“Overboard.”
“What?” cried the officer; “come on board the Ranger. Captain Paul will use you for a broadside.”
Taking the moaning man along with them, and leaving the cutter untenanted by any living soul, the boat now left her for the enemy’s ship. But ere they reached it the man had expired.
Standing foremost on the deck, crowded with three hundred men, as Israel climbed the side, he saw, by the light of battle-lanterns, a small, smart, brigandish-looking man, wearing a Scotch bonnet, with a gold band to it.
“You rascal,” said this person, “why did your paltry smack give me this chase? Where’s the rest of your gang?”
“Captain Paul,” said Israel, “I believe I remember you. I believe I offered you my bed in Paris some months ago. How is Poor Richard?”
“God! Is this the courier? The Yankee courier? But how now? in an English revenue cutter?”
“Impressed, sir; that’s the way.”
“But where’s the rest of them?” demanded Paul, turning to the officer.
Thereupon the officer very briefly told Paul what Israel told him.