"Don't do anything foolish, Will," I said, as I saw his temper rising, "It is a serious matter to fire on His Majesty's Governor. Besides, here comes a boat from the first schooner to inquire into our affairs."
While I spoke, the vessel close in the frigate's wake luffed sharply, and as her headway slackened, a gig full of soldiers, pulled by four stout niggers, shot away from her side and came rapidly towards us.
Then the vessel tacked ship and stood slowly in after the boat, her head sheets slacked off to stop her headway and the black muzzle of a long twelve pounder sticking half a fathom clear of her forecastle rail.
We stood in a group on the sand and awaited developments, supposing, of course, that as soon as we were recognized the vessel would proceed on her course in the wake of the frigate.
Dunmore we all knew quite well, for he had been several times to the Hall and had often visited Will Byrd's cousin at the magnificent estate at Westover.
As the boat load of soldiers neared the shore the schooner luffed again within easy hailing distance, and a man standing by the forecastle gun hailed us.
"Throw down your arms, you dogs, or I'll blow you off the ground!" he roared.
"The devil!" exclaimed Barron, "I wonder if he means that for us? But our dogs are not armed."