{"id":"01KG8AKFNPMWPA2YV6BKH6HCXC","cid":"bafkreicegoowlrnlu5q6pehaoeumxcnsxu5vwmti4h6ucdpl3fa7f5efei","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":621,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","start_line":547,"text":"several pieces of which were extracted by the surgeon, ere long, thanks\r\nto the high health and pure blood of the farmer, Israel rejoined his\r\nregiment when they were throwing up intrenchments on Prospect Hill.\r\nBunker Hill was now in possession of the foe, who in turn had fortified\r\nit.\r\n\r\nOn the third of July, Washington arrived from the South to take the\r\ncommand. Israel witnessed his joyful reception by the huzzaing\r\ncompanies.\r\n\r\nThe British now quartered in Boston suffered greatly from the scarcity\r\nof provisions. Washington took every precaution to prevent their\r\nreceiving a supply. Inland, all aid could easily be cut off. To guard\r\nagainst their receiving any by water, from tories and other disaffected\r\npersons, the General equipped three armed vessels to intercept all\r\ntraitorous cruisers. Among them was the brigantine Washington, of ten\r\nguns, commanded by Captain Martiedale. Seamen were hard to be had. The\r\nsoldiers were called upon to volunteer for these vessels. Israel was\r\none who so did; thinking that as an experienced sailor he should not be\r\nbackward in a juncture like this, little as he fancied the new service\r\nassigned.\r\n\r\nThree days out of Boston harbor, the brigantine was captured by the\r\nenemy’s ship Foy, of twenty guns. Taken prisoner with the rest of the\r\ncrew, Israel was afterwards put on board the frigate Tartar, with\r\nimmediate sailing orders for England. Seventy-two were captives in this\r\nvessel. Headed by Israel, these men—half way across the sea—formed a\r\nscheme to take the ship, but were betrayed by a renegade Englishman. As\r\nringleader, Israel was put in irons, and so remained till the frigate\r\nanchored at Portsmouth. There he was brought on deck; and would have\r\nmet perhaps some terrible fate, had it not come out, during the\r\nexamination, that the Englishman had been a deserter from the army of\r\nhis native country ere proving a traitor to his adopted one. Relieved\r\nof his irons, Israel was placed in the marine hospital on shore, where\r\nhalf of the prisoners took the small-pox, which swept off a third of\r\ntheir number. Why talk of Jaffa?\r\n\r\nFrom the hospital the survivors were conveyed to Spithead, and thrust\r\non board a hulk. And here in the black bowels of the ship, sunk low in\r\nthe sunless sea, our poor Israel lay for a month, like Jonah in the\r\nbelly of the whale.\r\n\r\nBut one bright morning, Israel is hailed from the deck. A bargeman of\r\nthe commander’s boat is sick. Known for a sailor, Israel for the nonce\r\nis appointed to pull the absent man’s oar.\r\n\r\nThe officers being landed, some of the crew propose, like merry\r\nEnglishmen as they are, to hie to a neighboring ale-house, and have a\r\ncosy pot or two together. Agreed. They start, and Israel with them. As\r\nthey enter the ale-house door, our prisoner is suddenly reminded of\r\nstill more imperative calls. Unsuspected of any design, he is allowed\r\nto leave the party for a moment. No sooner does Israel see his\r\ncompanions housed, than putting speed into his feet, and letting grow\r\nall his wings, he starts like a deer. He runs four miles (so he\r\nafterwards affirmed) without halting. He sped towards London; wisely\r\ndeeming that once in that crowd detection would be impossible.\r\n\r\nTen miles, as he computed, from where he had left the bargemen,\r\nleisurely passing a public house of a little village on the roadside,\r\nthinking himself now pretty safe—hark, what is this he hears?—\r\n\r\n“Ahoy!”\r\n\r\n“No ship,” says Israel, hurrying on.\r\n\r\n“Stop.”\r\n\r\n“If you will attend to your business, I will endeavor to attend to\r\nmine,” replies Israel coolly. And next minute he lets grow his wings\r\nagain; flying, one dare say, at the rate of something less than thirty\r\nmiles an hour.\r\n\r\n“Stop thief!” is now the cry. Numbers rushed from the roadside houses.\r\nAfter a mile’s chase, the poor panting deer is caught.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJHFMCDZKHPXTDK6NQM6D","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKFNP55K8KJTPBCBB9V8V","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKG99TQ16HNKC28ED1T1G","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:05.814Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:13.039Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}