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.