"Get out of the top!" "This is too bad, maties," cried Israel, "to serve an old topmate this way.

Come, come, you are foolish.

Give us a quid." And, once more, with the utmost sociability, he addressed the sailor next to him.
"Look ye," returned the other, "if you don't make away with yourself, you skulking spy from the mizzen, we'll drop you to deck like a jewel-block." Seeing the party thus resolute, Israel, with some affected banter, descended.
The reason why he had tried the scheme--and, spite of the foregoing failure, meant to repeat it--was this: As customary in armed ships, the men were in companies allotted to particular places and functions.
Therefore, to escape final detection, Israel must some way get himself recognized as belonging to some one of those bands; otherwise, as an isolated nondescript, discovery ere long would be certain, especially upon the next general muster.

To be sure, the hope in question was a forlorn sort of hope, but it was his sole one, and must therefore be tried.
Mixing in again for a while with the general watch, he at last goes on the forecastle among the sheet-anchor-men there, at present engaged in critically discussing the merits of the late valiant encounter, and expressing their opinion that by daybreak the enemy in chase would be hull-down out of sight.
"To be sure she will," cried Israel, joining in with the group, "old ballyhoo that she is, to be sure.

But didn't we pepper her, lads?
Give us a chew of tobacco, one of ye.