A shower of paving stones that rattled on the deck of the Gaspee was the only answer. Up came the captain and crew, like bees from a hive that has been disturbed.
"I want to come on board," said Captain Whipple.
"Stand off. You can't come aboard," answered Captain Duddingstone.
He fired a pistol. A shot from one of the guns on the boats replied. The British captain fell with a bullet in his side.
"I am sheriff of the County of Kent," cried one of the leaders in the boats. "I am come for the captain of this vessel. Have him I will, dead or alive. Men, to your oars!"
On came the boats, up the sides of the vessel clambered the men, over the rails they passed. The sailors showed fight, but they were soon knocked down and secured. The proud Gaspee was in the hands of the despised Yankees.
As the captors were tying the crew, a surgeon who was in the boats was called on deck.
"What do you want, Mr. Brown?" he asked.
"Don't call names, man," cried Brown. "Go into the cabin. There is a wounded man there who may bleed to death."
The surgeon was needed, for Captain Duddingstone was bleeding freely. The surgeon, finding no cloth for bandages, tore his own shirt into strips for this purpose, and soon had the bleeding stopped. The captain was gently lowered into one of the boats and rowed up to Providence.