SPRING ELECTION RIOTS OF 1834.
Fatal Error in our Naturalization Laws.--Our Experiment of Self
government not a fair one.--Fruit of giving Foreigners the Right
to Vote.--Bitter Feeling between Democrats and Whigs.--First Day of
Election.--Ships "Constitution" and "Veto."--Whigs driven from the
Polls.--Excitement.--Whigs determined to defend themselves.--Meeting
called.--Resolutions.--Second Day's Election.--Attack on the Frigate
"Constitution."--A Bloody Fight.--Mayor and Officers wounded.--Mob
triumphant.--Excitement of the Whigs.--The Streets blocked by fifteen
thousand enraged Whigs.--Military called out.--Occupy Arsenal and
City Hall all Night.--Result of the Election.--Excitement of the
Whigs.--Mass-meeting in Castle Garden.
This country never committed a more fatal mistake than in making
its naturalization laws so that the immense immigration from foreign
countries could, after a brief sojourn, exercise the right of suffrage.
Our form of government was an experiment, in the success of which not
only we as a nation were interested, but the civilized world. To have
it a fair one, we should have been allowed to build and perfect the
structure with our own material, not pile into it such ill-formed,
incongruous stuff as the despotisms of Europe chose to send us. Growing
up by a natural process, educating the people to the proper exercise of
their high trust, correcting mistakes, and adjusting difficulties as
we progressed, the noble building would have settled into greater
compactness as it arose in height, and all its various proportions been
in harmony. We should have built slowly but surely. But when there
was thrown upon us a mass of material wholly unfit for any political
structure, and we were compelled to pile it in hap-hazard, it was
not long before the goodly edifice began to show ugly seams, and the
despotisms of Europe pointed to them with scorn, and asked tauntingly
how the doctrine of self-government worked. They emptied their prisons
and poor-houses on our shores, to be rid of a dangerous element at home,
and we, with a readiness that bordered on insanity, not only took them
into our bosoms, but invited them to aid us in making our laws and
electing our rulers. To ask men, the greater part of whom could neither
read nor write, who were ignorant of the first principles of true civil
liberty, who could be bought and sold like sheep in the shambles, to
assist us in founding a model republic, was a folly without a parallel
in the history of the world, and one of which we have not yet begun to
pay the full penalty. It was a cruel wrong, not only to ourselves, but
to the oppressed masses of Europe, who turned their longing eyes on us
for encouragement and the moral aid which our success would give them in
their struggles against despotism.
If the reason given for endowing this floating population--and dangerous
element under any circumstances--with the full rights of citizens had
been the true one, namely: to be just to them, and consistent with the
great doctrine of equality on which our Government rested, there might
be some little comfort in reflecting on the mistake we made. But this
was false. The right of suffrage was given them by a party in order to
secure their votes, and secure them, too, by appealing to those very
passions that made them dangerous to the republic, and which
the interest of all alike required should be removed instead of
strengthened.
All the good the Democratic party has ever done this country will hardly
compensate for the evil of this one act.
If our experiment shall finally prove a failure, we verily believe it
will be owing to the extension of the political franchise to whites and
blacks who were unfit to use it, and cared for it not because of its
honor, or the good use to which it might be put, but as a piece of
merchandise to be sold to the highest bidder or used as a weapon of
assault against good order and righteous laws.
Of course, the first pernicious effect of this transfer of power to
ignorant, reckless men would be felt at the polls in New York City,
where this class was in the greatest number. The elections here soon
became a farce, and the boasted glory of a free ballot-box a taunt and
a by-word. That gross corruption and villany practised here should
eventually result in the open violation of law, as it did in the charter
election of 1834, was natural.
Political animosity was probably more bitter between the Democrats,
under Jackson's administration, and the Whigs, than between any two
political parties since the time of Federalists and Democrats, in the
days of the elder Adams.
In the spring of 1834 especially, party spirit ran very high in the
city. As usual, for a month or more before the election, which took
place on the second Tuesday in April, all kinds of accusations and
rumors were afloat. There was no registry law, and comparatively few
places for the polls, so that there could be little check on voting, no
end to repeating, while the gathering of an immense crowd around each
place of voting became inevitable. At this election, there was a split
in the Democratic party, Mr. Verplanck being the candidate of the
Independent Democrats, and Mr. Lawrence of the "Tammany."
The most extensive preparations were made on both sides for the
conflict, and it was generally expected there would be a personal
collision in some of the wards.
Tuesday, the 8th of April, dawned dark and stormy, and the rain began to
fall heavily, at times coming down in torrents. But to such a fever
heat had the public feeling been carried, that no one seemed to heed the
storm. The stores were closed, business of all kinds suspended; while
the streets were black with men hurrying to the polls. At twelve o'clock
the American flag was hoisted on the Exchange, when the building became
deserted, and all gathered at the places where the voting was going on.
Men stood in long lines, extending clear out into the street, patiently
enduring the pelting rain, waiting till their turn came to vote.
The famous expression of Jackson, "Perish credit, perish commerce,"
had been taken out of the connection in which it was used, and paraded
everywhere. The sailors had been enlisted in the struggle, and rigged
up a beautiful little frigate in complete order, and named it the
"Constitution." Mounting it on wheels, several hundred of them paraded
it through the streets and past the polls. As they passed through
Wall Street, thundering cheers greeted them, and the excited populace,
heedless of the rain, fell into the procession, till it swelled to
thousands, who, with songs and shouts, followed after. Fearful of the
effect of this demonstration on the voters, the Jackson men hastily
rigged out a boat, surmounted by a flag on which was painted in large
characters, "Veto;" and "Constitution" and "Veto" sailed after
each other through the city. This should have been prevented by the
authorities, for it was impossible for these two processions to meet
without a fight occurring, while it was equally certain that the Whig
one would be attacked, if it attempted to pass the polls in those
wards in which the roughs had the control. But the "Hickory poles" had
inaugurated a new mode of carrying on political campaigns. Appeals were
made to the senses, and votes obtained by outward symbols, rather
than by the discussion of important political questions. This mode of
electioneering culminated with the log-cabin excitement.
In the Eleventh Ward, the Jackson party had two private doors through
which to admit their voters to the polls, while bullies kept back from
the main entrance the Independent Republicans. In most of the strong
Jackson wards, where it was all on one side, the voting went on
peaceably enough, but in the Sixth, it was soon evident that a storm was
inevitable. Oaths and threats and yells of defiance made the polls
here seem more like an object on which a mob was seeking to wreak its
vengeance, than a place where freemen were depositing their votes under
sanction of law. The babel of sound continued to grow worse in spite
of the rain, and swelled louder and louder, till at last the Jackson
roughs, headed by an ex-alderman, made a rush for the committee room
where their opponents were assembled. Some of them were armed with
clubs, and others with knives, which they brandished fiercely as they
burst into the room. Before the members could offer any resistance, they
were assailed with such fury, that in a short time nearly twenty were
stretched bleeding and maimed on the floor; one so badly wounded that
he was carried out lifeless, and apparently dead. It was a savage
onslaught, and those who escaped injury reached the street hatless,
and with coats half-torn from their backs. The mob, now being complete
masters of the room, tore down all the banners, destroyed the ballots,
and made a complete wreck of everything. The Whig leaders, enraged at
such dastardly, insulting treatment, despatched a messenger in all haste
to the Mayor for help, but he replied that he could not furnish it, as
all the available force was away in other sections of the city on duty.
The excitement among the Whigs now became fearful, and they determined
to take the matter in their own hands. The election was to last three
days, and they concluded to let the polls, when the mob entered, take
care of themselves the balance of the day, and organize a plan for
self-protection on the morrow.
A call was at once issued for a meeting at Masonic Hall, and that night
four thousand Whigs packed the building, from limit to limit. General
Bogardus was called to the chair, who, after stating the object of
the meeting, and describing the conduct of the mob in the Sixth Ward,
offered the following resolutions:
"_Whereas_, The authority of the POLICE of the city has been set at
defiance by a band of _hirelings, mercenaries_, and _bullies_ in the
Sixth Ward, and the LIVES of our citizens put in jeopardy. And _whereas_
it is evident that we are in a state of anarchy, which requires the
prompt and efficient interposition of every friend of good order who is
disposed to sustain the constitution and laws, therefore, be it
"_Resolved_, That in order to preserve the _peace_ of the city, and
especially of the Sixth Ward, the friends of the constitution and
the liberties of the citizen will meet at this place (Masonic Hall),
to-morrow (Wednesday), at half-past seven o'clock A.M., and repair to
the Sixth Ward poll, for the _purpose of keeping it open to_ ALL VOTERS
until such time as the official authorities may 'procure a sufficient
number of special constables to keep the peace.'
"_Resolved_, That while at the Sixth Ward poll, those who are not
residents thereof will not take part in the election, but simply act as
_conservators of the peace_, until such times as the MAJESTY OF THE LAWS
shall be acknowledged and respected."
These resolutions were carried with acclamations and shouts and stamping
of feet.
There was no bluster in these resolutions, but their meaning was
apparent enough, and the city authorities understood it. From that hall,
next morning, would march at least five or six thousand determined men,
and if the mob rallied in force, to repeat the action of the day before,
there would be one of the bloodiest fights that ever disgraced the city.
It was believed that the great mass of the rioters were Irishmen, and
the thought that native-born Americans should be driven from their own
ballot-box by a herd of foreigners, aroused the intensest indignation.
It was an insult that could not and should not be tolerated.
The next morning, at half-past seven, Masonic Hall was filled to
repletion. The excitement can be imagined, when such a crowd could be
gathered at this early hour.
In the Ninth Ward a meeting was also called, and a resolution passed,
tendering a committee of one hundred to the general committee; that,
with a committee of the same number from each of the fourteen wards of
the city, would make a battalion eighteen hundred strong, to be ready at
a moment's notice, to march to any poll "to protect the sacred right of
suffrage."
These measures had their desired effect. The presence of large bodies of
men at the different polls, for the purpose of protecting them, overawed
the unorganized mob, although in some of the wards attempts were made to
get up a riot. Stones and clubs were thrown, and one man stabbed; it was
thought at the time fatally. The Sixth Ward, "the Bloody Sixth," as
it was called, was the point of greatest danger, and thither the Mayor
repaired in person, accompanied by the sheriff and a large posse, and
remained the greater part of the day. Threats and opprobrious epithets
were freely used, and occasionally a paving-stone would be hurled from
some one on the outskirts of the crowd; but the passage to the polls
was kept open, and by one o'clock the citizens could deposit their votes
without fear of personal violence.
The evil of having the election continue three days now became more
apparent than ever. The disorderly class, "the roughs," by their
protracted drinking, became more and more maddened, and hence riper for
more desperate action. This second night was spent by them in carousing,
and the next morning they turned out to the polls, not only ready, but
eager for a fight. Early in the forenoon, the frigate "Constitution"
was again on its voyage through the streets, followed by a crowd. As
it passed Masonic Hall, the head-quarters of the Whig Committee, it was
saluted with cheers. This was followed by a rush upon it, on the part of
the mob, who attempted to destroy it. The Whigs inside of the building,
seeing the attack, poured forth with a loud cheer, and fell on the
assailants with such fury, that they turned and fled. The news of what
was passing, had, in the meantime, reached the Sixth Ward folks, and
a shout was raised for followers. Instantly a huge crowd, composed of
dirty, ragged, savage-looking men, broke away with discordant yells, and
streamed up Duane Street towards the building, picking up paving-stones
and brick-bats, and pulling down pickets as they ran. Coming in sight of
the little frigate, they raised a shout and dashed on it. The procession
had now passed the hall, but the Whigs, informed of what was going
on, again sallied forth to the help of the sailors, who were fighting
manfully against overwhelming odds. But they were soon overpowered, and
again took refuge in the hall. This was now assailed, and stones came
crashing through the windows. The Mayor was sent for, and soon appeared
with the sheriff, backed by forty watchmen. Mounting the steps, he held
up his staff of office, and commanded the peace. But the half-drunken
mob had now got beyond the fear of the mere symbol of authority, and
answered him with a shower of stones, and then charged on the force that
surrounded him. A fierce and bloody fight followed. Citizens rushed out
to the help of the Mayor, while the watchmen fell on the mob with their
clubs. They soon stretched on the pavement more than their own number,
but the odds against them was too great. The Mayor received a wound--ten
or fifteen watchmen besides citizens were wounded--Captains Stewart,
Munson, and Flaggs, badly injured, the latter with his skull horribly
fractured, ribs broken, and face cut up. A few of the rioters were
arrested, but the great mass broke through all opposition, and streaming
into the hall, forced the committee to creep through back passages and
windows.
The news of this high-handed outrage was carried like the wind to the
lower anti-Democratic wards, and the excited Whigs came streaming up,
until Duane, Elm, Pearl, Cross, Augustus, and Chatham Streets, up to
Broadway, were black with determined, enraged citizens. Ten or fifteen
thousand were in a short time assembled, and a fearful battle seemed
inevitable. In this appalling state of things, the Mayor called a
consultation, and it was decided to declare the city in a state of
insurrection, and call on the military for help. A messenger was
immediately despatched to the Navy Yard for a company of marines.
Colonel Gamble, commanding, replied that he would be glad to comply with
the request, and put himself at their head, but that he had just sent
them on board the "Brandywine" and "Vincennes." Application was then
made to Commodore Hidgely, commander of the station; but he refused, on
the ground that he had no authority to interfere. A messenger was then
hurried across to Governor's Island for help, but he met with no better
success. As a last resort, General Sanford was now directed to call out
the city military.
All this time the crowd kept increasing, while from out its bosom came
an angry murmur like the moaning of the sea before a storm. The polls
were deserted, and it seemed impossible that the opposing forces could
be long kept apart. At length word passed through the Whigs that the mob
were about to take possession of the arsenal. Instantly several hundred
citizens made a dash for it, and occupied it. This was a brilliant piece
of strategy, and no sooner did the rioters hear of it, than they swarmed
around the building with yells and imprecations. The Whigs, however,
held it, and some of them passed out arms to their friends.
Three terrible hours had now passed since the first outbreak, and from
the Park to Duane Street, Broadway, and the cross streets on the east
side of it, were packed with excited men, their shouts, calls, and
curses rising over the dwellings in tones that sent terror to the heart.
But for the narrow streets, in which but few could come in contact,
there would doubtless have been a collision long before.
But at this critical moment a detachment of infantry and two squadrons
of cavalry came marching down Broadway, and in close column. The crowd
divided as they advanced, and they drew up before the arsenal. The
gleaming of the bayonets and the rattle of sabres had a quieting effect
on the rioters, and they began to disperse again to the polls, to watch
the progress of the voting. In the meantime, the infantry took up their
quarters at the arsenal, and the cavalry at the City Hall, for the
night.
When the polls closed at evening, the ballot-box of the Sixth Ward
was taken under a strong guard to the City Hall, and locked up for the
night. It was followed by four or five thousand excited men, but no
violence was attempted.
The election was over. For three days the city had been heaving to the
tide of human passion, and trembling on the verge of a great disaster,
and all because a few ruffians, not a fourth part of whom could probably
read or write, chose to deny the right of suffrage to American citizens,
and constitute themselves the proper representatives of the city.
But the excitement did not end with the election. It was very close, and
as the returns came in slowly, the people assembled in great numbers,
to hear them reported. The next day, till three o'clock at night, ten or
fifteen thousand people blocked Wall Street, refusing to disperse, till
they knew the result. It was finally announced that Mr. Lawrence, the
Democratic candidate, was elected by a small majority.
The next thing was to ascertain the character of the Common Council. The
same mighty throng assembled next day, forgetting everything else in the
intense interest they felt in the result. It would seem impossible
to get up such a state of feeling over the election of a few local
officers, but the city shook from limit to limit as the slow returns
came in. At last, it was announced that the Whigs had carried the Common
Council by a small majority. As the news passed through the immense
concourse, a shout vent up that shook Wall Street from Broadway to the
East River. It rolled back and forth like redoubled thunder, till every
throat was hoarse.
When the crowd at last dispersed, it was only to assemble again in
separate bodies in different parts of the city, and talk over the
victory.
Even then the excitement was not allowed to die away. The event was
too great to be permitted to pass without some especial honor, and a
mass-meeting was called in Castle Garden to celebrate it. Webster was
sent for to make a speech, the most distinguished speakers of New York
were called upon, and a day of general rejoicing followed, great as that
which succeeded Lee's surrender.