"In fact, you are more than half right. The sealed orders are not
absolutely necessary to me just now, and I shall not insist upon the
production of them for the present. Now, if you will seat yourself at
the table opposite me, I will dictate an order to you, which you will
oblige me by reducing to writing, and then by signing your name to it as
commander," continued Flanger, still toying with the heavy revolver.
Christy's curiosity was excited: he thought the order would throw some
further light on the plan of the pirate; and he seated himself. Captain
Flanger proceeded to dictate to him an order to the officer of the deck,
to the effect that his sealed orders directed him to cut out a rebel
privateer under the guns of Fort McRae; ordering him to head the Bronx
to the north-west for this purpose, and instructing him to call him as
soon as he made out the shore, Christy wrote it, and the pirate told him
to sign it.
"You must excuse me, Captain Flanger, but I object to signing such an
order," replied Christy, as he rose from his chair.
"Sign it, or you are a dead man!" exclaimed Flanger fiercely.
"Be it so; death before dishonor," replied the commander firmly.
At this moment Dave had worked himself in behind the pirate; and, with a
well-directed blow with the feather duster on the head of Flanger, he
brought him to the floor.
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