It was impossible to control
the cataract-like passions of the rioters. He heard their awful roar for
the sign. The din had risen to terrific proportions. The thought of what
might happen next appalled him. The mob might begin to bombard the sign
with brickbats, and from the sign pass to the building, and from the
building to the constables, and then--but the mayor glanced not beyond,
for he had determined to appease the fury of the mob by throwing down to
it the hateful sign. A constable detached it, and hurled it down to the
rioters in the street. But by the act the mayor had signified that the
rule of law had collapsed, and the rule of the mob had really begun.
When the rioters had wreaked their wrath upon the emblem of freedom,
they were in the mood for more violence. The appetite for destruction,
it was seen, had not been glutted; only whetted. Garrison's situation
was now extremely critical. He could no longer remain where he was, for
the mob would invade the building and hunt him like hounds from cellar
to garret. He must leave the building without delay. To escape from the
front was out of the question. A way of escape must, therefore, be found
in the rear. All of these considerations the mayor and Garrison's
friends urged upon him. The good man fell in with this counsel, and,
with a faithful friend, proceeded to the rear of the building, where
from a window he dropped to a shed, but in doing so was very nearly
precipitated to the ground.
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