How many have we wounded, do ye know?
None killed that I've heard of.

Wasn't that a fine hoax we played on 'em?
Ha! ha! But give us a chew." In the prodigal fraternal patriotism of the moment, one of the old worthies freely handed his plug to our adventurer, who, helping himself, returned it, repeating the question as to the killed and wounded.
"Why," said he of the plug, "Jack Jewboy told me, just now, that there's only seven men been carried down to the surgeon, but not a soul killed." "Good, boys, good!" cried Israel, moving up to one of the gun-carriages, where three or four men were sitting--"slip along, chaps, slip along, and give a watchmate a seat with ye." "All full here, lad; try the next gun." "Boys, clear a place here,", said Israel, advancing, like one of the family, to that gun.
"Who the devil are _you_, making this row here ?" demanded a stern-looking old fellow, captain of the forecastle, "seems to me you make considerable noise.

Are you a forecastleman ?" "If the bowsprit belongs here, so do I," rejoined Israel, composedly.
"Let's look at ye, then!" and seizing a battle-lantern, before thrust under a gun, the old veteran came close to Israel before he had time to elude the scrutiny.
"Take that!" said his examiner, and fetching Israel a terrible thump, pushed him ignominiously off the forecastle as some unknown interloper from distant parts of the ship.
With similar perseverance of effrontery, Israel tried other quarters of the vessel.

But with equal ill success.

Jealous with the spirit of class, no social circle would receive him.