[D1] "Run on the Girard Bank," Spirit of the Times, Jan. 27, 1842

Run on the Girard Bank—Terrible Excitement—Threatened Mob—A Graphic Picture of the Thrilling Scene.

For several weeks we have ever and anon cautioned the public against placing too much faith in the stability of the Girard Bank.  We had reasons for believing that it was very far from being a solvent institution; and although we were unable to publish those reasons, from the fact that in our State "the greater the truth, the greater the libel," is the prevailing maxim of the law, a sense of duty compelled us to warn every reader of the presence of danger, and bid every man, woman, and child, to "touch not—handle not" its faithless promises.

On Monday, Tuesday, and yesterday, apprehensive of the close proximity of a crisis, we continued to "cry aloud and spare not" in the premises.  We thought our immense circulation would have the requisite effect, and sure enough! yesterday the public became alarmed in reality.  Early in the morning, a tremendous run was made upon the Girard Bank, as well as a slight one upon the others; and before noon, the former had well nigh closed its doors, while the latter were filled with fear and agitation.

The Girard Bank was soon compelled to stop exchanging any of its notes except fives.  The street in front, and the pavement opposite, as well as the Bank itself was filled with a dense crowd of excited persons all speaking in the most energetic terms of the insolvency of the institution—cursing their own stupidity in not following the advice of the "Times" and eschewing its notes—and anathematising the corruption and conduct of banks in general.  Pickpockets had their hands full in the crowd, and many an individual had his pocket lightened of notes that but a few minutes before he had tried in vain to get the Bank to exchange.  No great loss, that!

All the other Banks refused about 11 o'clock to receive Girard notes on deposit.  The Bank of North America refused to pay a check for $900 unless the holder would take it in Girard notes!  The Mechanics Bank refused even to receive back the notes on the Girard which it had paid out only an hour before!  Most of the other Banks acted with similar precaution.  A meeting was held in the morning and one in the afternoon at the Girard, of a Committee from the other Banks, but we did not learn the result.  It was admitted on all sides that the Girard was "a gone case."  Its stock sold at the Board yesterday for five dollars and a half per share for fifty dollars paid, while stock of the defunct Schuylkill Bank sold for seven dollars per share.  Comment is unnecessary.

It is impossible to picture the consternation which this "blow up" has occasioned among our citizens.  To many, the loss is irreparable.  To all, the loss is great, for immense pains were taken to force its paper into general circulation.  The brokers are in for it this time, since we are told they had large amounts of Girard Bank notes on hand, purchased under the impression that it would stand up a few days more!  One poor woman whom we saw in front of the bank crying bitterly, said that on Saturday last she had sold one hundred dollars in gold to a broker for $106 50 in paper; that she had received Girard paper, and now that the bank was broken, she was ruined.

"Why didn't you read the Times?" said a bystander, "then you would not have taken such worthless notes."

"Oh," she rejoined weeping, "I was told the Times was a wicked paper, and told lies; but I wish to goodness I had taken its advice."

This was only one of an hundred similar scenes.  Some of them defied description.  On two or three occasions, there was manifested on the part of the crowd a disposition to rush in and "gut" the bank, as they termed it.

"Let us tear it down, and strew salt on its ruins!" cried a voice.

"Let us break into its vaults!" echoed another.

"Pshaw! you'll find them like your head," sneered a Director.

"How is that?" inquired a dozen directly.

"Empty!" was the response.

The arrival of the Mayor of the city on the spot, dissipated for the time the idea of any outrage on the institution.

About half past two o'clock we wended our way into the bank, and found the place occupied by a crowd of people of all ranks and classes.  Some were scattered in groups of two or three, along the floor; here and there a hard working mechanic stood silent and alone, fingering the valueless notes which he held in his hand; and the paying teller's counter was blocked up by a dense mass of applicants for their rights.  Taking the arm of a friend whose pocket was filled with the worthless notes, we strolled around the room, and listened to the conversation of the various groups.

"Yonder stands Mayor Scott, looking through the spaces between those two pillars, and listening to the gallant Col. Lee, who is standing by those scales.  Observe how earnestly he is talking to that mechanic dressed in a coarse blue overcoat, and with a bundle of greasy notes in his hand.  Let us hear what the parties have to say."

"Now, sir," said Col. Lee, speaking to the mechanic, "it would be better for you to leave this matter rest till to-morrow morning.  Tumult will not better this calamity."

"Tumult, sir—tumult—who wants to make any tumult?  Here I have in my hands four hundred dollars which I received last night in payment of a debt, and now I cannot get rid of it on any consideration.  I'm a poor, hard-working man;—every cent I get is earned by the labor of my hands.—Would it be strange, sir, if there was a little tumult about this matter?  I've a queer word in my mind.  Colonel—a very queer word—a word of four syllables—"

"What is it?"

"CIN-CIN-NA-TI—"

Yonder is a group of mechanics.  Observe that honest, although rough-visaged fellow, who is dressed in a rusty blue coat.  He is looking at the golden eagle which surmounts the door of the banking room.  Let's hear what he has to say.

"I say Bill," said the man in the blue coat, to his companion—"I say Bill wouldn't this here place make a capital ball room, hey?  Do nice for a dance house or some other kind of a house—wouldn't it?"

"Why Jake I wouldn't like to see that American Eagle in the kind of house you speak of—"

"Why if the place was converted into a hogsty, insane hospital, penitentiary, or sich-a-kind-of-a-house that American Eagle wouldn't, or couldn't be more disgraced than he is now, when his wings are sheltering a pack of thieves, pirates and swindlers.  This is Pirates Hall Bill—"

"And this 'ere thundering crowd might be called the Bank Directors Swiree-eh?  Jake?"

We resumed our stroll.  The scene was now highly exciting.  The crowd at the paying teller's desk became more importunate in its demands, and we could see the whole line of clerks, dressed in their white jackets—almost as pale and white as their faces—bowing with folded arms to the applicants for their money.

Wondering what this bowing might mean, we approached.

"Here sir—" cried a respectable looking man, leaning over the counter and addressing one of the clerks—"Here, sir, is a ten dollar note of your money—I want change for it."

"We don't take them notes here."  The clerk bowed very politely.

"Isn't this your note?"

"We don't take them notes here."

"Look at this note, and see if it ain't on the Girard Bank—see if it ain't good."

"We don't take them notes here."

"Well, by G-d but this is too much!" exclaimed the man, excited beyond all power of endurance.  "What am I to do?  How am I to pay my debts—unless you give me something for your notes I am a ruined and a broken man—"

"We don't take them notes here."

"Well," exclaimed an elderly gentleman, who was standing near, "well, if this is not a little beyond the power of endurance.  I am an old man, and I have ever stood against mob law; but—but—my friends, we are not stones—we are not like these pillars—we have blood in our veins.  My friends, there is a point at which sufferance ceases to be a virtue."

"There is indeed!" shouted twenty voices.  This was rather a curious unanimity of feeling.

Our attention was now attracted by another scene.  An old man, with long gray hair, white eyebrows, and venerable appearance, was standing near one of the pillars, with his hands dropped listlessly by his side, while his eyes wandered vacantly around the place.  He was surrounded by a throng who seemed listening to the words that issued from his lips.  We drew nigh, and discovered that he also held a roll of bank notes in his hand.

"What are you murmuring at, old buster?" exclaimed an unthinking boy, who stood near.

"Stand aside," said the old man, with a wildness in his tone that showed signs of a disordered mind.  "Stand aside, boys—I see him—I see him—"

"See who?  See who?"

"Don't you see him sitting up yonder behind the gold eagle, and looking down on the crowd.  See how black he looks—he's a-winking his eye at this Board of Directors, as much as to say—O, if I could get hold of you, wouldn't I lay it into you-wouldn't I?—"

"Is the man crazy?  Who do you mean?  Who is it that you see?"

"Who?  Why there stands old Stephen Girard—don't you see him behind the gold eagle there—ha! ha!—how old Stephy would lay it into the rascals—wouldn't he?"

The crowd shrank back with instinctive respect to the sorrows of the crazed old man.  What was the cause of his madness?  Let those concerned in the Bank answer.

The excitement and bustle continued until the clock struck three, when a mild, corpulent gentleman, with exceedingly sparkling eyes and affable look, was observed walking about the room.

"Gentlemen"—said he—"Gentlemen, you will please retire-it's after banking hours, and, in fact, gentlemen, we would like to close—"

"Will you ever open again?" cried a hundred voices.

"Gentlemen," exclaimed Col. Lee, at the top of his voice, "it is the duty of every good citizen to retire before he is forced out."

"We wont go till we've got our money," shouted the throng.

"You ought to go," cried the little, short, thickset watchman, with a very big, stiff, black beard, and exceedingly large spectacles—"you ought to go—you really ought to go—why gentlemen, gentlemen, it's after banking hours, and you really ought to go."

"We're waiting for tea," cried one.

"Is the ball over," inquired another.

"How skeered they all look," added a third.

The crowd were finally "leaked" out, and in the course of a half hour the banking room was entirely clear, with the exception of the clerks, directors, our worthy mayor, and a few other gentlemen.  Much curiosity being manifested outside to know what was going on within, our Flib, who happened to be near the bank, consented to use his ring and enter.  In a moment he returned.

"O dear, O dear," he cried, "sich an affectin sight—there was our popular mayor, having four directors on their knees before him, and they were all a-cryin to the Lord for mercy on their souls—and the whole four bank directors, raised three tears among the four, a very affectin sight—truly."

For an hour or more after the bank was closed, the street in the immediate neighborhood was blocked up by a dense crowd, who occupied the pavement in front of the bank, as well as the steps and space in front of the door of the bank.  So ends the first day.