Macready, who had been dressing, now approached and also took a peep from behind the curtain. His gaze was long and searching. The scrutiny did not satisfy him, and he turned away and began to pace backward and forward in one of the wings, moody and thoughtful. The stamping had ceased while the orchestra was playing, but it now commenced again, apparently louder than ever. Lady Macbeth in full dress now came on the stage, pale and agitated. She also took a peep from behind the curtain. The spectacle frightened her, and turning to Mr. Hackett, she whispered, rather than exclaimed, "My God! Mr. Hackett, what is the matter? Are we to be murdered to-night?" "My dear Madam," he replied, "keep calm, there is no cause for alarm; everything will go on smoothly;" but his pale face and anxious look belied his words. It seemed now as if the house would come down under the continuous, furious stamping. Hackett turned to Bowyer, and asked if the chief had come. The latter replied he did not know; and another silence followed in the group behind the curtain, while they stood and listened to the thundering tramp, tramp, that rose like muffled thunder. At length Hackett asked: "How many policemen are there in the house?" "I don't know," replied Bowyer. "But the chief should have known," retorted the former. "What do you want the police to do, Mr. Niblo?" quietly asked Bowyer. The latter hesitated a moment, when the attaches of the theatre came crowding forward in alarm, and asking by their scared looks what it all meant.
Macready and Mrs. Pope, in full costume, were at this time standing apart, talking together, evidently discussing the best course to be pursued. The uproar seemed to grow louder, and prudence dictated a suspension of the play; but Macready, after a moment's hesitation, determined to risk it, and suddenly gave the signal to raise the curtain. The bell tinkled, and the curtain slowly rose, revealing the gorgeous scene and the actors standing in a blaze of light. Instantly the tumult ceased, and a deep sudden hush succeeded. Those roughs were evidently taken aback by the dazzling splendor that burst upon them. It was a new revelation to them, and for the moment they seemed to forget the object of their coming, and to be wholly absorbed in the vision before them.
The first scene passed off quietly, and the fears of a disturbance were allayed. In the second, taking Duncan for Macbeth, the crowd began to hiss, but soon finding their mistake ceased. It was evident that some one better posted than the mass had control of this wild element, so eager to be let loose. At length Macbeth came on, and was received with deafening cheers by those in the boxes. As these died away, a hiss ran through the amphitheatre and parquette, followed by cat-calls, cock-crowing, and sounds of every imaginable description. Macready had hardly uttered a single sentence, before his voice was totally drowned in the uproar. Forced to stop; he quietly folded his arms and faced the storm, expecting it would soon blow over. Finding himself mistaken—that if anything it grew louder and fiercer, his disdain turned into foolish anger, and advancing to the footlights, and throwing all the contempt and scorn into his face that he was master of, he deliberately walked the entire breadth of the stage, gazing haughtily as he did so, into the faces of the roughs nearest him, who were bawling their throats hoarse. This did not mend matters any, as he easily could have foreseen, had he known this type of American character better. He then attempted to go on and outbellow, if possible, the audience. But it was like shouting amid the roar of breakers. Nobody heard a word he said, still he stuck to it till he got through that portion of the act. It was now Lady Macbeth's turn, and the appearance of a woman, it was thought, would command that respect which in America is almost always accorded to one. But her reception was worse than that of Macready, for not content with shouts and yells they heaped disgusting epithets on her, and were so vulgar in their ribaldry that she flew in affright from the stage, "blushing," it was said, "even through the rouge on her face." Macready, however, showing, if nothing else, good English pluck, determined to go on. But he had scarcely finished the first sentence, when some potatoes struck the stage at his feet; then rotten eggs, breaking and spattering their sickening contents over his royal robes; while howls that seemed to come from the lower regions arose on every side. It was Pandemonium broke loose, and those in the boxes, thoroughly alarmed, jumped to their feet and stood as if paralyzed, gazing on the strange spectacle below. Macready's passions were now thoroughly aroused, and he stubbornly stood his ground. Suddenly a chair hurled from above, and evidently aimed at his head, struck the stage at his feet and broke into fragments, followed by the shout, "Go off the stage, you English fool! Hoo! Three cheers for Ned Forrest!" which were given with a will. Then came another chair, narrowly missing Macready's head, who, now alarmed for his personal safety, fled from the stage, and the curtain fell. But the bedlam that had been let loose did not stop. Hoots, curses, threats of vengeance, and the confused sounds of a mob given wholly over to passion, struck terror into all hearts; and Macready, fearing a rush would be made for him behind the scenes, left the theatre by a private door, and jumping into a carriage was rapidly driven to his hotel. The manager, alarmed for the safety of the building, attempted to announce his departure to the audience, but in vain. They would not listen to him, and as a last resort he chalked in large letters on a board, "Macready has left the theatre" and hoisted it before the footlights. This had the desired effect, and the headlong crowd, with shouts and laughter, began to tumble out. Once in the street, they sent up a loud hurrah, and dispersed in groups to their various drinking places, to talk over their victory and damn all Englishmen.
The fact that the mob refrained from damaging the theatre, shows that they did not desire destruction; they had only done in their rough way what other men deemed respectable, and even legislators, have often done, and almost as boisterously, to prevent an obnoxious person from being heard. They certainly had many respectable precedents for their course, and Mr. Macready should have done what others have been compelled to do—given up the attempt and waited for a more propitious time. That a man has a right to play or speak, is true; but men of all grades have always asserted the right to show their displeasure of the acting of the one or the sentiments of the other. Not that there is any excuse for such conduct as we have described, but it can be hardly called a serious riot, although by whomsoever committed is unquestionably riotous in its character.
Of this contemptible, disgraceful interference of his friends in his quarrel, Forrest had nothing to say—he kept a studied silence. How a man with any self-respect could have refrained from denouncing it, and repudiating all sympathy and connection with it by a public card, it will be difficult for men of ordinary sensibility to imagine.
Macready now determined to throw up his engagement altogether, but after much consultation and deliberation changed his mind. A letter was addressed to him by many of the most wealthy and prominent citizens of the city, in which they expressed their regret at the treatment he had received, and urged him not to yield to such a lawless spirit. They promised that he should be protected in his rights, and hoped he would give the city an opportunity to wipe out the stain that had been put upon its character. This he unwisely consented to do, and the next Thursday was fixed for his appearance in the same play. When the placards announcing it were pasted up, there appeared immediately alongside of them another, announcing the appearance on the same evening of Forrest, in the Broadway Theatre, in the character of the "Gladiator."
In the meantime other posters appeared, and among them the following in startling capitals:
"WORKINGMEN!
SHALL AMERICANS OR ENGLISH RULE IN THIS CITY?
The crew of the British steamer have threatened all Americans who shall dare to offer their opinions this night at the