All this while storms of maledictions were hurled on Israel.  But their exertions at the ropes prevented his shipmates for the time from using personal violence.  While observing their efforts, Israel could not but say to himself, “These fellows are as brave as they are brutal.”

Soon the stranger was seen dimly wallowing along astern, crowding all sail in chase, while now and then her bow-gun, showing its red tongue, bellowed after them like a mad bull.  Two more shots struck the cutter, but without materially damaging her sails, or the ropes immediately upholding them.  Several of her less important stays were sundered, however, whose loose tarry ends lashed the air like scorpions.  It seemed not improbable that, owing to her superior sailing, the keen cutter would yet get clear.

At this juncture Israel, running towards the captain, who still held the splintered stump of the tiller, stood full before him, saying, “I am an enemy, a Yankee, look to yourself.”

“Help here, lads, help,” roared the captain, “a traitor, a traitor!”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when his voice was silenced for ever.  With one prodigious heave of his whole physical force, Israel smote him over the taffrail into the sea, as if the man had fallen backwards over a teetering chair.  By this time the two officers were hurrying aft.  Ere meeting them midway, Israel, quick as lightning, cast off the two principal halyards, thus letting the large sails all in a tumble of canvass to the deck.  Next moment one of the officers was at the helm, to prevent the cutter from capsizing by being without a steersman in such an emergency.  The other officer and Israel interlocked.  The battle was in the midst of the chaos of blowing canvass.  Caught in a rent of the sail, the officer slipped and fell near the sharp iron edge of the hatchway.  As he fell he caught Israel by the most terrible part in which mortality can be grappled.  Insane with pain, Israel dashed his adversary’s skull against the sharp iron.  The officer’s hold relaxed, but himself stiffened.  Israel made for the helmsman, who as yet knew not the issue of the late tussle.  He caught him round the loins, bedding his fingers like grisly claws into his flesh, and hugging him to his heart.  The man’s ghost, caught like a broken cork in a gurgling bottle’s neck, gasped with the embrace.  Loosening him suddenly, Israel hurled him from him against the bulwarks.  That instant another report was heard, followed by the savage hail—­“You down sail at last, do ye?  I’m a good mind to sink ye for your scurvy trick.  Pull down that dirty rag there, astern!”

With a loud huzza, Israel hauled down the flag with one hand, while with the other he helped the now slowly gliding craft from falling off before the wind.

In a few moments a boat was alongside.  As its commander stepped to the deck he stumbled against the body of the first officer, which, owing to the sudden slant of the cutter in coming to the wind, had rolled against the side near the gangway.  As he came aft he heard the moan of the other officer, where he lay under the mizzen shrouds.