{"id":"01KG8AKMX9NJ5R2NA1J0CB913B","cid":"bafkreic3vsvuy4ps2bqrlhhiips4el3ugqefrs6qhzsjudjrxars3q5z4q","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":6004,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","start_line":5917,"text":"men were in companies allotted to particular places and functions.\r\nTherefore, to escape final detection, Israel must some way get himself\r\nrecognized as belonging to some one of those bands; otherwise, as an\r\nisolated nondescript, discovery ere long would be certain, especially\r\nupon the next general muster. To be sure, the hope in question was a\r\nforlorn sort of hope, but it was his sole one, and must therefore be\r\ntried.\r\n\r\nMixing in again for a while with the general watch, he at last goes on\r\nthe forecastle among the sheet-anchor-men there, at present engaged in\r\ncritically discussing the merits of the late valiant encounter, and\r\nexpressing their opinion that by daybreak the enemy in chase would be\r\nhull-down out of sight.\r\n\r\n“To be sure she will,” cried Israel, joining in with the group, “old\r\nballyhoo that she is, to be sure. But didn’t we pepper her, lads? Give\r\nus a chew of tobacco, one of ye. How many have we wounded, do ye know?\r\nNone killed that I’ve heard of. Wasn’t that a fine hoax we played on\r\n’em? Ha! ha! But give us a chew.”\r\n\r\nIn the prodigal fraternal patriotism of the moment, one of the old\r\nworthies freely handed his plug to our adventurer, who, helping\r\nhimself, returned it, repeating the question as to the killed and\r\nwounded.\r\n\r\n“Why,” said he of the plug, “Jack Jewboy told me, just now, that\r\nthere’s only seven men been carried down to the surgeon, but not a soul\r\nkilled.”\r\n\r\n“Good, boys, good!” cried Israel, moving up to one of the\r\ngun-carriages, where three or four men were sitting—“slip along, chaps,\r\nslip along, and give a watchmate a seat with ye.”\r\n\r\n“All full here, lad; try the next gun.”\r\n\r\n“Boys, clear a place here,”, said Israel, advancing, like one of the\r\nfamily, to that gun.\r\n\r\n“Who the devil are _you_, making this row here?” demanded a\r\nstern-looking old fellow, captain of the forecastle, “seems to me you\r\nmake considerable noise. Are you a forecastleman?”\r\n\r\n“If the bowsprit belongs here, so do I,” rejoined Israel, composedly.\r\n\r\n“Let’s look at ye, then!” and seizing a battle-lantern, before thrust\r\nunder a gun, the old veteran came close to Israel before he had time to\r\nelude the scrutiny.\r\n\r\n“Take that!” said his examiner, and fetching Israel a terrible thump,\r\npushed him ignominiously off the forecastle as some unknown interloper\r\nfrom distant parts of the ship.\r\n\r\nWith similar perseverance of effrontery, Israel tried other quarters of\r\nthe vessel. But with equal ill success. Jealous with the spirit of\r\nclass, no social circle would receive him. As a last resort, he dived\r\ndown among the _holders_.\r\n\r\nA group of them sat round a lantern, in the dark bowels of the ship,\r\nlike a knot of charcoal burners in a pine forest at midnight.\r\n\r\n“Well, boys, what’s the good word?” said Israel, advancing very\r\ncordially, but keeping as much as possible in the shadow.\r\n\r\n“The good word is,” rejoined a censorious old _holder_, “that you had\r\nbest go where you belong—on deck—and not be a skulking down here where\r\nyou _don’t_ belong. I suppose this is the way you skulked during the\r\nfight.”\r\n\r\n“Oh, you’re growly to-night, shipmate,” said Israel, pleasantly—“supper\r\nsits hard on your conscience.”\r\n\r\n“Get out of the hold with ye,” roared the other. “On deck, or I’ll call\r\nthe master-at-arms.”\r\n\r\nOnce more Israel decamped.\r\n\r\nSorely against his grain, as a final effort to blend himself openly\r\nwith the crew, he now went among the _waisters_: the vilest caste of an\r\narmed ship’s company, mere dregs and settlings—sea-Pariahs, comprising\r\nall the lazy, all the inefficient, all the unfortunate and fated, all\r\nthe melancholy, all the infirm, all the rheumatical scamps,\r\nscapegraces, ruined prodigal sons, sooty faces, and swineherds of the\r\ncrew, not excluding those with dismal wardrobes.\r\n\r\nAn unhappy, tattered, moping row of them sat along dolefully on the\r\ngun-deck, like a parcel of crest-fallen buzzards, exiled from civilized\r\nsociety.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJJRQA5EDSW298W4T2SYR","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKMXCGF80GNEDDB8QXG8P","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKMXAFB0A8NRP5SGKKVRS","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:11.177Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:17.728Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}