unequal to the rescue, and this Mr. Garrison's
deliverers evidently appreciated. For while they employed their powerful
arms, they also employed stratagem as well to effect their purpose. They
shouted anon as they fought their way through the excited throng, "He is
an American! He shan't be hurt!" and other such words which divided the
mind of the mob, arousing among some sympathy for the good man. By this
means he was with difficulty got out of Wilson's lane into State street,
in the rear of the old State House. The champion was now on historic
ground, ground consecrated by the blood of Crispus Attucks and his
fellow-martyrs sixty-five years before. His hat was lost, much of his
clothing was stripped from his body, he was without his customary
glasses, and was therefore practically blind. He could hear the awful
clamor, the mighty uproar of the mob, but he could not distinguish them
one from another, friend from foe. Nevertheless he "walked with head
erect, calm countenance flashing eyes like a martyr going to the stake,
full of faith and manly hope" according to the testimony of an
eye-witness. Garrison himself has thrown light on the state of his mind
during the ordeal. "The promises of God," he afterward remembered,
sustained his soul, "so that it was not only divested of fear, but ready
to sing aloud for joy."

The news now reached the ears of the mayor that Garrison was in the
hands of the mob. Thereupon the feeble but kindly magistrate began to
act afresh the role of the twig in the mountain stream. He and his
constables struggled helplessly in the human current rushing and raging
around City Hall, the head and seat of municipal law and authority.
Without the aid of private citizens Garrison must inevitably have
perished in the commotions which presently reached their climax in
violence and terror. He was in the rear of City Hall when the mayor
caught up to him and his would-be rescuers. The mayor perceived the
extremity of the situation, and said to the Faneuil Hall giants who had
hold of Garrison, "Take him into my office," which was altogether more
easily said than done. For the rioters have raised the cry "to the Frog
Pond with him!" Which order will be carried out, that of the magistrate
or that of the mob?

These were horrible moments while the two hung trembling in the balance.
But other private citizens coming to the assistance of the mayor struck
the scales for the moment in his favor, and Garrison was