ENGLISH ARISTOCRATIC OPERA HOUSE.
WORKINGMEN! FREEMEN! STAND UP TO YOUR LAWFUL RIGHTS."
It will be observed, that this artful appeal was like a two-edged sword, cutting both ways. It aimed at the same time to stir up the hatred of the lower classes against the upper, by the word aristocratic; and the national hatred of the English, by calling it the English aristocratic Opera House to be guarded by English sailors. Both parties now began active preparations for the eventful night—the rioters by increasing and organizing their forces, and setting on foot plans to get possession of the house; the friends of Macready, to prevent this from being done, and at the same time secure sufficient aid from the authorities to suppress all open violence. To keep the rowdies from occupying the house, tickets were sold or given away only to those known to be friendly to Macready; while to suppress violence, three hundred police were promised, to be supported if necessary by two regiments of soldiers, who were ordered to be under arms at their quarters, ready to march at a moment's notice.
As the day advertised for the play approached, the excitement deepened, and serious trouble seemed unavoidable. On the appointed evening, a strong body of police was quietly placed inside of the house, with definite instructions how to act. In the meantime, an immense crowd had assembled in front of the building, and, when at last the doors opened, a rush was made for them. But the police kept the crowd back, and only those who had tickets were admitted. When the house was fairly filled, the doors were closed and fastened. In the meantime the windows had been barricaded, with the exception of one, which was overlooked. This the now disappointed rabble assailed with stones, sending them through it, in among the startled audience. They tried also to break down one of the doors, but the policemen's clubs stopped them. Then commenced a series of yells and shouts, mingled with horrid oaths and threats as the baffled wretches surged around the building. Finding nothing else to vent their rage on, they attacked the lamps in the neighborhood, breaking them to pieces, and putting out the lights.
In the meantime, the play inside, with this wild accompaniment without, commenced. Notwithstanding all the care that had been taken, a large number of roughs had succeeded in procuring tickets, showing that some professedly respectable men had been in collusion with them. Although the rioters inside were in a minority, they were not daunted, and being determined that the play should not go on, commenced stamping and yelling so, that Macready's voice from the outset was completely drowned.
The police in disguise had mingled all day with the rioters, and ascertained what the mode of action inside the house was to be. At a certain point in the play, a signal was to be given, on seeing which the entire body was to make a rush for the stage and seize Macready. The Chief of Police arranged his plans accordingly, and imparted them to the force under him. He therefore made no effort to stop the noise, but waited for the expected signal. At length it was given, and the entire body of rioters rose with a yell and sprang forward. But at that moment, the chief gave his signal, which was lifting his hat from his head. Every eye of those determined policemen had been intently watching it, and as it now rose, they sprang with a single bound upon the astonished rowdies, and before they could recover from their surprise, most of them were outside of the building, while the ringleaders were kept back and caged inside.
The play now went on, but it was a spiritless affair. Every ear was turned to hear the muffled roar of the voices outside, which every moment increased in power as the mighty multitude kept swelling in numbers.
The afterpiece was omitted, and Macready escaping through a private door, hastened to his hotel. It seemed for a time that the building would be torn down; but at length, a regiment of the National Guard, preceded by a body of cavalry, was seen marching steadily up Broadway. The crowd parted as it advanced, and as it turned into Eighth Street, the sharp word of command, "right wheel," rang out distinct and clear over the uproar. The rioters, instead of being intimidated, rushed to a pile of paving-stones that unfortunately happened to be near, and arming themselves with these, began to pelt the horses, which soon became unmanageable, so that the cavalry force had to retire.
The infantry then advanced, but were received with such a deluge of stones that they, too, fell back to Broadway. Here they rallied, and at the order forward, moved steadily on the mob, and forced their way to the front of the Opera House. While forming line here on the sidewalk, they were assailed so fiercely with paving-stones, that the soldiers fell rapidly. The rioters were in close quarters, and the heavy stones, hurled at such a short distance, were almost as deadly as musket-balls. Captain Pond soon fell wounded, when the second in command told the sheriff that if he did not give the order to fire, the troops would be withdrawn, for they couldn't stand it. Recorder Talmadge, unwilling to resort to such a desperate measure, attempted to harangue the mob. He begged them, in God's name, to disperse and go home—if they did not, the soldiers would certainly fire on them, etc. The only reply was hoots and yells of defiance, and paving-stones. The Recorder then forced his way up to General Hall, standing at the right of the battalion, and said: "You must order your men to fire; it is a terrible alternative, but there is no other." The General asked for the Mayor, for he was doubtful of his authority to do so, without his order. "He won't be here," replied Talmadge. General Sandford then said: "Well, the National Guards will not stand and be pounded to death with stones; nearly one-third of the force is already disabled." After a little more hurried conversation, the sheriff said, "If that be so, you have permission to fire." The uproar all this time was deafening, and the order, "Ready!" of General Sandford, could hardly be heard; but the sharp, quick rattle of steel rose distinctly over the discord. Still terribly repugnant to shoot down citizens, General Hall and Colonel Duryea made another attempt to address the crowd, and begged them to cease these attacks. "Fire and be d—ned!" shouted a burly fellow. "Fire, if you dare—take the life of a freeborn American for a bloody British actor! D—n it, you dassent fire!" and he boldly bared his breast to the levelled muskets. "Fire, will you?" yelled another, as he hurled a paving-stone at General Sandford, wounding his sword arm. "Hit 'em again!" shouted a third, who saw the well-directed aim. Still averse to shedding blood, General Hall told the soldiers to elevate their pieces over the heads of the people, and fire at the blank wall of Mr. Langton's house opposite, hoping thus to frighten the mob. But this only awakened derision, and the leaders shouted, "Come on, boys! they have blank cartridges and leather flints!" In the meantime, the police, who had mingled with the mob, and were making arrests, began to force their way out, in order to escape the fire that now seemed inevitable. The troops moved across the street, and faced toward the Bowery, obeying the word of command promptly, and marching with great steadiness, although the pelting they received was murderous. To retreat would be pusillanimous, to stand there and be pelted to death worse still; and General Hall finally gave the order to fire point blank, but to aim low, so that men would be wounded, rather than killed. The command fell clear and distinct, "Fire!"
A single musket shot on the extreme left was the only response. They were too near—their muzzles almost touching the hearts of the men, and it seemed terribly murderous to fire. "Fire!" shouted General Sandford.