From the _Troy Whig_, April 28, 1859.
Yesterday afternoon, the streets of this city and West Troy were
made the scenes of unexampled excitement. For the first time since
the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, an attempt was made here to
carry its provisions into execution, and the result was a terrific
encounter between the officers and the prisoner's friends, the
triumph of mob law, and the final rescue of the fugitive. Our city
was thrown into a grand state of turmoil, and for a time every
other topic was forgotten, to give place to this new excitement.
People did not think last evening to ask who was nominated at
Charleston, or whether the news of the Heenan and Sayers battle
had arrived--everything was merged into the fugitive slave case,
of which it seems the end is not yet.
Charles Nalle, the fugitive, who was the cause of all this
excitement, was a slave on the plantation of B.W. Hansborough, in
Culpepper County, Virginia, till the 19th of October, 1858, when
he made his escape, and went to live in Columbia, Pennsylvania. A
wife and five children are residing there now. Not long since he
came to Sandlake, in this county, and resided in the family of Mr.
Crosby until about three weeks ago. Since that time, he has been
employed as coachman by Uri Gilbert, Esq., of this city. He is
about thirty years of age, tall, quite light-complexioned, and
good-looking. He is said to have been an excellent and faithful
servant.
At Sandlake, we understand that Nalle was often seen by one H.F.
Averill, formerly connected with one of the papers of this city,
who communicated with his reputed owner in Virginia, and gave the
information that led to a knowledge of the whereabouts of the
fugitive. Averill wrote letters for him, and thus obtained an
acquaintance with his history. Mr. Hansborough sent on an agent,
Henry J. Wall, by whom the necessary papers were got out to arrest
the fugitive.
Yesterday morning about 11 o'clock, Charles Nalle was sent to
procure some bread for the family by whom he was employed. He
failed to return. At the baker's he was arrested by Deputy United
States Marshal J.W. Holmes, and immediately taken before United
States Commissioner Miles Beach. The son of Mr. Gilbert, thinking
it strange that he did not come back, sent to the house of William
Henry, on Division Street, where he boarded, and his whereabouts
was discovered.
The examination before Commissioner Beach was quite brief. The
evidence of Averill and the agent was taken, and the Commissioner
decided to remand Nalle to Virginia. The necessary papers were
made out and given to the Marshal.
By this time it was two o'clock, and the fact began to be noised
abroad that there was a fugitive slave in Mr. Beach's office,
corner of State and First Streets. People in knots of ten or
twelve collected near the entrance, looking at Nalle, who could be
seen at an upper window. William Henry, a colored man, with whom
Nalle boarded, commenced talking from the curb-stone in a loud
voice to the crowd. He uttered such sentences as, "There is a
fugitive slave in that office--pretty soon you will see him come
forth. He is going to be taken down South, and you will have a
chance to see him. He is to be taken to the depot, to go to
Virginia in the first train. Keep watch of those stairs, and you
will have a sight." A number of women kept shouting, crying, and
by loud appeals excited the colored persons assembled.
Still the crowd grew in numbers. Wagons halted in front of the
locality, and were soon piled with spectators. An alarm of fire
was sounded, and hose carriages dashed through the ranks of men,
women, and boys; but they closed again, and kept looking with
expectant eyes at the window where the negro was visible.
Meanwhile, angry discussions commenced. Some persons agitated a
rescue, and others favored law and order. Mr. Brockway, a lawyer,
had his coat torn for expressing his sentiments, and other
_mêlées_ kept the interest alive.
All at once there was a wild halloo, and every eye was turned up
to see the legs and part of the body of the prisoner protruding
from the second story window, at which he was endeavoring to
escape. Then arose a shout! "Drop him!" "Catch him!" "Hurrah!" But
the attempt was a fruitless one, for somebody in the office pulled
Nalle back again, amid the shouts of a hundred pairs of lungs. The
crowd at this time numbered nearly a thousand persons. Many of
them were black, and a good share were of the female sex. They
blocked up State Street from First Street to the alley, and kept
surging to and fro.
Martin I. Townsend, Esq., who acted as counsel for the fugitive,
did not arrive in the Commissioner's office until a decision had
been rendered. He immediately went before Judge Gould, of the
Supreme Court, and procured a writ of habeas corpus in the usual
form, _returnable_ immediately. This was given Deputy-Sheriff
Nathaniel Upham, who at once proceeded to Commissioner Beach's
office, and served it on Holmes. Very injudiciously, the officers
proceeded at once to Judge Gould's office, although it was evident
they would have to pass through an excited, unreasonable crowd. As
soon as the officers and their prisoner emerged from the door, an
old negro, who had been standing at the bottom of the stairs,
shouted, "Here they come," and the crowd made a terrific rush at
the party.
From the office of Commissioner Beach, in the Mutual Building, to
that of Judge Gould, in Congress Street, is less than two blocks,
but it was made a regular battlefield. The moment the prisoner
emerged from the doorway, in custody of Deputy-Sheriff Upham,
Chief of Police Quin, Officers Cleveland and Holmes, the crowd
made one grand charge, and those nearest the prisoner seized him
violently, with the intention of pulling him away from the
officers, but they were foiled; and down First to Congress Street,
and up the latter in front of Judge Gould's chambers, went the
surging mass. Exactly what did go on in the crowd, it is
impossible to say, but the pulling, hauling, mauling, and
shouting, gave evidences of frantic efforts on the part of the
rescuers, and a stern resistance from the conservators of the law.
In front of Judge Gould's office the combat was at its height. No
stones or other missiles were used; the battle was fist to fist.
We believe an order was given to take the prisoner the other way,
and there was a grand rush towards the West, past First and River
Streets, as far as Dock Street. All this time there was a
continual _mêlée_. Many of the officers were hurt--among them Mr.
Upham, whose object was solely to do his duty by taking Nalle
before Judge Gould in accordance with the writ of habeas corpus. A
number in the crowd were more or less hurt, and it is a wonder
that these were not badly injured, as pistols were drawn and
chisels used.
The battle had raged as far as the corner of Dock and Congress
Streets, and the victory remained with the rescuers at last. The
officers were completely worn out with their exertions, and it was
impossible to continue their hold upon him any longer. Nalle was
at liberty. His friends rushed him down Dock Street to the lower
ferry, where there was a skiff lying ready to start. The fugitive
was put in, the ferryman rowed off, and amid the shouts of
hundreds who lined the banks of the river, Nalle was carried into
Albany County.
As the skiff landed in West Troy, a negro sympathizer waded up to
the waist, and pulled Nalle out of the boat. He went up the hill
alone, however, and there who should he meet but Constable Becker!
The latter official seeing a man with manacles on, considered it
his duty to arrest him. He did so, and took him in a wagon to the
office of Justice Stewart, on the second floor of the corner
building near the ferry. The justice was absent.
When the crowd on the Troy bank had seen Nalle safely landed, it
was suggested that he might be recaptured. Then there was another
rush made for the steam ferry-boat, which carried over about 400
persons, and left as many more--a few of the latter being soused
in their efforts to get on the boat. On landing in West Troy,
there, sure enough, was the prisoner, locked up in a strong
office, protected by Officers Becker, Brown and Morrison, and the
door barricaded.
Not a moment was lost. Up stairs went a score or more of resolute
men--the rest "piling in" promiscuously, shouting and execrating
the officers. Soon a stone flew against the door--then another--
and bang, bang! went off a couple of pistols, but the officers who
fired them took good care to aim pretty high. The assailants were
forced to retreat for a moment. "They've got pistols," said one.
"Who cares?" was the reply; "they can only kill a dozen of us--
come on." More stones and more pistol-shots ensued. At last the
door was pulled open by an immense negro, and in a moment he was
felled by a hatchet in the hands of Deputy-Sheriff Morrison; but
the body of the fallen man blocked up the door so that it could
not be shut, and a friend of the prisoner pulled him out. Poor
fellow! he might well say, "Save me from my friends." Amid the
pulling and hauling, the iron had cut his arms, which were
bleeding profusely, and he could hardly walk, owing to fatigue.
He has since arrived safely in Canada.