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.