THE STAMP-ACT RIOT OF 1765.
Thorough Understanding of the Principles of Liberty by the People.--The
Stamp Act.--How viewed by the Colonists.--Colden strengthens Fort George
in Alarm.--Arrival of the Stamps.--How the News was received by the Sons
of Liberty.--A Bold Placard.--Stamp Distributor frightened.--Patriotic
Action of the Merchants.--Public Demonstration against the Stamp
Act.--Colden takes Refuge in the Fort.--Dare not fire on the
People.--The People at the Gate demand the Stamps.--Colden and Lord Bute
hung in Effigy.--Colden's Coach-house broken open.--The Images placed in
the Coach, and dragged with Shouts through the Streets.--Hung again in
Sight of the Fort.--A Bonfire made of the Fence around Bowling
Green, and the Governor's Carriages, while the Garrison look silently
on.--Prejudice against Coaches.--Major James' House sacked.--Great Joy
and Demonstration at the Repeal of the Stamp Act.--Celebration of the
King's Birthday.--Loyalty of the People.--Mutiny Act.--A Riot becomes a
Great Rebellion.
At the present day, when personal ambition takes the place of
patriotism, and love of principle gives way to love of party; when the
success of the latter is placed above constitutional obligations and
popular rights, one seems, as he turns back to our early history, to be
transported to another age of the world, and another race of beings.
Nothing shows how thoroughly understood by the common people were the
principles of liberty, and with what keen penetration they saw through
all shams and specious reasoning, than the decided, nay, fierce, stand
they took against the stamp act. This was nothing more than our present
law requiring a governmental stamp on all public and business paper
to make it valid. The only difference is, the former was levying a
tax without representation--in other words, without the consent of the
governed. The colonies assembled in Congress condemned it; hence the
open, violent opposition to it by the people rises above the level of a
common riot, and partakes more of the nature of a righteous revolution.
Still, it was a riot, and exhibited the lawless features of one.
The news of the determination of the English Government to pass a
stamp act, raised a storm of indignation throughout the colonies, from
Massachusetts to South Carolina, and it was denounced as an oppressive,
unrighteous, tyrannical measure. From the wayside tavern and the pulpit
alike, it was attacked with unsparing severity. The Government, however,
thought it a mere ebullition of feeling, that would not dare exhibit
itself in open opposition. Nor does this confidence seem strong, when we
remember the weakness of the colonies on the one side, and the strength
of an organized government, with the law and force both, on the other.
Cadwallader Colden, a Scotchman by birth, and a clergyman by profession,
was at that time acting Governor of New York; and to guard against any
resort to force on the part of the people when the stamps should arrive,
had Fort George, on the Battery, reinforced by a regiment from Crown
Point, its magazines replenished, the ramparts strengthened, and its
guns trained on the town. The people saw all this, and understood its
import; but it had the opposite effect from that which was intended,
for, instead of overawing the people, it exasperated them.
At length, in October, 1765, a ship with the British colors flying came
sailing up the bay, and anchored off Fort George. In a short time the
startling tidings was circulated, that she brought a quantity of stamps.
It was like sounding an alarm-bell, and the streets became thronged
with excited men, while all the provincial vessels in the harbor lowered
their colors to half-mast, in token of mourning. In anticipation of this
event, an organization of men had been formed, called "Sons of Liberty."
They at once assembled, and resolved at all hazards to get hold of those
stamps. They had caused the act itself to be hawked about the streets as
"the folly of England and the ruin of America," and now they determined
to measure their strength with the Governor of the colony. That night,
when the town was wrapped in slumber, they quietly affixed on the doors
of every public office and on corners of the streets, the following
placard:
PRO PATRIA.
_The first man that either distributes or makes use of stamped paper,
let him take care of his house, person, and effects._
VOX POPULI.
"WE DARE."
To the stamp distributors they said, "Assure yourselves, the spirit of
Brutus and Cassius is yet alive. We will not submit to the stamp act
upon any account or in any instance."
McEvers, the head stamp distributor, frightened by the bold, determined
attitude of the people, refused to receive the stamps, and Golden had
them sent for greater safety to Fort George. He had written, to the
British Secretary, "_I am resolved to have the stamps distributed_." But
the people were equally resolved they should not be. Still, on the 30th
day of October, he and all the royal governors took the oath to carry
the stamp act into effect; but they soon discovered that they could find
no one bold enough to act as distributor. All along the sea-coast,
in every part of the colonies, the people were aroused, and either
assembling quietly, or called together by the ringing of bells and
firing of cannon, presented such a united, determined front, that not
one person remained duly commissioned to distribute stamps. On the
last day of October, the merchants of New York came together, and
bound themselves to "send no new orders for goods or merchandise, to
countermand all former orders, and not even receive goods on commission,
unless the stamp act be repealed"--that is, give up commerce at once,
with all its wealth and benefits, rather than submit to a tax of a few
shillings on paper.
Friday, the 1st of November, was the day fixed upon for a public
demonstration of the people throughout the colonies against it, and
never dawned a morning more pregnant with the fate not only of a nation,
but of the world.
From New Hampshire to South Carolina it was ushered in by the tolling of
muffled bells, the firing of minute-guns, and flags hung at half-mast.
Eulogies were pronounced on liberty, and everywhere people left their
shops and fields, and gathered in excited throngs to discuss the great
question of taxation.
"Even the children at their games, though hardly able to speak, caught
up the general chorus, and went along the streets, merrily carolling:
'Liberty, Property, and no Stamps.'" [Footnote: Bancroft.]
In New York the uprising was terrific, for the population rushed
together as one man--as Gage, the commander of Fort George said, "by
thousands."
The sailors flocked in from the vessels, the farmers from the country,
and the shouts, and ringing of bells, and firing of cannon made the city
fairly tremble. Colden was terrified at the storm that was raised, and
took refuge in the fort. An old man, bent and bowed with the weight
of eighty years, he tottered nervously to the shelter of its guns, and
ordered up a detachment of marines from a ship of war in port, for his
protection. In his indignation, he wanted to fire on the people, and the
black muzzles of the cannon pointing on the town had an ominous look.
Whether he had threatened to do so by a message, we do not know; at any
rate, the people either suspected his determination or got wind of it,
for during the day an unknown person handed in at the fort-gate a
note, telling him if he did, the people would hang him, like Porteus of
Edinburgh, on a sign-post. He wisely forebore to give the order, for if
he had not, his gray hairs would have streamed from a gibbet.
At length the day of turmoil wore away, and night came on, but with it
came no diminution of the excitement. Soon as it was dark, the "Sons of
Liberty," numbering thousands, surged tumultuously up around the fort,
and demanded that the stamps should be given up that they might be
destroyed. Golden bluntly refused, when with loud, defiant shouts they
left, and went up Broadway to "the field" (the present Park), where they
erected a gibbet, and hanged on it Colden in effigy, and beside him a
figure holding a boot; some said to represent the devil, others Lord
Bute, of whom the _boot_, by a pun on his name, showed for whom the
effigy was designed.
The demonstration had now become a riot, and the Sons of Liberty
degenerated into a mob. The feeling that had been confined to words all
day must now have some outlet. A torchlight procession was formed, and
the scaffold and images taken down, and borne on men's shoulders
along Broadway towards the Battery. The glare of flaring lights on the
buildings and faces of the excited crowd, the shouts and hurrahs that
made night hideous, called out the entire population, which gazed in
amazement on the strange, wild spectacle.
They boldly carried the scaffold and effigies to within a few feet of
the gate of the fort, and knocked audaciously for admission. Isaac Sears
was the leader of these "Sons of Liberty."
Finding themselves unable to gain admittance, they went to the
Governor's carriage-house, and took out his elegant coach, and placing
the two effigies in it, dragged it by hand around the streets by the
light of torches, amid the jeers and shouts of the multitude. Becoming
at last tired of this amusement, they returned towards the fort, and
erected a second gallows, on which they hung the effigies the second
time.
All this time the cannon, shotted and primed, lay silent on their
carriages, while the soldiers from the ramparts looked wonderingly, idly
on. General Gage did not dare to fire on the people, fearing they would
sweep like an inundation over the ramparts, when he knew a general
massacre would follow.
The mob now tore down, the wooden fence that surrounded Bowling Green,
and piling pickets and boards together, set them on fire. As the flames
crackled and roared in the darkness, they pitched on the Governor's
coach, with the scaffold and effigies; then hastening to his
carriage-house again, and dragging out a one-horse chaise, two sleighs,
and other vehicles, hauled them to the fire, and threw them on, making a
conflagration that illumined the waters of the bay and the ships riding
at anchor. This was a galling spectacle to the old Governor and the
British officers, but they dared not interfere.
What was the particular animosity against those carriages does not
appear, though it was the only property of the Governor they destroyed,
unless they were a sign of that aristocratic pride which sought to
enslave them. There were, at this time, not a half-dozen coaches in the
city, and they naturally became the symbols of bloated pride. It is
said the feeling was so strong against them, that a wealthy Quaker named
Murray, who lived out of town, near where the distributing reservoir now
is, kept one to ride down town in, yet dared not call it a coach, but a
"_leathern convenience_."
Although Sears and other leaders of the Sons of Liberty tried to
restrain the mob, their blood was now up, and they were bent on
destruction. Having witnessed the conflagration of the Governor's
carriages, they again marched up Broadway, and some one shouting
"James' house," the crowd took up the shout, and passing out of the city
streamed through the open country, to where West Broadway now is, and
near the corner of Anthony Street. This James was Major in the Royal
Artillery, and had made himself obnoxious to the people by taking a
conspicuous part in putting the fort into a state of defence. He had a
beautiful residence here, which the mob completely gutted, broke up
his elegant furniture, destroyed his library and works of art, and laid
waste his ornamented grounds. They then dispersed, and the city became
quiet.
The excitement was, however, not quelled--the people had not yet got
hold of the stamps, which they were determined to have. Colden, having
seen enough of the spirit of the "Sons of Liberty," was afraid to risk
another night, even in the fort, unless it was in some way appeased;
and so the day after the riot, he had a large placard posted up, stating
that he should have nothing more to do with the stamps, but would leave
them with Sir Henry Moore, the newly appointed Governor, then on his way
from England.
This, however, did not satisfy the Sons of Liberty: they wanted the
stamps themselves, and through Sears, their leader, insisted on their
being given up--telling him very plainly if he did not they would storm
the fort, and they were determined to do it.
The Common Council of the city now became alarmed at the ungovernable,
desperate spirit of the mob, which seemed bent on blood, and begged the
Governor to let them be deposited in the City Hall. To this he finally
though reluctantly consented, but the feeling in the city kept at fever
heat, and would remain so until the act itself was repealed.
Moore, the new Governor, soon arrived, and assumed the reigns of
government. The corporation offered him the freedom of the city in a
gold box, but he refused to receive it, unless upon stamped paper.
It was evident he was determined to enforce the stamp act. But on
consulting with Colden and others, and ascertaining the true state
of things, he wisely abandoned his purpose, and soon made it publicly
known. To appease the people still more, he dismantled the fort, which
was peculiarly obnoxious to them from the threatening attitude it had
been made to assume. Still, the infamous act was unrepealed, and the
people refused to buy English manufactures, and commerce languished.
At length, Parliament, finding that further insistance in carrying out
the obnoxious act only worked mischief, had repealed it. When the news
reached New York, the most unbounded joy was manifested. Bells were
rung, cannon fired, and placards posted, calling on a meeting of the
citizens the next day to take measures for celebrating properly the
great event. At the appointed time, the people came together at Howard's
Hotel, and forming a procession, marched gayly to "the field," and right
where the City Hall now stands, then an open lot, a salute of twenty-one
guns was fired. A grand dinner followed, at which the Sons of Liberty
feasted and drank loyal toasts to his Majesty, and all went "merry as a
marriage-bell." The city was illuminated, and bonfires turned the night
into day. In a few weeks, the King's birthday was celebrated with great
display. A huge pile of wood was erected in the Park, and an ox roasted
whole for the people. Cart after cart dumped its load of beer on the
ground, till twenty-five barrels, flanked by a huge hogshead of rum, lay
in a row, presided over by men appointed to deal out the contents to the
populace. A boisterous demonstration followed that almost drowned the
roar of the twenty-one cannon that thundered forth a royal salute. As
a fitting wind-up to the bacchanalian scene, at night twenty-five
tar-barrels, fastened on poles, blazed over the "common," while
brilliant fireworks were exhibited at Bowling Green. The feasting
continued late in the night, and so delighted were the "Sons of
Liberty," that they erected a mast, inscribed "to his most gracious
Majesty, George the Third, Mr. Pitt, and Liberty." A petition was also
signed to erect a statue to Pitt, and the people seemed determined by
this excess of loyalty to atone for their previous rebellious spirit.
The joy, however, was of short duration--the news of the riots caused
Parliament to pass a "mutiny act," by which troops were to be quartered
in America in sufficient numbers to put down any similar demonstration
in future, a part of the expense of their support to be paid by the
colonists themselves. This exasperated "the Sons of Liberty", and they
met and resolved to resist this new act of oppression to the last. The
troops arrived in due time, and of course collisions took place between
them and the people. Matters now continued to grow worse and worse,
until the "riot of the Sons of Liberty" became a revolution, which
dismembered the British Empire, and established this great republic, the
influence of which on the destiny of the world no one can predict.