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.