Pennsylvania Hall, Retrospective Newspaper Articles

              [??A] TIMES.

April 29, 1896.

Seen and Heard In Many Places.

The publication of a defense of Mayor Swift and a brief reference to the fact that he was accused of indecision, if not cowardice, at the time of the anti-Abolition riots, has led to many inquiries from those of the present generation as to the circumstances surrounding those scenes of disorder.

The story is practically contained in the events leading to the burning of Pennsylvania Hall, then situated on Sixth street, below Race.

During the early part of the month of May, 1838, it was very evident that the humane intention of many of those sturdy lovers of liberty -- the Abolitionists -- had provoked the anger of the pro-slavery people to such an extent that a serious rupture must inevitably ensue.  That believers in human bondage nearly half a century ago in this goodly City of Penn were numerous -- so numerous, indeed, that even the Mayor of the city showed a strong disinclination to interfere with the work of the mob that destroyed Pennsylvania Hall and in rather a weak speech almost gave his sanction to the work of destruction -- seems almost incredible.  It was a brave band of men and women that assembled in that building on the night of May 16, 1838.  There were threatenings and mutterings all over the city.  The first indication of disorderly spirit was manifested on that morning, when a hundred or more men were seen prowling about the building examining the exits and entrances as though preparing for an attack.  The meeting in the evening was addressed by those zealous friends of the slave, William Lloyd Garrison, Alvin Stuart, John G. Whittier, Angelina E. G. Weld and several women courageous enough to defy the dangerous mob spirit.  There were three thousand people in the hall and they were greatly disturbed by the hooting and yelling on the street.  Occasionally a brick was thrown through a window, and the meeting was adjourned a half hour before the time set.  On the morning of the 17th a larger mob began to assemble on Sixth street in the neighborhood of Sassafras, and a committee of the managers immediately called upon Mayor John Swift and delivered to him a letter addressed "Esteemed Friend."  In plain words the managers recounted the particulars of the disturbance, and called upon his Honor in the following language to protect them from violence:

["]To-morrow the State Anti-Slavery party will meet at 8 o'clock, Free Produce Convention at 10 o'clock; the Convention of American Women will meet at 1 o'clock P.M., and the Free Produce Convention will meet at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and the Pennsylvania State Anti-Slavery Society will meet at 8 o'clock in the evening, and we shall continue to use our building from time to time, as occasion may require, and we call upon thee, as Chief Magistrate of the city, to protect us and our property in the exercise of the constitutional rights peaceably to assemble and discuss any subject of general interest.  Respectfully thine,

DANIEL MEALL, President["]

Imagine the astonishment of those peaceful men in drab, shad-bellied coats and broad-brimmed hats when the Chief Magistrate of the city replied that it would be necessary for him to see the Attorney General and consult with him about the law.  The committee asked him upon what point he wanted information and he replied in relation to damages; that he wanted to see whether the county was liable to pay the costs.  The committee told him that they had not called to claim damages but to seek protection.  To this Mayor Swift replied in these remarkable words: "There are always two sides to a question -- public opinion makes mobs and ninety-nine out of a hundred of those with whom I conversed are against you.  However, I will go there this evening and make a speech.  If that does not answer I can do nothing more."  This rather unsatisfactory interview resulted in the committee calling upon the Sheriff, who said he would be very happy to afford protection, but that was the Mayor's duty.  "The Mayor," said he, "has one hundred and sixty men.  I only have a dozen.  Nevertheless, as far as my personal, official and moral influence will go, you shall have the full benefit."  When the committee made this report to the Board of Managers there was another hunt for the Mayor, who could not be found; then for the Sheriff.  That zealous official had taken himself to parts unknown.  About 7 o'clock that evening the Mayor appeared in the neighborhood of the hall, and forcing his way through the mob mounted a barrel and made a milk and water speech of five minutes' duration, at the conclusion of which he was heartily cheered by the hoodlums.  There were at least fifteen thousand men and half grown boys assembled on Sixth, North Fifth and Sassafras streets awaiting for the slightest provocation to begin the long-premeditated attack.  It came when a German baker, whose name is now forgotten, approached the door of the hall with a crow-bar and began battering on the panels.  Instantly Sixth street became one vast pandemonium.  The crowd pushed this way and that, and shrieked and yelled like very fiends.  A woman with a red turban on her head cried out, "Kill the niggers! kill the niggers!  Down with the Abolitionists!"  A dozen men secured a long log and used it as a battering ram to assist the men with the crowbar.  The door fell in with a crash.  Hundreds of men surged into the building, tramping over each other in their haste to apply the torch.  Twenty or thirty young men followed this mob with armsful of paper, which they carried up on the speaker's platform and applied the match.  The gas fixtures were torn off and the pipes directed towards the blazing paper.  In a few moments the woodwork took fire and in twenty minutes more the flames were darting from every window.  The primitive fire department of those days loved noise and clamor, and it was just pie for them to visit such a scene.  They turned water on the burning building, but no sooner was a stream of water directed against the hot walls than some one would cut the hose.  In less than two hours nothing but the walls of Pennsylvania Hall were standing.