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- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z
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- 547
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- several pieces of which were extracted by the surgeon, ere long, thanks
to the high health and pure blood of the farmer, Israel rejoined his
regiment when they were throwing up intrenchments on Prospect Hill.
Bunker Hill was now in possession of the foe, who in turn had fortified
it.
On the third of July, Washington arrived from the South to take the
command. Israel witnessed his joyful reception by the huzzaing
companies.
The British now quartered in Boston suffered greatly from the scarcity
of provisions. Washington took every precaution to prevent their
receiving a supply. Inland, all aid could easily be cut off. To guard
against their receiving any by water, from tories and other disaffected
persons, the General equipped three armed vessels to intercept all
traitorous cruisers. Among them was the brigantine Washington, of ten
guns, commanded by Captain Martiedale. Seamen were hard to be had. The
soldiers were called upon to volunteer for these vessels. Israel was
one who so did; thinking that as an experienced sailor he should not be
backward in a juncture like this, little as he fancied the new service
assigned.
Three days out of Boston harbor, the brigantine was captured by the
enemy’s ship Foy, of twenty guns. Taken prisoner with the rest of the
crew, Israel was afterwards put on board the frigate Tartar, with
immediate sailing orders for England. Seventy-two were captives in this
vessel. Headed by Israel, these men—half way across the sea—formed a
scheme to take the ship, but were betrayed by a renegade Englishman. As
ringleader, Israel was put in irons, and so remained till the frigate
anchored at Portsmouth. There he was brought on deck; and would have
met perhaps some terrible fate, had it not come out, during the
examination, that the Englishman had been a deserter from the army of
his native country ere proving a traitor to his adopted one. Relieved
of his irons, Israel was placed in the marine hospital on shore, where
half of the prisoners took the small-pox, which swept off a third of
their number. Why talk of Jaffa?
From the hospital the survivors were conveyed to Spithead, and thrust
on board a hulk. And here in the black bowels of the ship, sunk low in
the sunless sea, our poor Israel lay for a month, like Jonah in the
belly of the whale.
But one bright morning, Israel is hailed from the deck. A bargeman of
the commander’s boat is sick. Known for a sailor, Israel for the nonce
is appointed to pull the absent man’s oar.
The officers being landed, some of the crew propose, like merry
Englishmen as they are, to hie to a neighboring ale-house, and have a
cosy pot or two together. Agreed. They start, and Israel with them. As
they enter the ale-house door, our prisoner is suddenly reminded of
still more imperative calls. Unsuspected of any design, he is allowed
to leave the party for a moment. No sooner does Israel see his
companions housed, than putting speed into his feet, and letting grow
all his wings, he starts like a deer. He runs four miles (so he
afterwards affirmed) without halting. He sped towards London; wisely
deeming that once in that crowd detection would be impossible.
Ten miles, as he computed, from where he had left the bargemen,
leisurely passing a public house of a little village on the roadside,
thinking himself now pretty safe—hark, what is this he hears?—
“Ahoy!”
“No ship,” says Israel, hurrying on.
“Stop.”
“If you will attend to your business, I will endeavor to attend to
mine,” replies Israel coolly. And next minute he lets grow his wings
again; flying, one dare say, at the rate of something less than thirty
miles an hour.
“Stop thief!” is now the cry. Numbers rushed from the roadside houses.
After a mile’s chase, the poor panting deer is caught.
- title
- Chunk 3