John F. McGovern, Hero of NY Draft Riots
JOHN
F. McGOVERN joined Mohawk Hose Company No. 39 on February 1, 1862,
when he was twenty-one years old. An enthusiastic fireman, he
made the company's house in Twenty-sixth Street, his home, and
asked no better accommodation than the bunk-room offered. Though
his term of service was short, it was eventful, including, as
it did, the fearful days of the draft riots in the summer of 1863.
Whoever remembers that awful time will not forget the gallantry
of the firemen and the tests to which they were put. Hose 39 furnished
her own quota of heroes, among them Mr. McGovern was one of the
most conspicuous and most modest. To this ay he speaks of his
exploit with reluctance, and only persistent questioning can draw
the story from him. He can tell, if he will, of the days when
his company did police as well as fire duty. When the lumber yards
along the East River front were fired, the mob built a strong
barricade of trucks, boxes, timber, stones, etc., across Fourteenth
Street. But it needed a stronger barricade than this to keep back
the Mohawk, and John McGovern was foremost as they grasped the
ropes hard and dragged their carriage completely over the barricade.
Mr. McGovern's parents lived on the west
side of Second Avenue, one door from Twenty-ninth street. In the
rear of the row, between Twenty-eighth and Twenty-ninth Streets
was a courtyard upon which three frame houses opened. These houses
were occupied by respectable colored people, who reached their
homes by a narrow alley leading from the Twenty-eighth Street
side. Back of the houses, on the north side of the court, was
a small yard, separated by a high fence from the McGovern property.
A gang of rioters entered the alley in the morning and set fire
to the houses. Before the firemen could arrive the flames barred
exit through the alley, and the negroes retreated tot he little
yard already mentioned. Hotter and hotter grew the fire; nearer
and nearer it came to the frightened group, who believed that
they were staring a horrible death in the face. Strong, active
men, unencumbered, might scale the fences, but for the old and
feeble, and women with babes in their arms, and little ones clinging
to their skirts, there seemed no hope of rescue. McGovern, with
Dan Rooney and Joe Twombly, ran into the former's yard and heard,
above the crackling of the fire, the vices on the other side of
the fence. Some of the colored people called frantically for help--made
"a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire." Others had lost
hope, and meekly prayed that God would receive their spirits.
The voices steeled the arms of the firemen,
who in a few moments had battered down the fence, and drawn the
imperilled group into the McGovern yard. But they had now to face
another enemy. Filling the streets, and pouring into areas and
hallways, was the mob, a foe more cruel than the deaf and frantic
fire. When they saw the black faces, the rioters ran toward them,
howling like the wild beasts they were. Bravely the three firemen
defended their charges. With their helmets like shields in their
left hands, and their hydrant wrenches in their right, they struck
out fiercely, knocking down every wretch who came too near. Rooney
and Twombly managed o get all the negroes to a place of safety,
except a mulatto child, four years old, named Reed, who clung
to McGovern. Strong and brave as he was, the stalwart fireman
could not fight the mob alone.
He snatched the child in his arms and ran up the avenue, pursued
by a yelling crown hurling sticks and stones at him. Near Thirtieth
Street he ran into a brown stone house, and gained the backyard.
The fences wre moderately high, and surrounded by a narrow ledge,
upon which a cool-headed person might walk with safety for some
distance. At an angle of the fence Mr. McGovern climbed, while
the child clung to his neck. He heard the mob shouting as he walked
cautiously along the ledge. Having passed three or four yards
he dropped into one, and ran to a window, where he saw a woman's
face. He explained the situation to her in a few words, and asked
her to take temporary charge of the child. The woman consented,
and Mr. McGovern rejoined his company. Early the next morning,
he and Twombly borrowed a wagon of a German baker, named George
Bauer.
The disorder had partially subsided, and they had no trouble in
reaching the house in which was David Reed. During the night the
child had been restless. He had slept a little, then awoke weeping,
and begging to be taken from the fire and the men in the street.
Mr. McGovern wrapped a shawl about him and told him to be quiet,
and he would see his mother. The child promised, and kept his
word. He was put into a bread-box in the wagon, and a stick shoved
under the corner of the lid for ventilation. Mr. McGovern drove
to Police Headquarters, where he was told that several colored
families had taken refuge. As he carried David to the top floor,
he heard voices of prayer and lamentation. In a large room were
many negroes. Mr. McGovern took the shawl from the boy and held
him up.
"Whose child is this?" There was a wild, half-savage scream of
delight, as two women sprang forward. They were David Reed's mother
and grandmother. With hysterical sobs and laughter they embraced
the fireman's knees, kissed his hands and invoked on his behalf
every blessing with which Heaven rewards those who risk their
lives in defending the helpless. In a pamphlet written at the
time, Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, Jr., mentions Mr. McGovern's gallantry.
He called at the hose company's house to make the hero's acquaintance,
and said he would be glad to serve Mr. McGovern at any time. When
Henry Ward Beecher went to England during the war, he was quoted
as saying that the instigators of the draft riots were mostly
Irishmen. In answer to this a prominent Dublin journal spoke of
the rescue of the Reed child, and suggested that there might be
Irishmen on the side of law and order too, since McGovern was
undoubtedly an Irish name. Mr. McGovern got an appointment as
clerk in the Post-office, where his duties conflicted with those
of a fireman. He resigned from the department December 5, 1864.
Little David Reed never recovered from his awful experience, and
died a short time later.
