“Let the meeting be in order. It is a trick of our enemies to distract us,” shouted some one.
“Order, gentlemen!” cried the moderator.
“Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!”
Longer and louder the yell.
“The Mohawks! the Mohawks!” the cry at the door.
Those in the galleries left their seats and hastened down the stairs. People were rising in the pews and crowding the aisles.
“This meeting can do no more,” said Mr. Adams, and he declared it adjourned.
The people saw forty or fifty Indians who had suddenly appeared upon the street. Where they came from no one knew, but they were rapidly making their way to Griffin’s Wharf where the ships were lying. Roger Stanley and a great number of citizens followed them. The sentinels with muskets on their shoulders, keeping watch over the ships, made no effort to stop the Mohawks. Roger saw the ship Dartmouth alongside the wharf and the Elenor and Beaver a little distance from it. The chief leaped on board the Dartmouth. The captain was on the quarter-deck; the crew huddled at the bow were astonished to see Indians with tomahawks climbing over the sides of the vessel.
“The Mohawks will unload your tea. Please direct your men to open the hatches and then order them below into the forecastle,” said the chief, addressing the captain. “You will retire to your cabin. The Mohawks will not injure your ship or do you any harm.”