It was spoken resolutely and in such good English that the captain understood every word. The sailors lifted the hatches, provided hoisting tackle, and disappeared down the forward hatchway, and the captain retired to his cabin. Roger saw an Indian run up the shrouds by the mainmast and hitch a tackle. He thought the savage had some resemblance to Tom Brandon. He also saw by the light of the moon, near its first quarter, that while one party of savages were at work upon the Dartmouth, others were warping the Elenor and the Beaver to the dock. It was nearly low tide, and the waves were swashing the timbers beneath the wharf. Not far away lay the Romney with her cannon peeping from the portholes. Very quietly the Mohawks began their work, hoisting chests from the hold, cutting them with hatchets, pouring the contents over the sides of the vessels. Roger felt a desire to take part in the work. Running to a blacksmith’s shop, he smeared his face and hands with charcoal, took off his coat, turned it inside out, put it on, leaped on board the ship, seized a hatchet, smashed the chests, and tumbled them overboard. The Indians worked in silence. The clock was striking ten when the last chest was thrown into the dock. Their work finished, the chief rapped upon the cabin door, and the captain opened it.
“We have discharged your tea, captain, but we have disturbed nothing else. If we have we will cheerfully pay the damage.”
The captain thanked him for being so considerate.
Tom, Abraham, and Roger, and the other Indians, walked up the street past the house of Nathaniel Coffin, his majesty’s receiver-general. His eldest son, Isaac, one of Tom’s schoolmates, had just sailed for England, Admiral Montague having obtained a commission for him in the king’s navy, but John, the younger brother, was at home.
Admiral Montague was there standing by an open window.
“Well, boys, you have had a fine, pleasant evening for your Indian caper; but don’t forget, you will have to pay the fiddler by and by.”
“Oh, never mind, admiral, we are ready to pay him now,” Tom replied.
The other Indians laughed as the admiral closed the window and turned away.
Very quietly the Mohawks separated. Abraham went to his own house, Roger went with Tom. They were soon in their chamber washing the garget stains and charcoal from their faces and hands.
“Rat-a-tat-tat!” went the knocker on the door.