Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 2

1 Josiah Quincy, Jr., afterwards Mayor of Boston, then President of the Common Council, saw the whole movement in Wilson's Lane from his office at 27 State Street. In obedience to his official duty, ‘I rushed down,’ he says, Jan. 7, 1870 ( “ Garrison Mob,” p. 54), ‘and forced myself into his [Garrison's] immediate vicinity, and remained at his side until he was placed in a carriage and drove off.’ Charles Sprague, the banker poet, could also overlook the scene in Wilson's Lane: ‘I saw an exasperated mob dragging a man along without his hat and with a rope about him. The man walked with head erect, calm countenance, flashing eyes, like a martyr going to the stake, full of faith and manly hope. The crowd turned into State Street, and I saw him no more’ (Quoted in Wendell Phillips's lecture on ‘The Lyman Mob’ in Boston Music Hall, Nov. 17, 1870—Boston Journal, Nov. 18). At this point, Charles Burleigh takes up the tale: ‘Going to the Post-office, I saw the crowd pouring out from Wilson's Lane into State Street with a deal of clamor and shouting, and heard the exulting cry, “They've got him—They've got him.” And so, sure enough, they had. The tide set toward the south door of the City Hall, and in a few minutes I saw Garrison between two men who held him and led him along, while the throng pressed on every side, as if eager to devour him alive. His head was bare, his face a little more highly colored than in his most tranquil moments, as if flushed by moderate exercise, and his countenance composed’ (Lib. 5.171). And now the Mayor: ‘On my way from the Liberator office to the City Hall,—a short distance, say one hundred and fifty yards,--several persons said to me, “They are going to hang him; for God's sake, save him!” —at least ten or fifteen said this. I turned down the street south of the City Hall, and there I saw Garrison, without his hat, in the midst of what seemed a prodigious concourse of people. I rushed to his rescue. I met him a little to the east of the south door of the Hall. He was in the hands of two men, one holding him with great strength on each side. As soon as I reached Garrison he looked up (before, his head was bent to the earth) and smiled. [But not in recognition: Mr. Garrison had removed his glasses in fear of what might happen to his eyes, and became practically blind. This was an all-sufficient mode of blindfolding himself when playing at hide-and-seek with his children.] I said to the men who held him, “Take him into my office.” I placed myself before him and backed, as well as I could, towards the steps of the Hall’ ( “Garrison mob,” p. 21). Finally, Col. James W. Sever saw the mob rounding the eastern end of the City Hall, ‘having in custody William L. Garrison, in his shirt-sleeves, and without a hat, having a rope around his waist. As they turned towards Washington Street they were met by the Mayor and a force of constables. At this moment the cry was raised, “ To the Frog Pond with him ” followed by an appeal to the bystanders to assist the Mayor, when, among many others, the late [1870] Colonel Thomas C. Amory and myself aided in the rescue of Mr. Garrison from the crowd, and in placing him within the south door of the Old State House, [City Hall], which was at once closed’ ( “Garrison mob,” p. 44).