be escaping were to them awful realities, enacted, with all their
attendant horrors, over and over again within their minds.
Some of the panic-stricken fled into the country and found shelter in
outside villages and farmhouses. A gentleman, who lived several miles
northwest of the city, told me that these frightened fugitives filled
all his spare beds, and lay all over the floors of his upper and lower
hall and parlor. He was a Union man and poked fun at his unexpected
secession guests on their senseless terror, but finding them just then
incapable of mirth, and seeing that they were still keenly suffering
from imaginary horrors, he mercifully desisted.
The scene at this farmhouse was representative of many similar scenes on
that night in all the country about St. Louis. But many of the fugitives
crossed the river on the ferry-boats and sought refuge in
black-Republican Illinois. A host of them also filled the steamers at
the levee and went north to Alton and Quincy, and South to Cairo and
Columbus, while some of them refused to land till they reached Memphis.
It is difficult for any one not an eye-witness to believe that such a
stupid stampede could ever have taken place.
But some of the terror-stricken, who did not flee, acted with equal
folly. A secession acquaintance of mine, living but two squares from my
door, early in the day transformed his house into a fortress. He invited
under his roof a dozen or more of his southern friends. Among them they
had sixteen guns of various kinds. They barricaded the door and windows
of the house, leaving loop-holes through which they could shoot. And
there behind these hastily constructed defences, during all that Sabbath
day, they waited with shivering apprehension for the coming of the
dreaded foe, determined, if they should be called to lay down their
lives, to sell them dearly.
But evening came. During the day no one had been injured. Nothing had
transpired to justify the abject fear of so many thousands of people.
Yet many of the terrified, who still remained in the city, were
apprehensive lest the expected blow might fall under the cover of the
gathering darkness. At the hour of evening service I was, as usual, in
my pulpit. Only about sixty or seventy were in the pews. Only one
officer of the church was present. Three neighboring pastors of other
denominations were there. My wife and my sister were the only women in
the congregation. I preached without making the slightest reference to
the events of the day, believing that to be the wisest course. When the
last word was spoken, the little company quickly and quietly dispersed.
I learned the next day that we were the only Protestant congregation in
the city that publicly worshipped on that anxious evening, and that the
most prominent men in my church and congregation, belonging as they did
to the Home Guards, were absent because engaged in military duty. With
their muskets they were endeavoring to protect their terrified
fellow-citizens against imaginary foes.
On Monday one of them gave me a detailed account of the movement of the
Home Guards the night before. Early in the evening they threw a line of
scouts across the city from east to west. Each soldier in the line was a
square from his fellow. They then began to feel their way cautiously
toward the southern part of the city, where most of the Germans lived,
who were supposed to be so bloodthirsty. As they reached each street,
running east and west, the scouts halted until word was passed from one
to another along the whole extended line; then they crept on again
toward that awful, invisible enemy. Nobody was abroad on the streets.
The city was almost as still as a churchyard. The very stillness added
to the general terror and made the flesh of the timid creep. A little
before midnight these doughty scouts as they slowly moved southward,
carefully scanning every street, alley and house for some lurking foe,
saw before them armed men coming towards them from the south. They
hailed each other. Word was passed along the whole of their respective
lines; at last they were all gathered together. They were not enemies
but friends, all equally intent on keeping the peace. Each man eagerly
told what had been transpiring during the day in the part of the city to
which he belonged. These scouts that had gone southward said that hosts
of American-born citizens, living in the central part of the city, heard
and fully believed that the Germans were coming up in force to loot and
burn their houses and put them to the sword. On the other hand, the
armed Germans said that the southern part of the city, where they lived,
had all day been filled with terror, because a baseless rumor was firmly
believed that the American-born citizens to the north of them were
coming down to loot and burn their dwellings and kill them. Having thus
told of the mutual fears of those whom they represented, and found their
fancied foes to be their ardent friends, gloom gave way to merriment and
joy. The whole day with all its fantastic scenes inspired by abject fear
seemed now a huge joke. All anxiety gone, these mutual guardians of the
peace shook hands with each other and shook their sides with laughter.
Proud of the city in which they lived and grateful for its continued
safety, they gave three cheers for her. The sound of those ringing
cheers at midnight carried assurance and quietude to many that heard.
The next morning the lethargy of the city was as profound as the
excitement of the preceding day had been intense. Before nine o’clock
very few were astir. Here and there a pedestrian passed along on some
necessary errand. On some streets market-wagons lumbered by. The morning
markets, usually so full of life, were half deserted. However, as the
day wore on, signs of returning activity multiplied; but when men met
each other, they made scant allusion to the scenes of yesterday. There
was evidently a good deal of thinking, but there certainly was very
little talking. Many appeared to be ashamed of themselves. Those who had
been terrorized manifestly desired to cover up and forget their folly;
those who had not been much moved by the general alarm, in kindness
restrained themselves from saying, “I told you so.” This was cheering.
It showed that neighborly kindness and true manhood had not perished in
the panic; that what was noblest and best in those who disagreed so
radically on great questions of state policy, stretched itself over all
their differences like a rainbow on the clouds of a passing storm.
But hundreds of our fellow-citizens were still in the places to which
they had so hurriedly fled. On Monday most of them heard that no
ruthless enemy had wrapped their dwellings in flames and slaughtered the
defenceless; that the current of affairs in their beloved city was
flowing on unimpeded and unruffled. By Tuesday a large number of them
had quietly returned to their homes, and by the end of the week even
those that sought refuge in distant cities shamefacedly came back.
Unannoyed they resumed their duties. Few made any curious inquiries, or
even alluded to their strange and groundless terror and ludicrous
flight. No event so startling and unique was apparently so soon and
utterly forgotten.
However, to make this portrayal of the panic adequate and just, one more
thing must be specially noted. While but few could wholly escape its
subtle and awful influence, I knew of no Unionist, nor heard of one,
that through fear fled from the city. They did not for a moment believe
that the loyal Germans intended violence to anybody. They therefore
looked upon the scene of terror enacted before them with both amusement
and amazement; but most of them learned, probably for the first time,
how terribly real to frightened men and women imaginary evils can be,
and so for their returning secession neighbors they had only kindly
greetings.
Other stirring events soon claimed our attention and absorbed our
thoughts. As soon as the panic was over, General Harney, in a vigorous
proclamation, sustained the act of Lyon in taking Camp Jackson,
enumerating the evidences that the camp was hostile to the general
government; denounced the military bill recently passed by the
legislature as an indirect secession ordinance, a nullity and not at all
to be obeyed by the people of the State; declared that all the power of
the United States would be used to maintain its supreme authority, and
that “no subterfuges, whether in the form of legislative acts or
otherwise, can be permitted to harass or oppress the good and
law-abiding people of Missouri.”
This manifesto of the commanding general was a genuine surprise both to
the secessionists and Unionists. Up to this time the former had regarded
him as a moderate Unionist, whose hesitancy and vacillation enabled them
to plot almost unmolested against the general government; while the
latter had at times even doubted his loyalty to the Union. But now both
parties saw the real sentiment of his heart. On account of it the
secessionists were quite dispirited. The _Missouri Republican_, a
semi-secession, Democrat paper, the next morning gave voice to their
disappointment by saying, “We are bound hand and foot; chained down by a
merciless tyranny; are subjected and shackled.”[31]
But on all sides men were now asking, “Will the general by act make good
the words of his proclamation?” He did not leave them long in doubt. His
conclusive reasoning evidently was that if, for the protection of loyal
citizens, it was necessary to capture Camp Jackson, it was equally
necessary to break up all other places where the disloyal were gathering
means which, at the opportune moment, they might use to secure the
secession of the State. So, on the 17th of May, just five days after the
panic, in order “to preserve the peace of St. Louis and promote the
tranquillity of Missouri,” warrants were issued by the Federal Court for
the search of all places within our city suspected of harboring articles
contraband of war. With these warrants in hand, United States Marshal
Rawlings, accompanied by a squad of Federal soldiers, under the command
of Captain Sweeney, proceeded to the State Tobacco Warehouse on
Washington Avenue, and to the Central Metropolitan Police Station on
Chestnut Street.[32] Both of these places were dominated and controlled
by secessionists. In the latter gathered those police commissioners, who
were appointed by the Governor, and reflected his notions and policies.
At the Warehouse were found several hundred rifles, muskets, cavalry
pistols, holsters, and small boxes of ammunition; and at the Police
Station two pieces of cannon and many rifles. The marshal took
possession of this war material, and the accompanying soldiers captured
all the aiders and abettors of treason found in these nests of
disloyalty. We all now saw that General Harney was acting up to his
brave and true words, and that the judges and officers of the United
States courts were intent on recovering, so far as possible, the stolen
property of the general government; that both the civil and military
powers were joining hands in enforcing the law and in suppressing
secession and revolt.
But very soon after this exhibition of energy and loyalty on the part of
Harney, anxious to preserve the peace of his beloved Missouri, on the
21st of May, just four days after the search and seizure narrated above,
he entered into a formal agreement with Price,[33] then the
major-general of the Missouri militia, in which he committed the whole
military care of the State to the latter, binding himself not to use
United States troops in Missouri for the suppression of disorder or the
defence of any of its inhabitants, unless asked to do so by the State
authorities. In short he covenanted to abandon utterly all initiative in
military operations within our commonwealth, and to subject himself to
the lead of the commander of the State militia. This agreement pledged
the Federal government to uphold in the most practical fashion the
doctrine of State sovereignty; it sustained the very thing which the
United States was marshalling its armies to oppose and if possible to
crush out forever. Over this ill-starred covenant with our enemies,
every Unionist of St. Louis and Missouri was sick at heart. Such an
agreement carried out would have been the death-blow to all loyalty
throughout the State. The Unionists of St. Louis wondered how a general,
who had been so outspoken against disunionism a few days before, could
be so hoodwinked as to enter into a solemn compact by which he permitted
the enemy of his country to bind him hand and foot. As he ought to have
expected, the government which he had so utterly misrepresented in this
strange compact with Price promptly removed him from his command, and
put in his place Lyon, who a few days before had been made
brigadier-general.
Lyon took hold of his new duties with a will. In the latter part of May,
by his order, the steamer “J. C. Swan” was seized at Harlow’s Landing,
about thirty miles below the city, and brought up to the St. Louis
Arsenal.[34] This was the boat that surreptitiously brought from Baton
Rouge the arms that were captured at Camp Jackson. By due process of law
she was confiscated and put into the service of the Union. But nothing
escaped the eagle eye of the Yankee general at the Arsenal. He seemed
intuitively to apprehend the designs and movements of the Confederates.
So while with one hand he seized this recreant steamer, with the other
he intercepted at Ironton, on the Iron Mountain Railroad, several tons
of lead _en route_ for the South. A party of secessionists resisted the
military force sent to make this capture, some shots were fired, but
happily no blood was shed. That lead was diverted from the Southern
Confederacy. Lyon saw to it that it was shot not at Union men, but by
them at the enemies of the Union.
The exportation of lead from Missouri was one of the cherished plans of
the Southern malcontents. As early as May 1st, 1861, Samuel Tate,
writing from Charleston, South Carolina, to the Hon. A. M. Clayton of
Montgomery, Alabama, pressed upon his attention the importance of
keeping Missouri under the control of the Confederacy. Without her, he
urged, the last hope would be cut off “for a full supply of provisions
and lead.”[35] He said, “Governor Jackson is with us. His people are
with us, except at St. Louis, where they are divided. The first thing we
know, we shall be out of powder, lead and percussion caps.” So, early in
the war, one clear-headed man, south of Mason and Dixon’s line,
understood our Governor, and saw what an important storehouse for the
rebel armies Missouri would be, and insisted that no effort should be
spared to unite her destiny with that of the Confederacy. But Lyon had
otherwise determined; and during that ever memorable month of May,
mainly through his initiative and under his direction, the most
startling events followed each other in rapid succession. Camp Jackson
was taken; the rebel flags were lowered; nests of secessionists were
broken up and their arms, gathered with hostile intent, were captured; a
treacherous steamboat was seized and confiscated; a train of cars laden
with lead for the Southern Confederacy was intercepted. At that early
stage of the war, all these things were surpassingly strange to us, and
by them for weeks the whole city was kept bubbling with excitement.