"_Resolved_, That in order to preserve the _peace_ of the city, and especially of the Sixth Ward, the friends of the constitution and the liberties of the citizen will meet at this place (Masonic Hall), to-morrow (Wednesday), at half-past seven o'clock A.M., and repair to the Sixth Ward poll, for the _purpose of keeping it open to_ ALL VOTERS until such time as the official authorities may 'procure a sufficient number of special constables to keep the peace.' "_Resolved_, That while at the Sixth Ward poll, those who are not residents thereof will not take part in the election, but simply act as _conservators of the peace_, until such times as the MAJESTY OF THE LAWS shall be acknowledged and respected." These resolutions were carried with acclamations and shouts and stamping of feet. There was no bluster in these resolutions, but their meaning was apparent enough, and the city authorities understood it. From that hall, next morning, would march at least five or six thousand determined men, and if the mob rallied in force, to repeat the action of the day before, there would be one of the bloodiest fights that ever disgraced the city. It was believed that the great mass of the rioters were Irishmen, and the thought that native-born Americans should be driven from their own ballot-box by a herd of foreigners, aroused the intensest indignation. It was an insult that could not and should not be tolerated. The next morning, at half-past seven, Masonic Hall was filled to repletion. The excitement can be imagined, when such a crowd could be gathered at this early hour. In the Ninth Ward a meeting was also called, and a resolution passed, tendering a committee of one hundred to the general committee; that, with a committee of the same number from each of the fourteen wards of the city, would make a battalion eighteen hundred strong, to be ready at a moment's notice, to march to any poll "to protect the sacred right of suffrage." These measures had their desired effect. The presence of large bodies of men at the different polls, for the purpose of protecting them, overawed the unorganized mob, although in some of the wards attempts were made to get up a riot. Stones and clubs were thrown, and one man stabbed; it was thought at the time fatally. The Sixth Ward, "the Bloody Sixth," as it was called, was the point of greatest danger, and thither the Mayor repaired in person, accompanied by the sheriff and a large posse, and remained the greater part of the day. Threats and opprobrious epithets were freely used, and occasionally a paving-stone would be hurled from some one on the outskirts of the crowd; but the passage to the polls was kept open, and by one o'clock the citizens could deposit their votes without fear of personal violence.