“Take which of them you please,” said the lieutenant in command, addressing the officer in the revenue-cutter, and motioning with his hand to his boat’s crew, as if they were a parcel of carcasses of mutton, of which the first pick was offered to some customer. “Quick and choose. Sit down, men”—to the sailors. “Oh, you are in a great hurry to get rid of the king’s service, ain’t you? Brave chaps indeed!—Have you chosen your man?” All this while the ten faces of the anxious oarsmen looked with mute longings and appealings towards the officer of the cutter; every face turned at the same angle, as if managed by one machine. And so they were. One motive. “I take the freckled chap with the yellow hair—him,” pointing to Israel. Nine of the upturned faces fell in sullen despair, and ere Israel could spring to his feet, he felt a violent thrust in his rear from the toes of one of the disappointed behind him. “Jump, dobbin!” cried the officer of the boat. But Israel was already on board. Another moment, and the boat and cutter parted. Ere long, night fell, and the man-of-war and her consorts were out of sight. The revenue vessel resumed her course towards the nighest port, worked by but four men: the captain, Israel, and two officers. The cabin-boy was kept at the helm. As the only foremast man, Israel was put to it pretty hard. Where there is but one man to three masters, woe betide that lonely slave. Besides, it was of itself severe work enough to manage the vessel thus short of hands. But to make matters still worse, the captain and his officers were ugly-tempered fellows. The one kicked, and the others cuffed Israel. Whereupon, not sugared with his recent experiences, and maddened by his present hap, Israel seeing himself alone at sea, with only three men, instead of a thousand, to contend against, plucked up a heart, knocked the captain into the lee scuppers, and in his fury was about tumbling the first-officer, a small wash of a fellow, plump overboard, when the captain, jumping to his feet, seized him by his long yellow hair, vowing he would slaughter him. Meanwhile the cutter flew foaming through the channel, as if in demoniac glee at this uproar on her imperilled deck. While the consternation was at its height, a dark body suddenly loomed at a moderate distance into view, shooting right athwart the stern of the cutter. The next moment a shot struck the water within a boat’s length. “Heave to, and send a boat on board!” roared a voice almost as loud as the cannon. “That’s a war-ship,” cried the captain of the revenue vessel, in alarm; “but she ain’t a countryman.” Meantime the officers and Israel stopped the cutter’s way. “Send a boat on board, or I’ll sink you,” again came roaring from the stranger, followed by another shot, striking the water still nearer the cutter. “For God’s sake, don’t cannonade us. I haven’t got the crew to man a boat,” replied the captain of the cutter. “Who are you?”