“I have also the orders of our common superior, Captain Munson, Mr. Griffith; and I do assure you, sir, that in making out my instructions for the Ariel—poor thing! there are no two of her timbers hanging together—but my instructions were decidedly particular on that head.”
“And my orders now supersede them.”
“But am I justifiable in obeying a verbal order from an inferior, in direct opposition to a written instruction?”
Griffith had hitherto manifested in his deportment nothing more than a cold determination to act, but the blood now flew to every vessel in his cheeks and forehead, and his dark eyes flashed fire, as he cried authoritatively:
“How, sir! do you hesitate to obey?”
“By heaven, sir, I would dispute the command of the Continental Congress itself, should they bid me so far to forget my duty to—to—”
“Add yourself, sir!—Mr. Barnstable, let this be the last of it. To your duty, sir.”
“My duty calls me here, Mr. Griffith.”
“I must act, then, or be bearded by my own officers. Mr. Merry, direct Captain Manual to send in a sergeant and a file of marines.”
“Bid him come on himself!” cried Barnstable, maddened to desperation by his disappointment; “'tis not his whole corps that can disarm me—let them come on! Hear, there, you Ariels! rally around your captain.”