As we watch construction
of the new General Assembly Building on Virginia’s Capitol Square, it is
important to remember that not every architectural transformation there has
occurred under such happy circumstances.
If
you want to treat yourself to a fun day trip, head east along 360. As you pass by gorgeous green fields on the
way to Tappahannock, you will go through a place called Aylett. The
unincorporated place called Aylett is known for its recreation, rich history,
and a day school of the same name. Because
there is often a story behind such names, one can’t help wondering where this
one originated. As it happens, it was named for a family called Aylett, William
Aylett in particular, who successfully ran mills and warehouses there. It is also where Patrick Henry Aylett was
born in 1825.
Patrick
Henry Aylett traced his roots to the Revolutionary War generation. His
grandmother, Elizabeth Henry Aylett, was the youngest daughter of the great
orator and first Virginia Governor Patrick Henry. So it was that in that family
Patrick Henry became a popular name. Many of you may have met Patrick Henry in
modern guise at Richmond’s historic St. John’s Church reenactment of the “Give
me liberty or give me death” speech from the 1775 Second Virginia Convention. The public participates in this passionately
patriotic reenactment Sundays from Memorial to Labor Day. It’s a really Richmond thing to do with
family and friends.
Patrick
Henry Aylett distinguished himself from his famous ancestor by going by the
name of Henry. Intelligent and articulate,
Henry Aylett began his academic pursuits at Washington College, next at the University
of Virginia, and finally earned his law degree at Harvard. He embarked on a
successful law practice in both King William County and Richmond. He was so successful in fact that President
James Buchanan appointed him to be the United States District Attorney for the
Eastern District. He was lured from the law by the literary bug, editing and
publishing Richmond’s Examiner and
Enquirer. Unlike many of his peers, he managed to avoid what was then the editorial
occupational hazard of dueling. He married well and had three beautiful
daughters. It was as a journalist that
he found himself covering a contentious trial over a Richmond mayoral race on
April 27, 1870 at Virginia’s Capitol.
What
set the scene for the trial was a rehash of North versus South all over again. During
the first years after the war, federally appointed George Chahoon was mayor of
Richmond. He completely reorganized city hall. He hired new policemen to enforce
order, and they were grateful to him for their jobs. He’d cleaned out the city bureaucracy of
openly southern sympathizers, and replaced them with politically neutral
ones. Newly enfranchised blacks were
among those hired. Consequently, George Chahoon’s recruits were understandably loyal
to him. In January, 1870 when Virginia
was readmitted to the Union and localities began electing and appointing their
own officials, Richmond City Council chose Henry Ellyson to lead them. But George Chahoon did not give up his office
without a fight. This initiated the
lawsuit that ended up in court on April 27, 1870. The Court of Appeals trial that
Henry Aylett was covering for his paper took place on a floor above the old House
of Delegates hall in the state Capitol.
By 1870 the Capitol was already an old building, having been completed
in 1788.
Many years earlier, when extra space in the Capitol was
required, and extra space was and is always required, a floor was inserted
above the House chamber. This created a
courtroom and offices. The beams were insecurely rested on a small ledge that
ran around the ceiling of the House chamber.
These timbers were also supported by a row of columns in the hall below.
At some point, that system was altered, and the columns were removed, setting
the stage for the coming disaster. The courtroom
floor was observed to be sagging for some time, but no one addressed it.
Henry Aylett arrived at early to get a good seat, and soon
the courtroom was crowded past capacity. It was later estimated over 300 men were in
attendance for a trial which proved to be key to the future trajectory of
politics of Richmond, and possibly Virginia as well. Some were angry with the federal government for
interfering with their post war partisan affairs during Reconstruction. Others just wanted life to get back to
normal, whatever that was. And still
others, who had found employment and status after the war in the federal
administration felt insecure at the thought of losing all that in a dicey
economic era. Times were tough, and
emotions ran high.
"Richmond calamity -- Interior of Hall of Delegates -- Getting out the dead and wounded"- From a sketch by W. L. Sheppard, Harper's Weekly, May 14, 1870. |
Just before the proceedings were about to begin, Judge
Joseph Christian walked out onto the balcony above the courtroom. There he had
a bird’s eye view of what was about to occur. He later wrote what happened next
was “the most shocking and appalling calamity that every happened in this
country,” To his horror, he witnessed the ensuing carnage. No warning was given when the floor violently
gave way, trapping and crushing its victims. Immediately a giant cloud of dust
from plaster and debris covered everything, making locating and rescuing
survivors difficult. Volunteers from all classes and races immediately sprang
into action to dig out the victims. Firefighters
threw ladders up against the outside walls to assist survivors through windows to
safety. Some victims clung to windowsills until they could be rescued, and one
poor man was left dangling from the room’s only fireplace mantel for what
seemed to him forever.
Richmond calamity -- Removing the dead and wounded from the Capitol From photographs by E. and H. T. Anthony, 501 Broadway, N. Y., Harper's Weekly, May 14, 1870. |
The world soon learned of this tragedy through national and
international press attention.
…In this frightful man-trap hundreds of people were packed… the bells had just struck the hour of eleven. The clerk of court had just entered, and placed his books on the table. One judge was in his seat, his associates being still in the conference-room. The counsel, the reporters, were in their places, and the spectators were engaged in pleasant conversation. All at once, without a moment’s warning, the large girder under the partition between the clerk’s office and the court-room snapped in twain, and the floor, yielding to the pressure, began to bend downward, loosening the supports of the crowded gallery, which was wrenched away from the wall and precipitated into the centre of the court-room. The floor was crushed through as if it had been glass, and, with its mass of human beings, fell into the Hall of delegates, a cloud of dust rising like smoke from the ruin. The scene was terrible. Through the cloud of dust and plaster that obscured the atmosphere, the horror-stricken survivors could discern nothing but a confused mass of dead and wounded flung together on the floor, while cries and groans arose that none who heard will ever forget…- Harpers Weekly, May 14, 1870.
It had been a generation since Richmonders experienced such
a public catastrophe. Older residents
compared it to the Richmond Theatre Fire of 1811 where over 70 Richmonders
perished, including Governor George Smith.
The Virginia Capitol Collapse was described in the national news as a
pivotal point in the transition from federal to state’s self-rule. The very trial the spectators were there to
witness was a symbol of that struggle.
George Chahoon was perceived as a carpetbagger Reconstructionist, Henry
Ellyson as the local elite’s favorite.
When the bloody dust settled, over 100 were wounded, some bearing
injuries for life. And 60 were killed,
many outright. Among them was Henry
Aylett. According to witnesses, he died
instantly when a beam fell on him.
Harper's Weekly, May 14, 1870. |
After the disaster, as they looked around Capitol Square,
some suspected that all old buildings were unsafe. There was even the
suggestion that the Capitol itself should be demolished and a new one
built. But the unfortunate target of the
architectural animosity became Richmond City Hall. It was a beautiful neoclassical edifice that
was designed by Robert Mills, the architect of Monumental Church just east on
Broad Street. That remarkable church was
erected in 1814 over the tomb of the victims of the 1811 Richmond Theatre Fire.
Mills is best known as the architect of
the Washington Monument on the Mall in Washington, D.C. In the
rush to alleviate public anxiety about the stability of old buildings, Richmond
City Hall was destroyed. This is a real
pity as it would be a cherished landmark had it survived. Apparently it was not as unstable as they
assumed old buildings to be. Local lore
has it that dynamite was required to take it down when traditional demolition
failed.
In the days and weeks that followed the disaster, eyewitness
Judge Joseph Christian wrote that it wasn’t just the Capitol building in
shambles. “The Clerks office with all
our records are destroyed and more than half the lawyers practicing in our
Court are killed and wounded.”
As for the mayor’s race at the heart of this disaster,
Virginia government and judicial offices were relocated in temporary offices as
the Capitol was restored. The Virginia Supreme
Court of Appeals ruled that Henry Ellyson would be Richmond’s mayor.
Few today recall this tragedy on that fateful day in April
of 1870. A plaque describing it was
affixed to the wall of what we now call the old House chamber. Occasionally one can hear mention of it on
the tours of the Capitol.
As for Patrick
Henry Aylett, he is an occupant of Shockoe Hill Cemetery, the city’s 1822 burial
ground. A
recent windstorm toppled a giant willow oak onto his and several other
graves. His monument and several others
were covered from view just as he had been all those years ago in that dreadful
Capitol Collapse. Volunteers are working
to repair these markers as well as preserving the stories of Virginians who
were known well in their lifetimes, but who might now be all but forgotten.
--- by Allyson Lindsey Taylor-White - who covered state and local government for 25 years, and wrote the recently released Shockoe Hill Cemetery, A Richmond Landmark History.
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